Day's End
by Blackcross-Taylor
Summary: Peace is an illusion - the end is coming.
1. Paths Divided

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Well, here we are, the beginning of the end. I have not quite followed the route that the game takes in Throne of Bhaal, and would be interested to know what peoples' thoughts are on this, so if you've anything to say, please drop me a line or leave a review. Feedback makes me smile_ ^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

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**Day's end **

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**Paths Divided**

Solaufein walked onward, the trees about him towering pillars in that blur of brown and green, the gloom of the forest floor sparing his eyes from the worst of the light as he kept a steady pace through the undergrowth. He tipped back the brim of his hat to cast a shaded glance up to the sky, an ever-darkening amber as the dusk drew in. It would be time soon –they would be late.

It was nearing the last tenday of Ches according to the others, though the season meant little to him, the squally weather hardly changed from how it had been earlier in the month, though he could feel the days growing steadily warmer. He had been with the elves for well over four tenday now and he was slowly adjusting to life there, building relationships of sorts with those about him, though the old habits died hard and his solitary tendencies still prevailed more often than not. That evening, however, was to be one of those rare exceptions.

She had apparently told Jaheira of the place when they had met the day before, and Solaufein had a feeling it would be there he would find her.

Voices up ahead, elven and young with it, and the scene sharpened into focus as he closed to them. The clearing was filled with a dusty light, warm yellow shafts filtering through the broken canopy, the surface of the small pool sparkling under the gentle breeze. Three young hunters were stood before it, bows strung at their backs as they whispered, while on the other side she lay, curled upon her cloak and fast asleep, blanketed in a mess of fiery curls.

'It is her again,' murmured the first, the boy gazing across the pool as though Hanali herself was sleeping there. 'She must be in the forests as often as we.'

'It is cold now the sun is sinking,' offered the second practically, blond head titled to the sky, 'I am surprised it has not woken her.'

'Perhaps she does not feel it,' ventured their third, his voice hushed and wary, 'My mother says she is possessed of a dark nature.'

'Jorrei, your mother says that of many people,' snorted the second, continuing to the first, 'It grows late; do you think we should wake her?'

The first boy just sighed dreamily. 'She is very beautiful.'

Solaufein shook his head, stepping, at last, from the trees behind them and the three whirled, fumbling for their bows before they seemingly recognised him.

'It is that drow of theirs,' hissed Jorrei as though only his friends could hear him, the blond boy looking nervous even as he stepped forward to make his greeting.

'Ah, well met, cousin, we were merely-'

'The hour grows late,' Solaufein cut in, though not unkindly, 'you should be returning to the city.'

A glance between the three and they heeded him, the boys moving off the way he had come as Solaufein walked the pool's edge to drop softly to his knees at her cloak. 'Fritha?'

She stirred, shaking the mane of curls back from her face to find him. She smiled faintly, hiding a yawn in her sleeve.

'Solaufein –I must have fallen asleep.'

'Indeed,' he agreed, raising his face to take in the golden grove about them, 'though I am hardly surprised; it is very tranquil here.'

She nodded absently, straightening out the shoulders of her tunic as she made to sit.

'I found this place a few days past –it is beautiful enough now, but if you wait until moonrise, the light changes and you are in a temple, dark columns rising up to the vaulted dome, where some devoted artisan's hand has set a thousand diamonds, while beneath it ripples a mirror of quicksilver whereby some wise oracle might divine the future.'

He smiled slightly. 'You paint a beguiling scene.'

'You should wait and see it with me,' she offered without looking to him. Solaufein could sense her unwillingness -she knew why he was there, her reluctance matching his own as he reminded, 'As much as I would like to, I believe there is a gathering tonight to mark the departure of your friends.'

Her face was still turned away. 'Yes…'

Solaufein bit back a sigh, wishing suddenly he had not taken it upon himself to find her. Only the idea that perhaps she would one day lament missing this last chance for a farewell had induced him to it –he owed the girl much and they both had enough regrets to last them a lifetime.

'Though I cannot say to know any of you well, Fritha, I do believe they would be injured by your absence.' Silence, Solaufein waiting a moment before conceding to offer, 'I will say I could not find you if you wish it.'

The girl shook her head, voice quiet as she stood and found her sandals.

'No, I will come.'

She followed him through the forests, neither of them speaking as they finally reached the city and made their way along the darkening walkways to her small house in the lower eastern quarter of that great tree. It was a compact building over two levels with a sheltered and somewhat overgrown garden behind it, but it was more than enough for her and it was where she had lived the past two tenday, ever since she had left the palace a few days after Ellesime's gathering.

This was her life now, one reduced to the simplest of pleasures: lemon curd for supper; sweeping her porch in the dying evening sunlight; the light rattle of the earrings that hung at her newly pierced ears. Some would have said it was but half a life, a slow and creeping thing, full of long silent hours with only the vague sighing of her memories as company. But after having walked the land for months soulless to do nothing more than die at the end of it, it was more than Fritha had hoped for and she accepted it as it was.

And there was a certain freedom to it, as well, and one she had never before experienced, going straight from the unchanging regimes of Candlekeep to life on the road, where what you did was dictated by work and weather rather than the sages. Even the palace had had its routines. But now… She rose when she wanted, dressed as she pleased, at times not even changing from her night clothes – there seemed little point some days, the amount she slept. She could eat what she wanted too, sometimes going a whole day without eating at all, other days grazing on a feast of interesting delicacies she had bought from the city's market along with the other trinkets that caught her eye.

So every day was spent much the same as the next, slowly pottering from one small task to the other, no great joys but no particular sorrows either. She would read, go out on walks in the city and forests both, work in her garden and amuse herself with various household chores that hadn't been her concern since she had left Candlekeep.

She knew little of her neighbours -she kept out of their way for the most part- but there was an old elf who lived not far from her for whom she had a lot of time. He had shown her his own flourishing garden within a few days of her arrival there, the man generously allowing her to take some cuttings, and now the large pots of seedlings stood in the corner of her porch where the sun was best, the girl waiting for them to get a little more robust before she transplanted them in her garden proper. She would tend them each day though, sometimes just spending hours watching them, the tiny green sprouts that trembled with every breeze.

A few of the local children seemed to have befriended her, too, the young elves coming to sit quietly on her porch when she was out there tending the plants or practising her lute, the children venturing to speak to her when it was realised this boldness would not earn them any reprimand, asking her questions in the guileless way that only the young could.

What games did the human children play? And what was the world like outside their forest home? Their curiosity stemming from the fact she was a foreigner rather than the dark rumours of her heritage -not all who had taken an interest in her were so wise. She had noticed the looks on trips about the city, some of them even coming to her house, though they never dared further than the piazza before it. It seemed she had developed a small following of morbid youths who held in great esteem the soulless girl who housed demons and had lain for three days dead. Fritha avoided them. There was nothing wondrous about death any more than there was something horrible –it just was.

As for her old friends, things were little different. They had remained at the palace when she had left, though she still saw them -at least, occasionally. Imoen had been upset and, Fritha suspected, quite hurt when she had given them the news of her move over dinner on that cool spring evening so many days ago. And though in the beginning, Imoen and Aerie seemed to visit everyday, it did not last. Fritha did not mean to seem unwelcoming, but their company was a strain nowadays. They had known the girl she had been, and likely preferred her, too, and Fritha could sense it as they spoke, the eyes watchful, searching for signs of her former self. And Fritha would try at first, but as the visit wore on she would eventually lapse back into reflective silence and they would begin to cast furtive glances at each other before excuses would be muttered and they would go.

The others would come to visit too, Jaheira and Anomen more than most -well, in the beginning; she had not seen the knight in a tenday. Perhaps he understood how hard she found it, for after a while his visits had become less frequent until they had stopped all together. All in all, the company she found easiest to bear was that of Haer'Dalis and Solaufein, the girl playing duets with the former or helping the drow in his studies of the local Chondathan, both men of a nature that accepted such changes and understood the value of silence.

Solaufein left her at her door, the man taking a seat on the green, wooden steps of her front porch as she moved inside to change. Through the untidy parlour, the winding staircase taking her up to the next circular chamber that served as bedroom, the four windows giving her a view at every compass point. It was a small room, not helped by the clutter that was piled on every surface, half her bed still covered in clothes from the last occasion she had decide to play 'dress-up', hair pins and cosmetics scattered across the floor awaiting unwary feet. The dresser was next to the western window, the fading sunlight enough that she did not need to light the lamp as she finished fussing with the heavy black girdle -the flowing scarlet gown Ellesime had gifted her now edged in amber and black leaves of her own embroidery- and took the seat before the mirror.

The table was scattered with bottles and jewellery; the girl had already built quite a collection of earrings in her time there. Fritha shook out her hair, twisting back the curls at her temples to coil them at her crown and fix the small bun in place with her long gold hairpin, the girl giving the filigree camellia a tentative pat. She thought of Clare sometimes -wondered where she was, if she had managed to make a better life for herself there on the mainland. She thought of them all in the long hours alone- was Kaatje still being driven mad by her family's wedding plans? And had Garren returned to his role as Lord of the Windspears? And was poor broken Helenya still grieving the loss of Lirsand? So many lives she had touched carrying on without her. Did they pause and think on her sometimes? Fritha shook her head, giving up on such futile reflection, at least for the time being –they were late already and she was once again scrabbling through the mess of pins and pendants before her, the beads rattling against the wood as she drew up the long white rope.

Pearls: treasures from deep and secret places. She had never really thought much of them when she was younger, passing by the opaque stones when coming across them in Gorion's spell components in favour of more gaudy offerings. It was only when Beth had told her of a string she'd had when she was younger, about how they had to be worn next to the skin to keep their lustre, and suddenly they were a lot more appealing. The idea they had to be worn beneath clothes held a certain romance for her -a heady girlish intimacy. And she had been sure from then on that her first set of those milky orbs would be from a likeminded shy but amative boy who saw this sensuality too.

She did not _ever _think they would be a gift from a sahuagin prince, and one that she would later have to retrieve from the throat of a dead drow whom she herself had murdered. Fritha shook her head, back at the chaos of her dresser and searching for some earrings. Life, as they said, was full of surprises, and she was beginning to realise they were usually unpleasant.

xxx

Anomen stood next to the hearth, the stone surround still warm even as the fire had been left to die, the few lamps kept low to spare the eyes, and the shadows about him rang with talk and laughter, his companions lining the walls, leaving room for the maids who were bustling about the large table in the centre, setting down dishes and carafes of wine, the intricate arrangements of cutlery glinting in the half light. Anomen let his gaze drift over them, Minsc and Jaheira caught in some stern discussion over their mead cups, Imoen laughing wildly with Aerie, Haer'Dalis and Valygar a few paces away and clearly trying to discern the joke.

The knight sighed inwardly. This would likely be the last time they would all be gathered so. He had received the letter a tenday ago. The Order had finally summoned him back and, after days of wavering, he had at last made his decision.

The door opened once more, Anomen's expectations of another maid proved false as she entered in the scarlet dress he had so grown to dislike: Fritha.

Solaufein was at her elbow, the man muttering something at her ear in that brief moment of solitude before they were noticed by the others and brought with smiles and greetings into the room. Anomen made no move to join the throng. He missed Fritha –who she had been, and even who she was now –the feeling an ever-present ache within him. But he could tell that she found his company a strain, and he had not the heart to burden her with encounters that just left them both miserable.

'Fritha, you came!' Imoen cried, the girl still clinging to her arm after their customary embrace.

'Of course -I could not miss this.'

Solaufein was a little behind them, momentarily forgotten it seemed, Anomen catching his eye to send him a polite nod. He could have felt jealous of the drow's appearance, indeed part of him did, but it had been _he_ who had stopped his visits to Fritha and the whole thing seemed so steeped in weary tragedy that Anomen had not the energy for such pointless resentment.

The last of the dishes were brought steaming into the room, the maids quickly thanked as they tripped through the door, and it was just they left. An uncomfortable pause as everyone looked to each other for some cue, and one by one they took their seats, the awkwardness ebbing slightly in the complicated round of dish passing before they all settled down to eat.

'So,' began Jaheira with the air of one who already knew the answer and just wanted to open the conversation, 'At what hour are you planning to depart tomorrow?'

'Just after the dawn,' answered Valygar.

'So early?' came Fritha unexpectedly, the girl looking surprised to hear her own voice. Anomen nodded.

'Yes, it will take the good part of a tenday if we are to travel the whole way by horse.'

A pause where it seemed the room was waiting for something more, but Fritha's attention was back on her dish.

'We were down visiting your horses the other day,' offered Aerie to the breach, Imoen beaming her agreement.

'Yes. Yours, Vals, is a dumpy little grey one with a fondness for carrots –I think the elves have named him _Guzzle_.'

The ranger's eyebrow twitched. 'Indeed?'

Ever one to sense a potential for trouble, Haer'Dalis was nodding.

'I understood not their fascination, but the girls seemed to think him very dear –Imoen even put a ribbon in his mane for you.'

'I did,' she confirmed eagerly, 'my favourite lilac one. He _really_ liked it.'

Valygar bowed his head, though not quite in time to hide the quirk of lips. 'You have my thanks.'

'You go early as well?' asked Jaheira of the couple opposite her, Haer'Dalis smiling as he threw an arm about the young elf at his side.

'Aye, it makes little sense to linger, and the hour will likely not match on the planes anyway –though it will matter little.'

'The spelljammers of my home oft traded with the planes,' offered Solaufein quietly, 'though I was never fortunate enough to serve on one -where do you plan to go?'

Haer'Dalis shrugged, such clearly outside his concern. 'Sigil, and then wherever the Fates take us.'

'The Fates being another name for Aerie,' laughed Imoen.

'Imoen!'

'Oh, come on, Aerie, you've got like a whole list of places to visit –you can't see the walls of your room for maps.'

'Well, it is nice to have an idea of what you want to do; otherwise you might just drift about and see nothing in the end.'

'And we are not the only ones with plans,' continued Haer'Dalis, 'Minsc will finally return to his roost, as will our dark hawk, Valygar, and the knightling rejoins his flock, too.'

'How do you plan to get back to Rashemen, Minsc?' asked Jaheira over a forkful of rice.

'Boo says the way will be too dangerous to make alone –we will return to Athkatla and seek passage north with a caravan or company of another sort. The way will be long, but Minsc and Boo will walk it together.'

'I wish you'd let us come with you,' sighed Imoen.

'No, young Imoen, this path is not for you. Elder Yundra will be there to vouch for me at the trial now.' He smiled broadly at this mention of the old Wychlaran. 'All will be well, and however they decide, it will be good to be back in Rashemen once more.'

'You must be looking forward to seeing your friends again, too, Anomen,' smiled Aerie, 'the last time they saw you, you were a little worse for wear.'

'Do you know if the Order have any plans for your return?' asked Valygar. Anomen shook his head, trying to look anywhere but at the red-haired girl opposite.

'Nothing of which I am aware, but they would have me at hand in case something should arise, and, besides, there are the men-at-arms and younger squires to be trained and I have too long now neglected my duties to them.'

'Your words or the Prelate's?' quipped the tiefling, Aerie batting his arm.

'Haer'Dalis!'

'Come now,' the bard laughed, 'it is all in jest.'

Anomen said nothing. Haer'Dalis was half right, though they had been Anomen's own knight's words rather than Prelate Wessalen's, Sir Ryan gravely reminding him of the work it had taken to get that far, and how he owed the men and squires now under him them the benefit of his experience, as many good knights had once done for him.

'So, Valygar, what are your plans once you get back to the city?' asked Imoen, cheerfully ushering the conversation past this stall, 'Will you be busy being heroic like Anomen?'

'Not quite. I will check on my estate and ensure everything is in order.'

The girl looked surprised. 'Oh, I was given the impression it runs along quite well without you.'

'That is so,' the ranger answered, seeming almost uncomfortable with this line of questioning, 'but circumstance often keeps me away, and I feel I should give my attention to the place when I am able. But you will have much to keep you occupied here, from what I have heard.'

And likely disapproved of, too, from his suddenly cool tone, Imoen's grin somewhat tighter than usual as she exclaimed, 'You mean my visits to Mistress Aurelia? Oh, yeah, she's keeping me very busy, teaching me all _sorts_ of dangerously corrupting magics –I can feel myself falling further into darkness each day!'

'Imoen,' Jaheira warned, always on hand to step in when it seemed the girl's teasing would go too far. Imoen heeded her, but it did not silence her dispute with the ranger's on-going prejudice.

'Valygar, Mistress Aurelia is as nice as she is scatty, and no more evil than the fat grey pony that will be carrying you back to Athkatla.'

'Is that where you have been going so early in the mornings of late?' asked Solaufein, redirecting the girl's temper before it could escalate –something in which he had likely had a lot of practise, 'I know I have seen you about on occasion.'

'Nah, I was just getting up early so I could watch your sword practise in the gardens -I'm joking, I'm joking,' Imoen laughed at the drow's unnerved expression, still giggling as she continued to the rest of the table, 'Yes, I've been going to visit Mistress Aurelia -she likes to start early because she says her mind is clearer in the mornings. We met in the marketplace a fortnight ago. She said my hair reminded her of the love potions she used to make as a girl and we just got chatting. I visit her lab sometimes and she shows me the spells she has been working on and lends me books. She works more with corporeal links to the Weave than through the runes –it's dead interesting. She's shown me a few techniques on how to access the Weave more directly, and how certain spells will link better than others, decreasing the delay between them. She seems to find me interesting because of the way my magic was sort of awoken in the asylum. She thinks may be some kind of half-mage, half-sorceress -that I could begin to form my own style of spells and magic with enough practise.'

Imoen grinned. 'Doesn't always go well though, I singed off my eyebrows the other day when I was trying to summon an everlasting flame. Oh,' the girl cried, suddenly all verve as the idea struck her, 'you should come and visit her with me sometime, Fritha! I bet she'd find you _fascinating_-' Imoen stopped, seeming worried by how such may have sounded and hastily trying to explain, 'Well, because of your magic and how we don't know where it comes from and, well…' the girl trailed off, Fritha's face wearing a mild smile as she nodded.

'Yes, perhaps.'

'So, Fritha,' continued Aerie, and possibly more politely than she would have usually done, 'what has been occupying you of late?'

'Nothing really.'

'You must have done something,' cajoled Imoen, 'I haven't seen you in days. The last time was with Jaheira in the marketplace-' She grinned, suddenly recalling it, 'when those boys were looking at you, all shoving each other as they tried to decide who would come over first.'

'You have admirers?' confirmed Solaufein. Fritha shook her head.

'Not exactly. They have heard the rumours –they find my heritage… interesting.'

'You don't know that,' countered Imoen, 'maybe it's something _else_ they find interesting.'

'No, I do not think so,' Fritha sighed, drawing a breath and summoning a smile, 'But it is fine, and I am glad to hear everyone so full of plans –the past is done; the future is where we must look now.'

And it was discussion of that which took them through their meal, the air warm with Imoen's tales of her magical mishaps and the laughter that followed them, while the others talked of what they would do and who they would see once they made their returns. Fritha nodded and smiled and asked all the right questions. She could not deny them their happiness –indeed, how nice to have a home to where you could return.

For an evening she had been so dreading, it seemed to pass quickly enough and before long, the last of the wine was being shared out, the world behind the windows black in the lamplight.

Fritha left them saying their goodnights, moving from the room to slip through the open doors into the dark garden beyond. Just one more trial left now, where she would endure the embraces and say the 'Sleep well's, and she was looking forward to the moment when she would make that first step across the threshold of her silent house, to feel that emptiness about her and know she was alone once more, free to lie down and be quiet and very, very still.

'Ah, so you are out here.'

She turned at the voice, Anomen stood there haloed by the dim light of the room behind.

'Yes… though I should probably be heading back soon –I will have to be up early tomorrow if I am coming to see you all off.'

Anomen looked surprised. 'Oh, you are attending, as well?'

'Well, I thought I would -Imoen mentioned it, and who knows when… well…'

She did not finish; she did not need to. They both knew that this was it. He was going back to the Order, returning to his old life, and she was staying there to try to piece together her own. And, in that moment, Fritha felt like she could have just hung her head and wept. Could have just broken down into tears and begged him not to go, not to draw a line under what had once been between them and finally end the possibility of it forever.

He would have stayed, too, if she had asked him. And then he would remain there and the Order would likely expel him, and for what? The old feelings were still absent, the girl unsure how she felt about him now from the broken fragments within and it seemed desperately unfair to ask him to stay only to decide it was all gone in a month or two's time. Anomen was staring down at her, her silence perhaps stirring some guarded hope within him, his eyes holding a gravity that she had not seen of him all evening. It was just not fair.

'Anomen…'

'Yes, Fritha?'

She swallowed painfully. 'Have a safe journey.'

He nodded once, his face a mask once more.

'Thank you, Fritha.'

xxx

The sun was risen, but only barely, the city about them stirring to life as the group of those leaving and those come to bid them farewell gathered on the large circular platform before the city gates. The sky beyond the canopy was grey and glary, what little light there was diffused by the fine layer of cloud and Imoen could feel the charged weight to the air; a storm was coming.

Around her the others were milling about one another, a few elves joining them for their departure, Ellesime not present for the occasion, though Elhan had come in her place along with a few of the elves from the palace they had come to know, plus the two court mages who were there to open the planar portal.

'Young Imoen?'

She turned to find Minsc at her back and smiling down at her, the sadness to his eyes lending him a rare air of gravity. 'It is time for us to be leaving.'

Imoen nodded, suddenly having to fight back the tears –this could be the last time she ever saw him, her arms were flung about him for this final goodbye, the man fondly patting her head, his hamster sat patiently in the other hand.

'Oh, Minsc, I'm going to miss you! And you too, Boo.'

'We know, but Rashemen calls and we must answer.'

'I'll come visit you soon,' she promised, finally releasing the ranger.

'Not before us, I hope, my robin.'

'Sigil?' Imoen laughed to the pair who had just arrived, Aerie and Haer'Dalis before her and smiling as Minsc moved off to share a last moment with Jaheira, 'Ha, you just try and keep me away!'

'Here, knightling, a word,' called Haer'Dalis, the tiefling leaving the two girls to their farewells as he beckoned Anomen away from where he and Fritha had been enjoying an awkward silence. The three of them had grown quite close over the last month, passing the days in laughter and games that definitely helped speed up the pace of the otherwise _long_ days at the palace. What would life be like there now, with them gone? Aerie was watching her with a concerned smile, the smaller girl closing her in a fierce embrace –perhaps she was wondering the same.

'Ah, Imoen, I know we have not known each other for long, but it will be so strange to leave you behind. Here, I made this for you,' Aerie continued, fishing a smooth disc of polished blue stone from her robes, the different veins running together like the swirling eddies of a whirlpool. Imoen turned it over, the rune for _twin_ etched in gold upon the back.

'I've one, too,' the elf explained quietly, 'from the other half of the stone, so a part of us will always be together even when we're apart. It's silly I know,' she confessed with a self-depreciating laugh, 'but I just don't want you to feel lonely.'

Her blue eyes seemed to be drawn unwillingly to Fritha and Jaheira, the pair together and stony faced a few paces away. Imoen shook her head even as she wound the cord firmly about her hand.

'I'll be fine -but I _am_ going to miss you. Ah, the whole planes before you –you're so lucky! You keep an eye on her, Haer'Dalis,' she laughed, trying to bring herself round as the man returned to them, 'we won't hear the end of it from Vals if the planes turn her into some nefarious necromancer.'

'Do I hear my name over here?' came that deep, mellow voice, Valygar joining her as Haer'Dalis and Aerie finally moved to speak with the two attending mages.

'Oh, so we're answering to Vals now are we?' Imoen laughed, the grin fading slightly in her discomfort. Though she had not seen him as much as some of the others, she had been able to share every meal with Valygar, the stern man an endless source of amusement as he bore the brunt of her light-hearted teasing. As a connection, it was a subtle one, but for all that Imoen could not now shake the feeling that there was something between them, something more than friendship, though too indistinct to be defined properly. But that was how it was to stay, for whatever it could have grown to be, it had not emerged yet and now it would not get the chance.

'Well, mate, this is it.'

Valygar frowned, looking as uncomfortable as she felt. 'It is hardly the same; Anomen and I are but a tenday away.'

'Yeah…' she agreed, even as she dismissed it –she was not one for wasting time over idle dreams of what could have been. 'Well, I hope its all fine for you back at your estate and everything.'

'Indeed…'

Things were only going to grow more awkward from here on; it was time to end this. Imoen threw on a grin, thrusting a hand out for him to shake.

'Right, well, safe journey, then.'

They clasped hands for the briefest instant before he released her again, the man seemingly struggling with himself when-

'There will be a place for you there -my estate, I mean.' Valygar swallowed, drawing a forced breath to continue more coolly, 'What I mean to say is, if you wished to stay in Athkatla, there would be room for you at my estate. I may not be there myself at the time, but I will leave notice with the servants.'

'Oh,' said Imoen, not sure quite what to say to so warm an offer so coldly given, 'well, thanks. Maybe, I'll see you around.'

'Imoen, Valygar.'

And Imoen turned to find Jaheira beckoning to them, everyone gathered about a swirling green portal, Aerie and Haer'Dalis arm in arm at its mouth, the tiefling beaming while the elf's smile held a more tentative air.

'Well, this is it my birds. If you ever find yourself in the Cage, be sure to spare us a visit.'

'Goodbye everyone, I'll miss you.'

A nod between them and to a chorus of 'goodbye's the pair turned to take one step forward. A flash of green and they were gone. It did not feel quiet right once they had left, something to the atmosphere sort of flat, and the three men did not linger long afterwards, descending into the gloom of the stairwell with Elhan to return to the forest floor and the temporary corral where the three horses which had be purchased for their travel had grazed this last tenday.

Imoen glanced about those left; Solaufein stood talking quietly to a couple of the soldiers who had come to bid the men farewell, Jaheira frowning at the dim mouth of the stairwell opposite, while Fritha was at the railings a little way from her gazing absently at the hazy sky. Imoen sighed inwardly; she had never felt so alone in herself. But standing there moping about it wouldn't help matters. She had crossed to Fritha's side in a few short strides.

'What are you doing now?'

'Hmm?' her friend murmured, attention at last pulled from the sky. Imoen smiled.

'Why don't you come back to the palace with us for a bit?'

Fritha's reluctance was instant. 'I don't-'

'Ah, come on, Fritha, we haven't seen you in ages.' Imoen felt a hand reach out to close involuntarily about her sleeve, her voice soft. 'Please, Fritha.'

'I have washing out,' the girl pleaded, 'and it looks like…' Fritha sighed, seemingly defeated by her earnestness. 'I suppose I could come for short while.'

**…**

The rain had broken about an hour after they'd left the gates, the distant thunder rumbling far overhead as they had taken breakfast together, the single window blinking white with the occasional flash of lightning. The talk they had shared as they had eaten had been stilted enough, but even that had died now. Solaufein was sitting by the hearth, his back to the glowing coals as he read, Jaheira still at the table with herself doing the same, while Fritha had moved to the bench beneath the window, the girl staring out at the rain, the room lit only by the fire in the perpetual twilight of that overcast sky. Imoen watched her, the girl sat with one knee brought up to her chest in a loose embrace, the firelight catching on the tiers of gold and jade that hung from each ear. Everything about Fritha felt different now, from her quiet manner to the way she dressed –a strange mix of the human clothes she had arrived with and the elven ones she had bought there. And today was no different, the girl wearing the wide black trousers and sandals she had grown up in under a narrow, green tunic over which she had thrown a heavy, high-collared travelling cloak, the sky blue linen lined in cream silk, a good hundred buttons and buttonholes running down the front, from collar to hem, in the functional decoration which seemed to infuse all things of elven design.

The creak of the door behind her, Imoen not even bothering to turn around as the young maid entered, moving to set the tray of tea she bore on the table, the girl's step faltering slightly as her eyes were caught by Fritha's silhouette. It was funny, really. In her efforts to be left alone, Fritha had generated an air of mystery about herself that just made everyone all the more curious. The maid finally managed to tear her gaze away to set down the tray, a polite nod to Imoen ending the exchange and the girl was gone, leaving them alone once more.

Imoen leaned back in her chair, the crackle of the fire and the whisper of turning pages the only things to offset the ringing silence. Was this what her days would be like now, just rattling about that palace with Jaheira and Solaufein, two people she barely seemed to know, while Fritha was a city's breadth away doing the same in that house of hers? And for how long? Ever since Aerie had mentioned it, her and Haer'Dalis's immanent departure for untold adventure, Imoen had been thinking about her own future. She did not mind the elven city, but life there was quiet and at a pace much slower than she liked to live and, truth be told, she was rather itching to leave herself. And then what? Where should she go? Back to Candlekeep? Even back to the Gate? And to do what? Join a mage school or another adventuring company?

She did not want to strike off on her own, but how long could she remain there, when the reason for her stay continued to want nothing to do with neither her nor anyone else. Imoen added a sigh to the contemplative stillness. Perhaps she should have gone back to Athkatla with the others –or even Sigil? Imoen glanced again to the window and the girl seated silent before it to feel a pang of misery –she just could not leave her, not like this.

'Come on, Fritha,' Imoen sighed, suddenly sick of staring at that pale silhouette, 'the rain is easing now –your washing will soon dry again.'

Fritha started, slowly turning to face the room as she confessed, 'It's not that. I was thinking of the others, travelling in the rain…'

'As Imoen says, it is only a shower,' agreed Jaheira sternly, the woman laying down her book to busy herself over the tray before them. 'Come take tea with us -it is getting cold.'

They gathered about the table at her request, Imoen shifting her chair closer as Fritha and Solaufein rose to take again the seats opposite, Jaheira passing round the steaming cups.

'So, I was just thinking,' Imoen began in the common she usually spoke when Solaufein was about, the drow himself politely interrupting her in a halting local tongue.

'Please, speak in Chondathan -I must practise where I may.'

Imoen grinned. 'All righty. Anyway, I was just thinking, Fritha, how empty this place seems now without the others… I was wondering if you perhaps fancied coming back.'

'I am sure it will not seem so empty after a day or so,' Fritha demurred, eyes flicking up from her cup for but an instant as she drew a sip, 'You meet regularly with Aurelia -and I thought you had made plenty of friends here among the maids.'

'Yeah,' Imoen sighed wearily, 'but it's not the same. They're all so _young_.'

'A fine accusation coming from you!' snorted Jaheira.

'Well, they _are_. All they want to do is dress their hair and embroider and chatter on about _boys_.'

Fritha's lips twitched. 'Barring the embroidery, that sounds ideal for you.'

'Yeah, but it's not,' Imoen whined, 'They're so quiet and meek -they make me feel awful just for laughing out loud!'

'You still see Leidril and some of the other soldiers, do you not?' asked Solaufein. Imoen groaned loudly; Fritha was not the only one with a flair for the dramatic.

'Oh, don't get me started on that! Yeah, I see him sometimes, though he's often out on patrols with the other soldiers. But you should have heard the girls when I mentioned him to them –_Oooo, is he your sweetheart? Do you hold hands? Have you ever kissed a boy?_ I'd be insulted they asked if they weren't so sincere.'

Jaheira was frowning; perhaps she did not like to think what sort of influence she might have been having on the local girls.

'Now, Imoen, they are young and the elven ways are different from those of the human races.'

'Different is it?' Imoen laughed, 'I bet the drow women don't wait a century for a snog.'

A glorious moment as Solaufein snorted into his teacup, Fritha hiding a smile in hers, and Jaheira could have screamed herself blue after that –Imoen just didn't care.

'Imoen, really! No wonder the elven maids find you brazen if this is how you behave before them.'

Imoen ignored her, a hand reached out as she tugged at the heavy cuff of the girl next to her.

'Ah, come back to the palace, Fritha -it'll be a laugh.'

Fritha looked torn, the smile fading as she watched her friend's face and the pleading look Imoen was making no attempts to hide.

'I- I'll think about it. The rain has stopped,' she continued quietly with a glance to the window. 'I should be getting back while there's a break.'

Her cup was still half full as Fritha rose, Solaufein standing as well and Imoen wondered if it was the fact he was a drow and people assumed he had been expected to perform these duties that meant he could get away with such courtesies as escorting her. Imoen downed the rest of her tea with a frustrated sigh, heartily wishing it was something stronger, an angry frown already locked on Jaheira.

'Why didn't you help me get her to stay?'

The older woman shrugged, leafing through the pages of her book as she found her place. 'Because if she needs to leave, then she should.'

'She _needs_ to be here!' snapped Imoen, 'She hasn't got any better since she moved out and I'm not surprised, moping about that house on her own!'

Jaheira sighed, laying down her book with a sympathetic look.

'Imoen, it not just case of making her better –she may never be who she was.'

Imoen turned away, not wanting to hear what she had suspected for a long while now, her eyes watching the lingering raindrops ripple down the windowpane -tears that still fell even after the grieving had ceased.

xxx

Outside the air was damp and cool, the breeze soughing through the branches to stir the wet leaves, rainwater patting lightly on the slick wooden walkway. Fritha was at his side, her long robe gathered and looped over her belt to keep her hems from the wet as they made a brisk pace through the deserted city.

Solaufein liked the rain. He still remembered his first experience of it, creeping up to the surface one summer night to find the canopy above rattling with those falling beads of water, the man pulling off his tunic to just stand under the deluge, letting the warm water soak skin and hair both, his heart wild with an unexplained joy. It had been moments such as those which had kept him going in the darkness, living the lie that had forced from him the most objectionable of acts. But glorious as it had felt at the time, it had been, on reflection, foolhardy and he had been fortunate no one had noted his return to the city; it would have been difficult to explain away his wet clothes. Next to him, Fritha walked in her usual silence, though he was more than accustomed to it by now. Depending on her mood, she sometimes barely said a word; even those occasions where he attended her home to study could find him left alone to his reading, the girl merely on hand should he have any questions.

'Your Chondathan is coming along.'

Her voice startled him and he wondered for a moment if he had imagined it, the girl herself still watching the path ahead of them. He smiled.

'I have a good teacher.'

'You have a will to learn –though you are lucky that the common you already speak so well actually has its roots in Chondathan, both of them stemming from Thorass, or Old Common as it is known.'

'Yes, I thought I noticed some similarities in word and structure. You said the other day you had a text on Thorass –I would borrow it if I may, to learn more.'

Fritha smiled mildly, though he could not tell whether it was due to his request or the fact her home was finally creeping into view at the end of the walkway.

She hoisted up the skirts of her robes to ascend the three wet wooden steps, the covered porch beyond sheltered from the rains, the door left open as she entered and Solaufein assumed he was permitted to follow. The girl was already disappearing through the back door, and he found her in the garden, two rows of clothes hung and dripping over that recently tamed jungle.

'Soaked through,' she sighed. 'No, leave them there,' she forestalled as he made to step down from the back porch and begin collecting them in. 'I can do nothing with them in the house. They will dry here once this rain has passed.'

He followed her back inside, into the room she called the parlour, though it housed her kitchen and sitting area both, that single downstairs room cool without the fire lit and pleasantly gloomy. It was messier than he had ever seen it –perhaps she usually tidied it before she had company. Solaufein lingered uncertainly at the edge as she scrabbled through the piles of parchment, books and quills that covered the large square table which dominated one half of the room, the girl tidying them as she went. The hearth behind her was cold and full of ash that was slyly smudging its way across the rug before it, the two long sofas that faced each other in the other half of the room similarly covered in clothes and books.

'I likely should not let it get so messy. Still…' She trailed off, seemingly not so concerned about the thing to change her habits, brushing aside some papers to finally reveal the volume. 'Here, the book you wanted -Oh, it is raining again,' she confirmed with a glance to the back window, where droplets were patting softly against the glass, the soaked clothes beyond veiled by that ever-moving haze. 'I can lend you a cloak.'

'I will wait if I may.'

She drew back, a momentary flicker of hesitation to her face before she nodded once.

'As you wish. I think there is a kettle here somewhere,' she continued, on the other side of the table now and rummaging through the cupboards next to the hearth, 'Ah ha -Could you fill that for me, please?'

Solaufein blinked at the large iron kettle how hanging from his hand, the man setting it unsurely beneath the water pump that reared over the large stone sink in the corner, the spout cast to resemble some diminutive leviathan, once gleaming scales now a chalky green. He grasped its tail, the handle falling easily beneath his hand and he tried a few vain sweeps with little hope. Nothing happened.

A murmur of laughter and he whipped back to find Fritha knelt before the hearth watching his efforts, flames already dancing the grate.

'You seem a little lost.'

He felt his face grow hot, the man stepping back as he confessed, 'I have never- this would be slaves work in Ust Natha.'

'Well, we are all slaves up here.'

She was still smiling, dusting off her knees to join him at the sink and pour a waiting cup of water into the well at its base, the pump finally beginning to draw up as she heaved upon the handle, water gushing from the serpent's smiling lips. He waited as she filled the kettle, hanging it over the fire before she was back at the cupboards, fetching out cups and her tea caddy, Solaufein hovering behind her, unwilling to take a seat while she was still standing.

A few moments and a little help from her, and the water was boiled, the pair of them finally taking their seats with the teapot between them as they waited for it to brew, the rain beating a gentle tattoo on the tiles above them.

'You seemed to have settled in well here,' Fritha offered to the silence. Solaufein dipped his face in a slow nod.

'The elves are generous hosts, as are your own companions.'

'Will you find it strange living in the palace with only Jaheira and Imoen?'

He took a moment to consider the question.

'I do not believe so. I am used enough to being in the company of strong women, albeit in not so relaxed an atmosphere. It is… pleasant, but at the same time confusing. I admit I am still not sure how to act. Amongst the drow, males are subservient to females, though I had reached an importance in Ust Natha, at least in these most recent years, that I moved outside the realms of all but the highest ranking females. But here… males and females seem to serve each other and for a myriad of reasons -courtship, rank, respect- and I am unsure of my place in it all.'

Fritha merely shrugged. 'Just do what feels right for you. The only person you have to please is yourself now, and one of the best things about life up here is that everything is so varied, whatever you do is going to be right somewhere. So,' she continued, moving to take up the teapot and fill their cups, 'you have no plans to leave and see more of the surface, then?'

'I hope to one day, but I am in no haste.'

She nodded absently, lifting her cup for that first sip, and he suspected they were the same in that. Both had undergone a huge change in their lives and it took time to take it in, to accept and forget and grow used to the person you now were, before forging forward once more.

No,' she agreed in a sigh, turning to gaze out at the rain, 'there is no rush…'


	2. The Return

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: Just a quick note to everyone who took the time to review the first chapter; I was really thrilled (not to mention overwhelmed!) by all the support I'm getting for this sequel. Thank you _^_^

**The Return**

Anomen closed his eyes for a brief moment, enjoying the simple pleasures of the sun and the breeze and the gentle rhythm of the horse under him, its hoof beats a soft thudding on the packed-dirt road, the forests about them still steaming from the last light shower.

Valygar and Minsc were riding abreast just before him, Minsc talking gently to his sorrel mare, while Valygar scanned the horizon from the back of the stout grey gelding that had neither borne the threatened bow in its mane (Imoen apparently loathed to lose a perfectly nice ribbon just for the sake of her teasing), nor been affectionately named _Guzzle_. In fact, the elves had not named any of the beasts –they had not seemed to think it was necessary. Anomen leaned forward to pat the neck of the chestnut mare that carried him, the beast giving a soft snort in reply.

They had been on the road six days now, last night affording them the luxury of an inn as they stayed the night within Trademeet, he and Minsc suffering the embarrassment of being recognised from their statue, much to Valygar's amusement, though perhaps he spoke too readily for both of them- Minsc had seemed rather to enjoy the attention in the end.

Trademeet was a day behind them now, their pace good, and they would likely make Athkatla by the morrow. It was a relief to be away from Suldanessellar –the elven city, though beautiful, had never really rested well with him, something he had only truly realised once he had left and the discomfort to which he had grown so accustomed was suddenly lifted from his heart. Out there and travelling again, Anomen finally felt himself once more, and the idea he would soon be back in the city of his birth and at last able to commence the life he had so long worked towards made what had been left behind easier to endure.

That said, the hours of riding left much time to think, his mind falling more often than not, on the others, Fritha especially. But in the same instance, it _was_ easier being away rather than back there, every day spent wondering if there was not something he should be doing to help her, something that would somehow put right all that had been broken between them.

But, whether there had been some solution or not, he had not come to it and in the end, the Order had called and now it was out of his hands.

His steed's ears pricked suddenly, the discordant clash reaching Anomen's hearing an instant later, the sounds of battle an unseen storm just over the horizon. Valygar glanced back to him with a frown, perhaps to suggest some cautious approach, but it was too late. Minsc's horse sprang forward with the Rashemi's yell, a sharp jerk of his heels spurring it on, and there was little to do but follow. Up ahead the scenes of a battle were cresting the horizon, a dozen or so robed men and their spooked mules ringed by their struggling guards who were hard-pressed by the score of bandits who had surrounded them, while above the throng a tall, well-armoured woman was fighting from the back of a stout grey warhorse, her blade flashing scythe-like as she cut her way through the brigands surrounding her.

Minsc was already on foot and charging towards them, Anomen dismounting to do the same, while Valygar remained with the horses, bow drawn back as he found his first target. Their reinforcements turned the battle quickly, those bandits not wise enough to flee early on, not later given the chance, the clash of metal finally ebbing to the groans of the wounded.

The tall woman seemed the first to notice their presence, the warrior wheeling her horse about to clatter smartly over to them. She slipped from the saddle into their midst with a practised grace, hauling off her helmet to reveal an open face, lightly tanned from days spent outside, her brown hair scraped back for travel into a tight braid which emphasised her high forehead, the large brown eyes stern over the wide, determined mouth. She nodded once, placing a hand over her chest in formal salute.

'My thanks, friends, your aid then was most welcome.'

Anomen dipped his head in a bow. 'We gave it gladly, my lady.'

'Father Casson, are there many wounded?' she continued to the robed man who had just arrived at her side, his short grey hair the same colour as the twitching mule he led, the blond girl that followed him seeming more concerned about the mud that had been splattered up her skirts than the peril she had just faced.

'None seriously so. Some of the guards have suffered flesh wounds -perhaps a moment to tend them and we may be on our way once more. But who are these men who came so promptly to our aid,' he asked with a smile, pulling his gaze from the carnage behind to the three men assembled before him, 'you have our thanks, brothers.'

'Always we are happy to help those in trouble,' rumbled Minsc genially.

'And might we know the names of our brave rescuers?' asked the blond girl coyly, her smile set _very_ firmly on the swarthy man next to her. The ranger cleared his throat uncomfortably.

'I am Valygar, this is Minsc and the knight is Anomen.'

'Sir Anomen?' snapped the brunette sharply, 'Of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart?'

Anomen blinked, unused to being recognised –at least outside of Trademeet.

'Ah, yes, that is so, my lady.'

'The Radiant Heart, truly?' cried the old man delightedly, 'Why, the gods must have blessed this meeting, eh, Brieanna! Ah, but how easily adversity drives away our manners. I am Father Casson, priest of Ilmater and the leader of this band.'

'You are on a holy wandering –a pilgrimage, yes?' asked Minsc. Casson inclined his head in a nod.

'Of a sort, brother. A month ago, I received a vision of great suffering –the native peoples that populate the lands beyond the Trackless Sea cried out in my dreams, and I knew how my Lord had charged me. Those people suffer, from disease and conflict brought by the greed of Amn, and it is our duty as Ilmateri to ease that distress where we may.'

'You are all of you bound for Maztica?' questioned Valygar, a flicker of doubt creeping in as he surveyed their band. But Casson was genially shaking his head.

'No, no. The guards will remain in Athkatla once we reach our ship, as will my daughter, Hana. The wilds of the jungles are no place for her and she will stay with her aunt within the city until she is old enough to decide her own path.'

The girl smiled at this, sending Valygar a shy look that gave Anomen the hint it may not lead to Maztica. 'And of course our good Lady Knight Brieanna will be remaining in the city as well,' continued Casson.

'I am not so honoured yet, Father,' the woman reminded, turning to them to add, 'I am Brieanna of St Rielle the Righteous, Sister of Torm. I was on my way to Athkatla and the very Order Sir Anomen serves when I came upon these holy brothers just west of Eshpurta.'

'Ah, Lady Brieanna, modest as ever,' sighed Casson. 'We were under attack by the banditry that plagues the trade routes leaving the city. There were a few trolls and orcs in their number and many of our guards had been scattered and killed when she came upon us, the lady fighting valiantly and taking many wounds as she regrouped our flailing forces. She has travelled with us ever since, though the way has been more peaceable –well, until this afternoon.'

Brieanna made no comment as to his tale, dark eyes scanning the bodies that were strewn about the path.

'Not all who attacked us lie here -some must have retreated back into the forests. I do not like to think of them escaping justice to lay another trap for some unwary travellers.'

Casson was frowning –perhaps he did not like the delay the likely fruitless pursuit would mean.

'Indeed, my dear, but we are but a day from Athkatla- we can inform the city guards once we arrive and a patrol can be sent out from there. But sirs,' he continued to their company, the warm smile once more creasing his eyes, 'you travel to Athkatla as well? The journey will be easier if we walk it together.'

It was agreed –indeed without a good excuse it would have been impossible to refuse, though Anomen imagined Valygar had wished they had, the rest of his afternoon spent under the attentions of the young Hana. A few more hours travel, their progress little slowed for this increase in their company, and it was as the dusk was falling that they came to a halt, just stepping from the road to make camp in amongst the trees of the forest's edge.

Anomen shifted, pulling his cloak about him against the chill, the fire more a comfort for the soul than the body at this distance, Anomen on the edge of their gathering as he watched the camp before him. A group of guards were gambling over dice in one corner, the priests talking quietly before their tents or making their prayers as the group prepared to settle for the night, Anomen nodding as Valygar appeared from the woods at his back and sank down beside him.

'Another day and we arrive in Athkatla,' Anomen sighed to the darkness above them, 'It feels as though we have been away a lifetime.'

Valygar snorted wryly. 'It could be said _you_ have –you were carried from the city the last time we left, Fritha marching us through the streets as though the demons of the Abyss were at our heels. Do you miss her?' the ranger asked suddenly, eyes still trained forward, such a question not resting well with either of them. Anomen shrugged.

'No more than I did when we still resided with the elves. We were parted long ago, it just took me some time to realise it. But you look forward to our return to the city?' he continued, stalwartly rejecting his melancholy, 'I know you wish to ensure all is well at your estate –what task will take you then?'

Valygar looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. 'I- I have yet to decide.'

'I see…'

Silence fell between them, Anomen's eyes drawn across the camp to where the Tormite, Brieanna, was talking with Minsc, the woman clearly bemused by the hamster that was scurrying up his arm, though she smiled and nodded all the same.

'She seems a worthy addition to your Order,' offered the man next to him.

'Yes –more worthy than some that have been accepted within its walls –though that is not my place to judge,' Anomen added hastily. Valygar quirked a rare smile.

'Come now, Anomen, your travels gave you the room to think for yourself, are you so ready to return your mind to the fold?'

The knight frowned, ready to protest this, but he was interrupted by Minsc's arrival, the tall man throwing himself down at Valygar's side.

'Such stern looks, Boo twitches in his anxiousness -what talk so holds us over here?'

Valygar let his face fall into its customary frown. 'We speak of the morrow, Minsc, and what trials it will bring.'

'Dark thoughts from our dark ally -young Imoen said I was to recall her to you whenever you became too grim.'

Anomen choked back a laugh, Minsc not so shy as he loudly rumbled his amusement, Valygar turning away, flushed and sulky.

'You two gossip like old women.'

'Now, now, good Valygar, there is a Rashemi saying unto the wisdom of old women, for they laugh when they may –perhaps it is something you should embark on, as well, yes? Come brothers,' Minsc laughed loudly, 'you are soon to be home!'

The Rashemi clearly attributed a lot more to such homecomings than they, but despite everything, Anomen found himself grinning along with him -it would be good to be home.

xxx

They arrived in Athkatla just before highsun. Anomen left Valygar and Minsc at the city gates, dismounting his horse to lead the beast over to the temple district with Brieanna and the missionaries. He did not remain in their company though, leaving them outside the temple of Ilmater, Brieanna keen to give thanks for her safe arrival at the shrine to Torm while Anomen himself had a reunion of another sort awaiting him at the Order.

A brief meeting with Prelate Wessalen to inform the man of his arrival, and Anomen was in his room unpacking his few belongings, the hatching of canals far below his window sparkling in the spring sunlight. He would leave his estate empty at the moment, the old house holding too many memories for him, both good and bad, and he did not think it would do him any good being there alone.

Outside, the main courtyard was its usual hive of activity, men crossing the square on their way to the smiths or heading for the gates, on errands for their knights or on their own business, and Anomen lingered at the edge of the stables feeling rather out of place. His own commander was out of the city and would not be returned for a few days, Prelate Wessalen not wanting to guess at the task Sir Ryan would have him set to and so had given him the interim to settle back into his life there.

'Ho, Anomen!'

Anomen whipped back at the greeting, the golden-haired man no less than beaming as he strode across the courtyard to lock him in a hearty embrace.

'Simon, it is good to see you.'

'And you, friend! You gave us all quite the fright back then, dying on us like that –damn inconsiderate of you! How fortunate for all of us Fritha was one step ahead.'

Anomen nodded, trying to ignore that twinge her name provoked.

'I notice you play down your own part in that. I know I have said as such before, but-'

'Think nothing of it,' Simon forestalled cheerfully; he clearly wasn't.

'Were there any ramifications?' Anomen pressed, more than aware of what this sacrifice could have cost the man, but the squire just laughed.

'Oh, I'll say. Moments after I've let Fritha run off with your body, I'm being frogmarched back to the Order, the High Watcher before me and a whole battalion of acolytes and knights just returned from the cemetery trailing after us. In to the Prelate's office and once it had been established that I truly hadn't been bewitched by the _evil Bhaalspawn_, I was given a stern dressing down by both Sir Ryan Trawl and High Watcher Oisig, which lasted until Prelate Wessalen was summoned from his chambers, my own knight, Sir Wyse, in tow. I really thought I was in for it then, but you know the Prelate -he just calmly told everyone to wait outside and then he departed, too, just leaving me with my knight. And Sir Wyse was looking down at me, as stern as I've ever seen him and just asked me one question. _Well, squire, why did you do it?_'

'What did you tell him?'

'The truth, of course! That in that moment, Fritha was staring up at me pleading that I trust her, my heart said 'yes' and I followed it. Sir Wyse just nodded and told me to return to the dormitories. The next day I am called before the Prelate, and it has been decided that I am to be put forward for my knighting ceremony this coming Greengrass.'

'Simon!' cried Anomen, the word echoing gloriously across the courtyard, 'That is wonderful! My sincere congratulations!'

Simon was grinning, face glowing in his triumph. 'Yes, only don't speak of it before Erick, I don't think he quite approves of the means by which it came about –he certainly goes very quiet whenever it is mentioned. But what of you?' the squire continued, his smile fading somewhat, 'I suppose it is too much for even _me_ to hope that Fritha returned to the city with you.'

Anomen shook his head. 'No, she has decided to remain with the elves for the time being.'

Simon gave his back a sympathetic clap.

'I am sorry for that. Erick explained you both had parted after we received your letter informing us you were returned to life. I had hoped once her soul was returned, you two would be able to reach a reconciliation. I need no explanation,' he cut in quickly as Anomen drew a breath, 'Erick has already forbidden me of questioning you about it. I would just have you know that I trust your judgement in this and whatever your path, I will walk it with you. And I'd best leave it at that.'

A nod from Simon, and Anomen turned to see the man himself as Erick left the smiths to spot them.

'Anomen,' he greeted, closing to the pair, 'it is good to see you alive and well. I heard in the temple you had arrived – the missionaries are apparently full of talk of their journey over at the temple of Ilmater.'

'Missionaries?' repeated Simon. Anomen nodded.

'We came upon a band of Ilmateran priests under attack by bandits a day or so from Trademeet –we journeyed the remaining miles with them.'

Simon laughed. 'Ah, it is never dull-'

He stopped suddenly and Anomen turned to follow his eye to where Sir Harn was stepping from the great hall, Squire Marc behind him and struggling under the weight of a large pack, while at his side she walked, tall and more slender now free of her armour, the dark brown braid shining chestnut in the sunlight.

'Who is that?' asked Simon.

'A warrior-priestess of Torm who arrived with the Ilmateri this morning,' answered Erick mildly, 'I heard she is seeking entrance to the Order.'

'With the Ilmateri?' repeated the squire, eyes suddenly fixed upon Anomen, 'Then you-'

'Ah, Sir Anomen,' came the call, warm and free from any affectation, Brieanna speaking a word to Harn before the pair of them had changed course, Marc huffing after them.

'I can take that, squire,' the woman offered, noticing Marc's struggles to take her pack from the boy, heaving it on to her shoulder with a smile as Harn stepped forward to make the introductions.

'Ah, of course, you will have already met Sir Anomen. Then, allow me to introduce Squire Simon and Sir Erick. Sirs, this is Lady Brieanna.'

A mutter of polite greetings, Erick continuing, 'So, you hope to join the Order, my lady?'

The woman nodded soberly. 'That is so –I have spoken to the Prelate and will face judgement at the ceremony this Greengrass.'

Anomen smiled. 'Then you will be in good company; Simon-' He faltered at the squire's suddenly quelling glare. 'Well, ah, many squires will be seeking entrance with you,' Anomen finished hastily. An awkward silence followed, that all but Harn seemed to notice. Brieanna cast a glance behind her to where Lady Irlana was watching them patiently from the doors of the dormitories.

'Ah, I believe I must go –it was nice meeting you all.'

'A pleasant-spirited lady, is she not?' said Harn as they watched the two women disappear inside, 'the Order could use more with her virtues.'

'Indeed,' agreed Simon earnestly; Anomen doubted they could _ever_ fill The Order with enough of his sisters-in-arms.

'She comes with many commendations from priests and soldiers alike,' Harn continued proudly, 'yet she is without the pride that such would foster in many -she spoke very highly of you and your companions to the Prelate when talk turned to the ambush.'

'She is too modest of her own part in that,' Anomen demurred. The old knight laughed.

'I do not doubt it. Well, a good day to you.'

The three men saluted as Harn strolled off across the sunlit courtyard, humming blithely.

'So, what plans have we now?' asked Simon, 'Sir Wyse has given me leave today.'

'Well, I have archery instruction out on training fields,' offered Erick, 'Marcin and Tristan are attending as well, but you can both come if you wish- the younger squires need all the instructors that can be spared.'

Simon grinned, an afternoon out of the city in the sunshine clearly appealing to him.

'That sounds a worthy pursuit; I'll fetch my bow and meet you at the gates –What of you, Anomen?'

Anomen smiled; the ease with which he could seemingly step back into his old life was comforting. He nodded once.

'Yes, I will attend.'

xxx

Valygar stepped from the cobbled street, the strident clatter of hooves softened to a dull rasp as he led the two horses through the gates to the Corthala estate and up the winding gravel path, the guards nodding respectfully as he passed. Valygar and Minsc had parted just after Anomen had left. Valygar had invited the man to stay at his estate while he was in the city, an offer the Rashemi had accepted though he did not return with him then. It was barely noon and Minsc was eager to begin asking around Athkatla's many markets and secure passage north.

The stables were empty –the Corthala estate had kept no horses since his Grandfather's days there, though the buildings were kept in good order. Valygar tethered the beasts beside a brimming water trough, calling Mullen from where he had been tending the vegetable patch just behind the block and sending him straight into the city for feed and bedding.

Mab was in the kitchen busy preparing lunch for the small company of servants, the girl pink and beaming as she welcomed his return, hurriedly fetching a carafe of ale from the pantry to serve him a cup and bidding him to have a seat. He could not accept her hospitality though, leaving her with instructions to send Marden up with some hot water and summon old Master Nentat to meet him in the library, before he retired to his room to wash away the dust of the road.

The library was just as he had left it, unchanged even from when he had been a boy; a tall room of towering bookcases, filled with volumes on subjects as varied and ranging as their worn covers. Amnian law; animal husbandry; heraldry; references and plays and papers on every subject but the magic that had so consumed his parents in the end –they had each had their own private collections for such volumes, and they had kept them close.

Master Nentat, the estate's seneschal, was waiting there as he had requested, the man sat in one of the large armchairs, looking pale and older than his vitality usually suggested in the light of the two tall windows. He rose promptly to greet him though, no sign in his physique of the years he bore and the two men talked of the estate, Valygar's plans to become a more permanent resident there and perhaps have more of a hand in running his birthright being met with warm encouragement.

The man was gone now, returning to the accounts which had apparently kept him absorbed all morning and leaving Valygar in that room, alone with the books he doubted he would ever find the time to read, Mullen and Ivery talking in the gardens below him as they unloaded a small handcart -everyone in that house occupied but he.

Was this it? Was this to be his life now, days just idled away in that empty house? He had made the decision to return there, to try and take up the responsibilities he had been avoiding since his parents' deaths, but where did he begin? Most other nobles were content to let their seneschals keep rein of their sprawling estates, diverting themselves with their own interests, the usual round of balls and hunts and pointless decadence. Or they would instead turn their eyes and hands to the city itself, building their power through trade and politics. Valygar did not deny that for those like Nalia, great things could be done in those intimate meetings between nobles that took place so far from the hushed bustle of the Council Buildings. But these subtle pursuits were not for him.

So, what was then? Deril was still a free man, a murderer and necromancer both -perhaps Valygar could resume his investigations. But such felt like a disheartening returning to his old ways, and in that moment his heart longed for those days he had been out with Suna and others, that feeling he was working for the good of all while living life free from any expectations but his own.

It was a few hours later when Minsc returned from the Promenade. He had had no luck as yet, though he remained hopeful that he would find a suitable caravan in time and they ate dinner together in the warm kitchens, the backdoor opened to the cool twilit gardens. Valygar could not bear the idea of being waited upon in the huge dining hall- though he could tell his presence there was a source of discomfort for some, Mab disappearing as soon as their meal was served, no doubt going off to join the rest of the servants wherever they had gathered to take their own supper.

Valygar leaned back in the hard wooden chair, pushing his empty plate away from him, cleared by appreciation of the efforts gone to make it rather than any desire for the food. The moments were creeping slowly by, marked the fitful spiting of the heart, an irregular clock to measure the long evening ahead. Minsc was opposite him and just as reflective; it was still too early to retire and they both knew it.

Valygar sighed and pushed his chair back. He was not usually a proponent of such things, but-

'A drink, Minsc?'

**…**

'Well, both were drunk and a fight was soon to follow- Vegrun and Halgard falling out the tavern to scuffle in the muddy street, each too drunk to land a blow. And then this great shout, '_Vegrun!_' splits the calls of those gathered, quickly followed by a piercing shriek of '_Halgard!_' And these two men, the greatest warriors of our Fang, who only moments before so full of fight, are now on their feet and quailing under the tongues of their angry wives, who scolded the torn clothes and muddied furs, and dragged each home like a wayward child.'

Valygar joined Minsc in his deep bellowing laugh. The Copper Coronet was livelier that he remembered it, the tavern packed with smiling patrons, the air a cacophony of laughter and shouts for service, more maids than he had recalled working there before, hurrying between the tables. He and Minsc were standing back from chaos though, at the bar as they took their ale. Valygar had never been given chance to appreciate it before, but Minsc was quite good company. Even their training session together at the elven city had left few opportunities for talk, but it seemed the man had a wealth of tales, from his homeland and his travels both.

'Ah, the women of Rashemen have an inborn fire -like a belly full of _jhuild_,' Minsc laughed, Hendak smiling as he stepped from the back to find them at the bar.

'Ah, Minsc and Valygar,' the old gladiator greeted, 'Bernard said you were about. The next round is on me, my friends, for there is much for men such as we to celebrate at the moment.'

Valygar smiled, nodding his thanks as the man refilled his cup. 'You seem in good spirits, Hendak.'

'Indeed, it is so. There have been many more arrests of slavers and their foul ilk in the slums and all over the city of late. Isea's trial produced many names – those men who would deal in it, the nobles who would find entertainment in it and those guards who would turn palm up and eyes away to allow it to continue. The Magistrates are eager to show that, in the City of Coin, there are some things which _cannot_ be bought.'

'Ah, good news indeed!' cried Minsc earnestly, 'All those who would profit in such misery should be brought to justice!'

Hendak nodded, his manner graver as he leaned in. 'But for all that, be wary, my friends. Many here view you as heroes for your part in first exposing Lehtinan's crimes, but there will be others, especially in the slums, who are looking to make an example of men such as we.'

Minsc slammed down his mug with a defiant 'Ha!' to send froth sloshing over the counter.

'Boo knows we do not fear them! Such slavers deserve all they reap, and we have seen the end of many more since then –the red-skinned Ehid walks no more among the living, this I know.'

'Ehid Brask is dead?' confirmed Hendak. Minsc nodded proudly.

'Yes, killed on Brynnlaw when the gods blessed us with a second meeting.'

'Well, that _is_ some news,' the gladiator laughed, 'but mind to whom you speak it, that is all I ask –ah, a moment, friends.' And Hendak was suddenly gone, moving to help the maid who had just arrived back with her order.

Valygar watched him go, turning to Minsc to offer further caution against spreading tales of their exploits too loudly, though he was not given the chance.

'Waukeen's Purse, you're a tall one!' laughed an amiable voice behind him, Valygar turning to find a short, well-rounded man staring up at Minsc, the tray of drinks he bore suddenly forgotten. 'You two mercs, aye? I don't suppose you want to serve as caravan guards, do you? I've one leaving in a few days and the pay is good.'

'Valygar is no mercenary,' explained Minsc, 'but I seek such work -to where are you heading?'

The merchant looked surprised he even cared enough to ask.

'Why, south to Brost and then depending on the trade, perhaps east across to Riatavin – could keep you in work for a good month or so, there and back.'

But Minsc was shaking his head. 'I am sorry, but it is north we seek to travel.'

'Ah, a shame, truly,' the man sighed, 'for we could have used the extra muscle. There a rumours of fighting in Tethyr, though the reports change every day –probably those damn revolutionaries stirring up trouble again. Still, better to outlay a little more on guards, than lose your entire caravan, as my father would say. Well, a good evening to you both.'

And he bustled back to his table, the silence he left them in holding a suddenly sombre air that Valygar broke with the inevitable question.

'What will happen when you do return to Rashemen, Minsc? You said you will be judged –but what will that mean for you?'

Minsc finished a long draft of ale with a shrug.

'I do not know, and Boo does not think it wise to dwell upon it. The Council of the Wychlaran will find me guilty of failing my witch, for indeed it is so. Elder Yundra may speak words to assure it was not a matter of my cowardice though -and that I have taken the life of Dynahier's murderer will be acknowledged, as well, when it comes to my sentence.'

'And then what?'

Another despondent shrug. 'I may be sent to patrol the icelands with the others who commit crimes not serious enough to warrant death -or perhaps some other punishment, and then when my time is served, I- I do not know. I have no family. I was born and raised in a small village, Mutarnn, in the wooded valleys just north of Lake Tirulag. My mother died in birth, my father caring for me on his own, but soon he came to see I was not as the other boys, their minds as quick as the bright little fish we would spend our summers catching. He disowned me and I would have been without any rank or hope of life, if it had not been for Master Janiev, the ranger of our valley.'

Minsc smiled, clearly finding in him the father he had been denied. 'He took me in, teaching me the ways of the land and creatures, their slow habits suddenly laid clear before my eyes and it was in that time, I came upon Boo and such an alliance was born! None could hunt as we, me and my master and Boo, even Deepwinter finding us returned from the forests with spoils, and my worth to the village was, at last, shown to all.'

The smile lingered a moment, warm with memories, and then faded. 'Master Janiev died when I reached my twentieth winter. The Elders of Mutarnn asked me to take on his mantle, but I knew there were just as many in the village who believed me unworthy. A war of words was brewing, and I left to spare the village. I followed the call for warriors north to Mulptan, joining a Fang under the old chieftain Hulgrag, and it was there I met Dynaheir. She was serving in the city with her Wychlaran sisters, in command of the warrior bands that served that province. Ah, good were those days, our band travelling the wilds on horse and foot, earning honours in battle and serving our land, and when it came for her to leave on her Dajemma, of all the brave warriors of our Fang, it was I she chose!'

His voice swelled with the pride of it, his face glowing, before his expression fell to dejection once more. 'But I failed her, and now when I return, all those who before tried to dissuade her from me will know they were right. No Fang will take me now, this I know –for to fail your witch is to fail all of Rashemen. But perhaps I will be able to return to my village, or find work on a farm or boat in Mulptan. Boo tells me I must try, and it will be good to return to my homeland.'

Valygar frowned, angered by his willingness to submit to this injustice –a warrior of his skill reduced to labourer by circumstances beyond his control.

'And is that what Dynaheir would have wanted for you? Is that what you think she envisaged when she vouched for you to attend her on her Dajemma?'

Minsc shook his head, stubbornly dropping his attention to his pocket, scooping the yawning hamster into his hand.

'It matters not. I must return… I failed and I must face their judgement.'

And they returned to their drinks in silence.

xxx

The Promenade was its usual bustle of merchants and those there browsing the many stalls looking for those final bargains of the day as the owners tried to clear those wares that would not keep the night. Minsc stood on the western steps watching the coloured canopies flap listlessly in the warm breeze, bright in the sunlight that poured through the archway at his back, Boo sat on the plinth of the great stone lion next to him enjoying a quick wash.

It had taken a while when he had first left his homeland to grow accustomed to the size of those foreign cities, the maze of buildings that stretched seeming without end -the great settlements of his home suddenly small by comparison. He had been frustrated, at first, the places and food so different from the home he had left, the people seemingly mocking him in their language that sounded like the sing-song prattle of children at play. But the honour of serving Dynaheir on her Dajemma had kept him resolute, and the babble of their tongues had finally, with his witch's help, become the intelligible Chondathan he spoke now.

How would those Rashemi cities seem now, upon his return? Would his people welcome him back, or would _he_ be the foreigner after so long away? Minsc grunted to himself, scooping Boo back into the pocket of his jerkin. It mattered not -he was to return to face judgement and that was what he would do.

It had been a few days since they had arrived back in Athkatla, the end of Ches a mix of hot days and muggy nights that made him long for the cool fresh winds of his home. The press of bodies about him was almost unbearable as he stepped down into the market to make one final round before he returned to Valygar's house for another night, though a shrill noise to his right caught his attention before he could get very far, cutting through the hawking merchants and in his pocket he felt Boo stir.

'Father- Father, no!'

It was an angry voice -not loud, but discordant its frustration, Minsc's great head swivelling to the source to find the argument that was in full swing before the stall a few paces away, a slight young woman trying in vain to halt the stout man next her, both hands clasped about his thick arm as they argued. In figure, they were different enough, though they both possessed the same fair hair and long noses that marked them as relations, the merchant's jowls trembling unpleasantly as he finally shook her off.

'No, I will hear no more, Catrin!' he snapped, holding up a hand to preclude any reply, his manner far more personable as he closed the last few steps to Minsc's side.

'Good sir, please, I would have words with you. I am Rigo, Rigo Nir, I deal in ceramics and I have heard from the merchants about here you are looking to serve on a caravan heading north, yes? I have one travelling to the Gate tomorrow, but one of my guards has pulled out –I wonder if you would be interested in taking his place?'

'You would leave on the morrow?' confirmed Minsc, his mind considering the fact and finding it more than acceptable. 'Yes, this would please me greatly.'

Rigo looked beyond relieved, his ruddy face split with a smile.

'Ah, that is excellent news -the caravan master was threatening to leave without my own wagons, were they not adequately protected. The pay will be fifty gold pieces, though all your food and lodging will be covered by the caravan. You can collect you wage from the Seven Suns trading coster once you arrive in the Gate. You'll be serving with two others, Brun and Ossio, both old hands, so they'll see you straight. I believe they and the other guards are often found drinking in the backroom of the Crossed Keys of an afternoon –why don't you go and meet them, get a feel for the company you will be keeping before you leave, eh?'

Minsc nodded once. 'Yes, Boo approves of this course.'

A flicker of doubt crossed the man's face; his daughter seized her chance.

'But father-'

'Hush, girl. Well, until tomorrow then.' Rigo smiled, resolute it seemed, the man thrusting a soft hand towards him, and a handshake sealed the thing.

Minsc turned, heading back to the western steps, a new hope rising in him. Tomorrow he would be leaving, each step taking him closer to his homeland –and his judgement.

His own step faltered just under the western archway, Boo peeking his head from his pocket to give an inquiring squeak, and he let the creature clamber onto his hand, his velvety fur a comfort as he tried to ignore the small squirming doubt that writhed, black and oily in his stomach. He knew what his return would mean, had always known ever since he had been forced to watch from between the bars of his cage as good Dynaheir was murdered before him. But it seemed his words to Valygar the other night had awoken something in him, some strange spark of dissent.

Minsc knew he was not the wisest of men, his mind taking time to work through matters others seemed to come to as instinct, but the long hot nights had given him more than enough time for thinking as he had lain awake talking over matters with Boo. The law demanded he return and pay for his failure, and his heart did long to see his homeland once again. But would the judgement the Wychlaran reached truly restore his stolen honour? Boo was unsure, and with that Minsc's doubt could only grow.

He stared down at the hamster he held, the tiny inkblot eyes gazing gravely back at him. Valygar had been right, both he and Boo knew this; they did great things there in the Sword Coast and now he was to return to his village in an air of failure that would forever mar the rest of his life. Was that right?

Minsc shook himself, placing Boo gently back in his pocket and continuing his pace, unused to such thoughts. The laws of the Wychlaran demanded restitution and he _would_ return to make it.

The Crossed Keys was a small, dingy tavern a few streets west on that hazy border where the trade quarter merged gradually into the slums. And it was no nicer inside the place, the few tables covered in empty cups though they could barely be scene through the fog of pipesmoke. Minsc felt Boo fidget in his pocket.

'I know, Boo, we will not stay long. Barkeep,' he continued more loudly to the tall, gangly man who was stood behind the counter, 'I look for your backroom.'

'Do you now?' the man leered, eyeing him up and down with a wry smile before nodding to the door to their left. 'It ain't locked.'

'My thanks.'

The room beyond was small, though thankfully much clearer without the reek of the pipeweed, the two windows boarded up against the day and the only light came from the wide ring of candles hung above them. A single long table was set beneath it, the five men, two thick-set and one robed, who had been seated about it drinking, slowly making to their feet.

'Well, well,' drawled the man at their centre, his dark eyes as black as his hair in the gloom, 'who's this then?'

'I am Minsc. Rigo has hired me as a guard on your caravan.'

A ripple of low laughter. The man smiled, the scar on his cheek twisting. 'Is that so?'

Minsc nodded, a hand clamped over his pocket as Boo writhed madly within –something was very wrong.

'Minsc, Minsc,' came one of the other men, tapping his weak chin thoughtfully, 'I believe I've heard that name before… Yeah, weren't you one of those who broke up the slavers ring here in the slums?'

Minsc nodded proudly. 'Yes, that is I.'

'What, that group who freed the slaves and killed Lehtinan?' asked one of the others.

'Oh, yes, a glorious battle that was!'

'And who murdered Ehid Brask on Brynnlaw?' came the dark-haired man slowly.

'Yes, that was…' Minsc stopped. The men about him shared a smile, though only the one at their centre spoke.

'Ehid was a fine chief to those under him, and there's a lot of people who will pay good money to see you in chains –Get him!'

The men scattered at his shout, Minsc bellowing his rage as he grappled with the two men who had suddenly grabbed his arms.

'Quickly, now!'

The weak-chinned man opposite had whipped out a long slender wand, levelling the pale switch at him from the other side of the table, eyes screwed up as he summoned the magics. A fizzle of yellow sparks and nothing more, the surrounding men glancing wildly between them as its wielder spat panicked accusations at their resident mage.

'You- You said it would paralyse him!'

The dark-skinned mage chuckled genially. 'Oh, my apologies gentlemen, but I fear someone else gave me a better offer –Best of luck!'

And the crack of his teleportation spell was barely audible over Minsc's roar, a raw power surging through him as a wild fury exploded within – he would never be caged again!

'Hold him still! Perhaps-'

The instructions were lost as one of the men still trying to wrestle him down was thrown into the table, a single punch felling the other, the man dead at his feet as Minsc at last drew his sword.

The stocky man was already staggering upright, narrow-eyed as he hefted the blade in his hand, the remaining two men taking a similar stance on the other side of the table. Minsc did not give them chance to bring their numbers to bear upon him, driving his sword spear-like at the stocky man's stomach, the low-hanging chandelier and close walls giving him little hope of any of his more powerful swings.

The stocky man parried the thrust, but falteringly so, Minsc given no time to press the advantage as their dark-haired leader appeared behind, the ranger kicking a chair into his path. The leader stumbled forward and it would have been an easy kill, had it not been for his burly ally, the man lunging a stab at Minsc's chest, his greatsword heaved up to block the blow and Minsc did not see the dagger that flashed in his off hand until it was too late.

A white hot tooth between his ribs, Minsc's rage and anguish one as he smashed his fists and the sword pommel clenched within into the man's jaw, the table preventing his opponent's retreat as Minsc's blade pressed forward, biting into his thick neck. A spray of blood, and he collapsed with a low gurgle.

The remaining pair had regrouped by now, circling him warily as he staggered back a few paces into the room. A wounded man was twice the danger of a whole one, at least in the beginning -the dark leader watching him, tensed and ready, his weak-chinned second trembling as he adjusted and readjusted the grip on his dagger. The leader moved first, feinting a blow to his shoulder that Minsc exposed a flank to block, the dark man yelling his order.

'Lejun, finish him, you coward!'

Minsc twisted, feeling yet more sinew in his side tear as he made a desperate swing behind him. Lejun was poised, the dagger only inches from his back and Minsc saw in it his end, his anger at this injustice voiced in a great bellow and the man's nerve finally failed him. A choked whimper and he was running for the door, the man he left screaming a curse after him as he made one last stab at victory. Minsc whirled just in time to catch the thrust, parrying it with a swing that cut a swathe through his hip and the man lurched sideways, coughing black blood across the surface as he clung vainly to the table, before his strength failed him.

Minsc stared down at the body through pain-dimmed eyes, the world swimming about him. He was breathing heavily, the deep lungfuls never quite sating his dizzying lust for air, and he felt as though he was drowning, the man only just managing to stop his arms trembling long enough to sheath his gory blade. His side was on fire, hot blood seeping through the fingers of the hand he had clamped over it.

Lejun had left the door wide open, and Minsc staggered after him. The bar was deserted, the ranger stumbling through the muddle of empty chairs and out into the street where passers-by stop to point and gawk, but lent no aid. He made it to the end of the building before his knees buckled, the man collapsed and panting in the gutter, the glowing amber sky above him suddenly shaded by a dark silhouette.

It was the merchant's shrill daughter, her young face glazed with tears as she choked through her sobs.

'Oh, gods, there's blood everywhere. Oh, this is all my fault –I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. My father did not want to do this, but he was so frightened of them harming me. I'm so sorry, I- I'll get help, I swear it.'

Minsc tried to halt her, but the words would not come, a groan dying on his lips as the girl stumbled back from him, her feet clattering on the cobbles as she fled off down the street, footsteps fading along with the world as Minsc finally lost consciousness.

xxx

The stylus scratched over the parchment, smooth and without the halting and hesitance that would lead to blots on the fine black trail it left. It had been a while since Valygar had written for any length of time, and it had taken some practise to get back the drills of his youth, as proved by the mess of smudges and blots that had been his first draft.

He withdrew the stylus, letting it hover at a safe distance from the letter as he stretched out his back. He was in what had been his father's study, the small room well lit by the large window behind him, even as the dusk drew in, the solid mahogany desk and large chair set before it practically the only pieces of furniture in there, for the man would have any books he desired brought up from the library a floor beneath, and the room felt uncluttered and airy even for its smaller size.

A glance to his first letter and Valygar stooped once more to resume his transcribing. It had been a few days now since his return, and life there in Athkatla was rolling quietly along. He had not seen much of Minsc over those last few days, the man spending most of his time out in the city looking for some means north, and he himself had been busy, too. Nentat had more than encouraged his newfound interest in the estate and he had been learning from the old seneschal about the lands his family held, how they were used now and what improvements could perhaps be made, Valygar still determined to build a legacy for his family to replace the heir he could not bring himself to give them.

But that had not kept him at the house entirely and he had been about the city a few times on his own errands. He had seen Anomen once, a chance meeting on the main bridge that linked the government district to the merchants' quarter bringing the two of them together for a short exchange. The younger man seemed much happier in himself, talking of the Order and his trials training the new squires, the young paladin, Erick, gravely silent at his side, though that was perhaps to be expected –the only occasion they had met before, Valygar had been a willing accomplice in the theft of his friend's body. He had dropped in at Fritha's theatre too, just to let them know their Patron was alive and well enough. They had just decided on a new production, a musical play which Higgold seemed to think Fritha would have approved of, though some of his cast looked little enthused –according to Meck, not all of them could sing.

Valygar leaned back in his chair with a sigh. The world was changing about him… and he had to change as well.

He signed his name with barely a flourish, dusting the paper with powdered cuttlebone and folding the parchment up to write the direction on the back. The candle before him provided the heat, the sealing wax patting to congeal like blood over the open edge, and he let it cool a moment before pressing the fat signet ring that encircled his thumb into the still malleable wax, a polite knock sounding on the door before him as he pulled it cleanly away.

'Enter.'

It was Ivery, the man bobbing the quick nod of acknowledgement that Valygar preferred over the unnecessary shows of subservience others of his circle insisted upon.

'My lord, there is a gentleman downstairs awaiting you -he says he is known to you. We showed him into the drawing room.'

Valygar nodded, the chair moving noiselessly back over the thick rug as he made to rise and pass the man the square of parchment.

'Good. Please take this over to the couriers.'

Another brisk nod and Ivery was gone, clearly hoping to catch the place before they closed for the evening, and Valygar made his own way down the stairs to show himself into the drawing room. And there in the doorway he stopped, frozen as he stared at the man just seated mildly in an armchair before the windows, as though those fifteen years had never passed.

'_Alergard?_'

xxx

Anomen drew a deep breath of cool air, a memory of the day's warmth still lingering in the breeze as the dusk fell, the man following Simon and Erick through the Promenade where the merchants were packing away their stalls for another day. He had been out of the city that day with Erick and two other knights on the training grounds the Order held just beyond the walls, supervising the younger squires as they were drilled in sword and mace and unarmed combat. They had ended the day with a small tournament that was borne more as games than anything serious, one of his healing skills always essential for such events, though there were few injuries this time outside of the expected scrapes and bruises.

It had been a fine day, the field warm under the high sun and rich with the scent of the drying grass, the air ringing with the clash of blunted swords and the shouts of triumph and laughter, and it reminded him of his own training at the seminary –well perhaps not the laughter; training was a serious matter there, and such antics had been frowned upon.

At one time, he would have agreed with them, but he could see now the many small joys that could be taken in life and he wondered not for the first time, how different his path would have been, who he would have become, had his father not first stood in his way all those years ago.

The Golden Scales was quiet, the hour not yet late enough to see the tavern filled with the local merchants, enjoying a drink and talk of business with the rivals who became friends as soon as the markets closed. The three took their usual table before the windows, just back from the bustle of doors, their presence there common enough in days past to get them a nod from the barman and Anomen knew three tall mugs of the local ale would be arriving soon afterwards.

'So, how went the training today?' asked Simon with his usual cheer. Erick nodded his thanks to the maid who had just arrived with their drinks.

'Well, the boys are coming along –I saw a most notable change in young Rheden now he has overcome his homesickness.'

'Ah, poor lad. I always felt lucky in that, for my family were always but an half hour's walk away. Were you ever homesick, Erick -it's seems so long ago now we were that young, I can barely recall it.'

The paladin shrugged, swallowing the ale he had just drawn to offer, 'Not particularly. The roads up to Waterdeep are fast and well-travelled, and I kept in close contact.'

'Oh, I remember now,' the squire cried, 'I had half the boys in my dormitory convinced you were already betrothed, sixteen or not, the amount of letters you used to receive.'

Anomen laughed along with Simon, Erick sending them an indulgent smile over the rim of his cup. Neither of them needed to ask if Anomen himself had been homesick on leaving for the seminary at thirteen –they all knew he could not wait to get away from the place.

'So how did Sir Wyse have you whiling away your day?' asked Erick. Simon grinned.

'Not so pleasantly as you, I fancy. I spent much of my time attending him at the Council Buildings as he held a meeting with General Heridus and Minister Igave –there could be trouble in the south and the Council may want our involvement.'

'The siege in Murann?' asked Anomen.

'No, much further south -outside of Amn. There are rumours of some giant band ranging about Tethyr, though reports are sketchy at best and we have yet to hear of any true conflicts. The Council of the Six sent an offer of aid to Queen Zaranda, as their forces are much reduced since the trouble there. But with the recent territory disputes and boundary shifts, the Council doubt they will invite Amnian troops in any number across the border. And so the Order has been asked to make a similar offer of aid to our brothers at the Order of the Silver Chalice -though it is all still just rumours, it may turn out there is no trouble to quell.'

Anomen nodded soberly. 'Well, let us hope-' He paused, his eyes caught by the tall figure passing their table, the young woman hardly noticing them, intently scanning the tavern about her as she was, the skirts of her long green gown sweeping over the floorboards and Anomen had to look hard to be sure –she looked much different with her hair loose.

'Er, Lady Brieanna?'

The woman started, glancing down to finally note them. 'Oh, Sir Anomen- a good evening to you, sirs –ah, please do not rise.'

'Will you not then join us, my lady?' offered Simon relaxing back into his chair and the woman shook her head.

'Thank you, no, I am actually supposed to be meeting Lady Irlana and a few of the other young women of the Order, though I fear I may have misheard the meeting place.' She gave a brisk laugh, her mistake seemingly more diversion than distress. 'This city is so much larger than to where I am accustomed.'

'Where are you from, my lady?' asked Erick.

'The temple dedicated to St Rielle just east of Vallumscourt, where the fort guards the pass through the Troll Mountains –I took my holy orders there while still a girl and trained with the local militia.' She sent another contemplative frown across the tavern about her. 'Perhaps I shall try over at the Golden Goose. Have a pleasant evening, sirs.'

A swish of green and she was turned and disappearing through the door, Simon watching that swinging curtain of rich brown hair until the wood closed upon it.

'Ah, it is pleasing to see the lady settling here –Irlana has a gift for putting people at ease. You know she asked after Fritha the other day,' he continued, drawing an absent mouthful of his drink and deftly avoiding Erick's instant frown, 'and we got to talking about the last time she had seen her, at the Feast of the Moon –I was so disappointed to discover I had missed hearing Fritha play.'

Anomen smiled faintly, happy in recalling it even after all that had happened since.

'She was not so eager to volunteer her talents at the time- I doubted any would have heard her had it not been for Squire Marc's obvious reluctance.'

Simon was beaming. 'Ah, how very like her. You know, I never told you this, but if you hadn't been so keen on her, I would have definitely pursued her myself.'

'Simon!' hissed Erick. The squire ignored him.

'Well, it is done now… Lady Brieanna is lovely is she not –not that she is my particular preference. No, I always favoured more lively girls.' He began to laugh. 'Do you recall the time Fritha-'

'Simon!' the paladin snapped more loudly, Simon finally losing patience with the man.

'Erick, will you stop saying my name! We cannot just pretend she does not exist!'

'It is fine, Erick,' Anomen forestalled as the paladin drew an indignant breath, 'Simon is right; we cannot just forget her and I would not even if I could.'

'So,' Simon continued, downing the last of his ale with a discontented sigh, 'are we having another in here or-'

The door burst open, Brieanna suddenly in the mouth and looking grave. Anomen was on his feet in an instant.

'My lady?'

'Ah, Sir Anomen,' she gasped, 'you are still here, thanks be! I have just seen your companion, Minsc. He was being carried along the street by some Ilmateri –he looks to have been gravely wounded.'

xxx

The man was smiling, lined face creasing at his mouth and eyes.

'It has been a long time, has it not, Valygar?'

Valygar nodded, his voice coming out in a croak in his surprise. 'That it has.'

The old man's smile broadened, the neat and now grey beard standing out on his darkly tanned skin, a strange inverse of the pale, dark-haired man who had once been his tutor. The keen black eyes were still the same though, the depths now regarding him with a fond appraisal as Valygar finally crossed the threshold and Alergard politely rose to greet him.

'And what a man you have become. You were but a boy when I left here, a sulky fourteen year old who would rather play hunter in the gardens, than sit at his lessons. Why so wary, boy? Are you too grown now to give welcome to your old teacher?'

'Forgive me, Alergard, you are welcome,' Valygar finally managed, gesturing politely to the chair the man had just left as he took the one opposite, his weakened legs more than glad to be relieved of their burden, 'I just- it has been a while.'

His old tutor nodded. 'Aye, seventeen years and I feel them too; the winds of Mulhorand are hot and unforgiving.'

'Is _that_ where you have been? When my mother, well…'

'You can say it, boy,' Alergard chuckled, 'it was clear to both of us that if you were to continue your studies into the Weave you would need a firmer hand than I had the patience for. I wanted an apprentice thirsty to learn, not a boy who had to be dragged to every lesson –my leaving was best for us both, though I do wonder if your good parents managed to find a tutor to replace me.'

Valygar frowned, unwilling to recall his youth and his early lessons in the _art_ he now so reviled. 'They did not -not for any length of time anyway, and I feel it is a little late to begin again now, if that is why you have returned.'

Alergard rewarded his tight quip with another fond chuckle.

'Oh no, if I could not turn you to it then, I would hardly try now, would I?' He paused, his eyes sterner as he added, 'You have quite the reputation in my circles, young Valygar, though I would hope that those mages who are innocent of any crime have nothing to fear.'

'That is so, but you surely did not return here to ask me that.'

His old tutor smiled, reclining back in his chair in a manner Valygar recalled of him –where the lesson was about to be put on hold for some far more engaging story or anecdote, and Valygar could feel the boy inside him edging forward in his seat, eager to hear it.

'I have been travelling for, well, since I left here, letting my studies taking me where they willed. I was in Mulhorand these past three years when a spot of business drew me back to the Sword Coast –I had recently lost my patron and such research is never inexpensive. Ask any mage what his main spell component is and the truthful will answer _gold!_ It was only when I met with old Master Levido up in Alaghôn -beautiful city and the people are just as comely- it was a shame my visit was to be marred by such grim news. He told me your parents had passed on.' Alergard smiled, his face more sombre than it has been yet. 'I cannot say that it was that which has brought me to Athkatla, but since I was in the city, I thought to come and pay my respects.'

Valygar nodded deeply. 'I thank you, then, for taking the time.'

'It was the least I could do. They were good friends of mine. I kept in contact with your mother for years after I departed, though we eventually lost touch. Well,' he sighed, making to stand once more, Valygar hurrying to his feet as well, 'I suppose my obligations have been discharged and I have yet to find an inn for the night.'

'You are staying in the city?'

'Yes, well until my ship leaves four days hence.'

Valygar swallowed, a part of him still undecided even as the offer left his lips. 'I will have Mab prepare one of the guest rooms, if you wish.'

Alergard watched him a moment, when his face broke into a beaming smile.

'Well now, I should like that very much. Oh, don't trouble yourself,' he forestalled as Valygar reached for the bellpull, 'I know young Mab well enough to ask her myself.'

And Valygar watched as he strode from the room, humming cheerfully, the silence he left him in echoing with memories.


	3. Between the Lines

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Early publish this week as I'm going to Liverpool –so watch out all you Scousers! _;-D_ A quick thank you to my betas for their help and, of course, to everyone who left feedback –it's much appreciated. __Well, I'm off to catch a train –all together now! "Ferry, cross the Mersey…"_

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Between the Lines**

Minsc blinked, the unfamiliar ceiling above a cause for alarm as he recalled his last moments and he hurried to sit, fire screaming across his torso. A strong hand was pressing him back into the mattress, Minsc's panic subsiding as his gaze fell upon the young, bearded face of Anomen.

'Steady there,' he admonished gently, 'you'll reopen the wound. How are you feeling?'

'Well enough,' Minsc grunted, pain flaring all through his side as he sank back into the pillows, his eyes falling on the small table next to him and the gingery blot of fur sat patiently upon it.

'He was worried for you,' Anomen smiled, Minsc reaching out to let the hamster climb upon his hand.

'Ah, poor Boo, I know you tried to tell me of the danger. Where are we?' he continued, gazing about the small plain cell he had awoken within, his bed, that table and Anomen's chair the only furniture that was and indeed, could be fit into such a cramped space.

'One of the guest rooms in the temple to Ilmater. Brieanna saw you being carried there and came to fetch me. You were lucky the priests found you when they did –another few moments and you would have been beyond our aid.'

Minsc shook his head. 'It was no chance: a trap was laid for me. I was approached yestereve by a merchant desiring of guards for his caravan. I followed his directions, but discovered instead a group of slavers who sought revenge from my hide. They had pressed the merchant to this evil –but they were themselves betrayed, by a mage of their company, and I was able to slaughter all but one –though not without taking a blade myself. It was the merchant's daughter, pressed by guilt of her father's acts, who came to my aid and summoned the priests. But this is but the beginning –Come, we must return to Valygar and tell him of this, that we may decide our next.'

Anomen drew back, looking somewhat embarrassed.

'I- I cannot, Minsc, my knight will be expecting my attendance at the Order –I have my duties now. And you yourself should not leave your bed until you have been checked over once more,' Anomen continued, a single pace taking him to the door, 'Sister Ingrid?'

Minsc relaxed back into the pillows, watching the hamster watch him from the middle of his chest –Boo agreed with Anomen and both were right; he needed to be healed before anything else could be done.

He lay still and compliant as Sister Ingrid examined his wound, a few more prayers helping the healing along, before she bound him up again and proclaimed him well enough to leave, though she warned against any further _strenuous activities_ until he was fully healed. Outside, the sun was already cresting the eastern roof tops, the warmth on his back a comfort as he and Anomen made their farewells.

'I thank you for your aid last night, young Anomen.'

The knight looked rather saddened by his formality. 'Ah, Minsc, you do not have to thank me, and the Ilmateri had well matters in hand.'

The morning bells pealed across the city, Anomen glancing up at the sound.

'Sir Ryan will be waiting –I will have to go, Minsc. Are you sure you can make it back to-'

'I am fine, young Anomen –Boo will not see me collapsed in the street. Go, you are late.'

'If you need me for anything, just send word and I shall ask Sir Ryan-'

'Yes, yes, now go.'

And Minsc watched as Anomen nodded once and marched off down the street as fast as decorum would allow him to go, Minsc setting forth at his own much slower pace back to Valygar's home. Anomen was returned to his old life, one of rules that Minsc did not quite understand, but Valygar was not so constrained, and those slavers would soon be brought to pay for their crimes -that he swore.

xxx

Valygar had not been so concerned by Minsc's absence the previous evening, after all the man was free to come and go as he pleased. But his non-attendance at breakfast had caused a momentary worry, that was until the kitchen door had opened and the man himself had limped through, Mab giving a cry as her eyes fell upon the bloodstained tunic he wore. Minsc's reassurances that both it and the wound were long dried did little to calm the girl, and she was still fussing over him now, pouring his tea and adjusting the cushion she had fetched to spare his back from the hard wooden chair, and Valygar suspected she would have cut his food up for him if Minsc had let her. It was only when he had suggested Minsc may have wished for a bath after his ordeal that she left them, bustling off to stoke the fire in the washroom, a stern silence falling over the two men.

'So, you were on the wrong side of someone's temper last night?'

Minsc gave a grim laugh. 'Indeed, it is so. Men came in revenge for Ehid's death. They joined him in it, all but one.'

'You look as though you could have been in their number,' offered Valygar with a nod to the large brown stain on his green tunic, the fabric torn and already fraying. Minsc nodded gravely.

'Indeed, the Ilmateri have my thanks -Boo says I owe they and the young Anomen much.'

'Anomen was there?'

'The warrior, Brieanna, saw me carried down the street and summoned him to me. He stayed the night at my side, though this morning sees him returned to his Order.' The Rashemi shook his head, frowning slightly, 'Such a strange life, where men must go where they are told, not to where evil pulls them.'

'He seems happy enough with it,' shrugged Valygar, making no comment as to the irony of the Rashemi's words. 'But what of these men? Do you think there are more?'

'I do not know, but Boo believes he knows someone who will. The one that first sent me to this trap is a merchant of the Promenade. Boo says we should speak to him to learn our next step.'

'Agreed,' said Valygar, finishing his tea in toast to the decision, 'And though I doubt you will meet him, I believe I should tell you we have a guest staying here at the house for the time being. He is just an old friend of the family –he will not be here long.'

xxx

Waukeen's Promenade awoke with the sun and was already bustling with people by the time they had arrived, especially about the stalls of fresh produce, where servants from the noble houses haggled over the food that would be gracing their masters' tables that day. The small ceramics stall in the south of the arena was much quieter, the merchant and his daughter stood in the mouth of the tent that held most of their wares, the pair framed by the canopied counter before them as Catrin lectured at her father.

'He will be here soon, Father, so you better have the payment ready -I told you we should have-'

'Hello Rigo.'

The merchant whipped around at Minsc's measured greeting, the man visibly paling as he stared up at them, a tentative smile pulling back his fleshy jowls.

'Ah, h-hello friends, should you not be with the caravan?'

'Do not mock us!' roared Minsc, the dishes on the counter between them chiming threateningly, 'You sent us to our end and Boo would know why!'

'I- I don't-'

Catrin forestalled his feeble protestations. 'I told him, Father.'

Rigo whipped to her, eyes suddenly blazing.

'You _foolish_ girl! I told you to keep out of this! Have you any idea what they will do to us, when they find out!' He drew back a hand to strike her, the girl defiant, and the swing ended as an embrace, the man pulling his daughter to him as he cried, 'Oh, Catrin, my Catrin, so brave like your mother. Go,' he snapped to the two men still watching the scene, 'leave before they see us speaking and think I warned you myself!'

Minsc was not so readily dismissed. 'No, Boo will have answers!'

'Please, Father,' Catrin begged, 'tell them -they may be able to help.'

Valygar nodded, trying to bring some calm to the meeting. 'We understand there are many slavers in the city who want revenge upon us, but why did they bring you into it?'

Rigo released his daughter, moving a half pace from her as though he did not want her to share in his shame as he admitted, 'I- I used to work as a contact for the slavers, letting the right people know when shipments would be arriving and where the auctions would be held. I am not proud of my part in the trade, but I was young with a wife and a baby just starting out in life and I needed the coin. Well, the guilt caught up with me after a couple of years and I got out of it. I would not have thought any would have remembered those days, but Ehid's old gang apparently did. They said I owed them a favour, that if I refused they would expose me as the man I once was and take my daughter, as well.' He sighed heavily, 'Though many are glad the slavers are being routed from the city, others are displeased, not least of all Ehid's men. As I understand it they lost contact with him a couple of months back and the latest rumours have it as your doing. They wished to capture Minsc here, a twisted justice and a way to earn them some coin, as well. But that clearly failed, and now they will just be out for blood.'

'And where are they based?' pressed Valygar, Rigo shaking his head angrily.

'I don't know! But I would find them before they find you –the way they see it, you took their livelihoods and they have little left to lose.'

Rigo whirled, a firm arm about his daughter as he ushered into the tent behind them and pulled the flaps closed.

Valygar frowned but made no move to follow them, Minsc at his side as they made their way back across the teeming arena, through the western archway to descend into the market square beyond. So, some group of slavers sought their deaths. If felt like something a responsible citizen would go to the Watch with, though in reality he knew there was little they could do, and having city guards poking around the slums would likely earn Rigo a swift retribution. He glanced to the man at his side, Minsc's eyebrows brought low in a frown as he likely consulted his hamster on the same problem, when a shrill cry halted their passage.

'Wait! Please, wait!'

It was Catrin, her deep blue skirts held up and showing the churning froth of petticoats beneath as she clattered down the steps after them.

'Please,' she gasped she finally reach his side, 'you must forgive my father, but fear binds him. Speak to Gorro; he works as a contact for Ehid's gang. It was he who they sent to threaten my father,' he faced twisted with am unflattering sneer, 'he may talk boldly, but he is a coward.'

'And where can we find him?' asked Valygar.

'I'm not sure, but he stays mostly within north-west of the slums; perhaps try the taverns there. He is carrot-haired and gangly, and you will know him by his cloak –bright scarlet, it is. He claims he took it from the body of a Flaming Fist mercenary who challenged him, though many doubt his claims. I- I'm sorry you have been brought into all this.'

Minsc sternly shook his head. 'Do not worry, young Catrin, all who have wronged you will find justice in my blade.'

Her face broke into a tentative smile. 'Thank you, sirs.'

And she was off, flying back up the steps, her footsteps echoing as she disappeared through the archway.

xxx

Jaheira let her eyes scan over the page unseeing, her mind focused upon other diversions as the breeze played with her short hair, stirring up the scent of leaf litter, damp bark and the faintest trace of newly opening blossoms, the canopy above swaying to dapple the forest floor with an ever-changing pattern of light. Life in Suldanessellar was unchanged in essence: slow and pleasant, the elves content to live at nature's pace rather than forging ahead, always on the press for something more as the human settlements seemed to run, and Jaheira had not felt such peace in years.

It was early Tarsakh, a promised day of uninterrupted sunshine after the few tenday of rains enticing them out of the city, their own much-reduced company being joined by the few soldiers, courtiers and priests they had befriended over the last month, all heading out into the forests on an impromptu picnic.

Jaheira smiled to herself, feeling warm and contented, her body light without the leather armour she was all too used to wearing, the thin cotton tunic allowing her to feel more of her surroundings. There had been the usual gathering of talk and food at first, their party settled on blankets and cushions under the trees, though the clearing was quiet now. An hour or so ago, someone had produced rackets and a shuttlecock for a game of battledore, Imoen cajoling Solaufein to pair with her after it became apparent Fritha would not be joining them. Jaheira let her eyes flick to the girl, just a blanket's width away and fast asleep under a large crimson parasol. She became tired much more easily than Jaheira had before realised, though without knowing the cause, she could provide little by way of a cure. Perhaps it was best the majority of their group had departed to find some space for their tournament, leaving the more sedate of them there; a pair of maids engaged in quiet chatter opposite her, while at the edge of the clearing, a courting couple lounged in a lazy embrace.

Jaheira went back to her book. The others had been gone a fortnight now. Fritha seemed better for their absence, though Jaheira was not sure from where such a change stemmed. It had been clear to all that Imoen missed Aerie and Haer'Dalis's company in those first few days, a breach that, though she had tried, with their differences in age and personality, Jaheira had found it impossible to fill. But perhaps Fritha recognised their frustrations and the sacrifice that was being made for her, for she had been making regular visits to the palace that last tenday, the girl joining Imoen and her elven friends, gathered in the gardens for talk and Imoen's much loathed embroidery, Fritha managing to smooth the disparity between the young human and the seemingly _younger_ maids. While other times would find them sharing instead more private moments in the small sitting room where they took their meals, the girls playing games and talking, Solaufein usually at their side, the man saying little but observing all as he no doubt worked on his Chondathan.

Jaheira glanced to her again, the girl sighing fitfully in her sleep. Fritha may not have moved back to the palace as she had been asked, and towards the evenings, Jaheira could see the strain of their company beginning to show, the girl's gaze often drawn to the window, perhaps longing for her small house on other side of city, but, for all that, she was most definitely trying.

'Fritha! Fritha! Look what Solaufein's got!'

And suddenly Imoen was bounding into the clearing, Solaufein but a pace behind her, the rest of the elves following in twos and threes, reactions to this exuberance ranging from amused to mildly scandalised. Even for the noise, Imoen would have been difficult to miss, wearing a tunic that matched her hair and a huge smile. The recent sunshine had brought out her freckles, the light stippling on each cheek lending all the more to her impish air.

'Please, Imoen,' cautioned Solaufein quietly, 'she may still be-'

But it was already too late for his warning, Fritha stirring at the cry of her name, the girl brushing the hair from her eyes and making a half-hearted attempt to tidy the nest of curls at her crown as she sat to greet their return, Imoen and a few of the elves assembling before her.

'Hello, how was your game?'

'Oh, Sofidha and Evarren won,' dismissed Imoen, 'but look what Solaufein's got!'

Fritha gazed at the large brown shell he brought from his bag, the size of an ostrich egg, the surface lined and wrinkled like a gnarled, tanned fist.

'Oh, a nut.'

'It's not _just_ a nut, Fritha,' laughed Imoen, 'It's from the Great Tree!'

'From the Tree of Life?' confirmed Jaheira –she did not even know it bore such fruit. The russet-haired elf she knew as Leidril nodded.

'The branches of the Great Tree stretch out for leagues all round here, though they rarely put forth fruit this far out. As we were all walking back, Ivella here,' he sent a smile to the blond and rather stern-looking woman next to him, 'spotted it hanging high in the boughs above us.'

'They are rare,' Ivella offered, taking up the tale, 'even back in the heart of the tree. Ellesime has the rights to all the ones that grow within the boundaries of the city, though that isn't many.'

'It is said they are imbued with the essence of the Tree and have magical properties!' breathed the much younger Floria, golden ringlets trembling, 'They say the meat of these nuts bestow the flawless beauty of Nature, which is why our Queen is so famed through all the lands.'

'Such is unproven, sister,' sighed Aust, with a roll of his fine green eyes, 'they are merely a delicacy that the court enjoys when it may.'

'You cannot say that for sure, brother, _you_ have never tasted them.'

'Yeah, well, either way,' interrupted Imoen, before this sibling squabble could get underway, 'one this far from the city is fair game for anyone lucky enough to stumble upon it, and everyone was gathered beneath talking about who would be able enough to climb up there and get it down, when Solaufein just tipped back his hat and_ phtt!_' With a flick of her wrist, Imoen mimed the knife he had no doubt thrown. 'Just nicked it out of the tree with his dagger. Just like that. It was amazing!'

'It _was_ a truly remarkable shot,' agreed Leidril. Ivella was nodding evenly.

'Yes, I never would have thought it possible.'

'And it was so high!' enthused Floria. Aust frowned.

'_I_ could have made it, had I my bow.'

Solaufein shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable with this praise even as he stooped in a bow, a hand and the large wrinkled shell it held outstretched before him.

'Here, Fritha, your prize.'

A glance between the assembled elves –it was clearly an offer of some significance to them, though Fritha was seemingly ignoring it, nodding her gratitude as though she had expected no less from the man.

'My thanks, Solaufein.'

The rest of the elves were all seated by now, Leidril and the others moving to sit with them, the group temporarily splitting as each race settled with their own tongue. Fritha shifted her pack, making room for Solaufein in the shade next to her as Imoen flung herself down on the blanket before Jaheira, face titled back as she enjoyed the sunlight. Fritha was gazing at the nut she now had balanced upon her upturned hand, the narrow lip where the two halves joined tightly sealed and Jaheira was just wondering whether they would be able to open it without damaging the shell when a tap of her fingers and Fritha was gently parting the two halves to reveal the pale treasure of meat within.

'How d'you do that?' asked Imoen. A quirk of Fritha's lips.

'Magic. Here, would you like some?'

They shared that half between them, Fritha passing the other to their elven friends to try. Jaheira licked her lips; the meat was sweet and rather oily, though other than that she found no more remarkable qualities –perhaps it was as Aust had said.

Imoen's face was screwed up, the girl trying to pick stray bits of nut from her teeth with her tongue. 'Well, it was all right. Not quite as nice as those sherry-soaked chestnuts Beth used to make.'

'It is quite oily,' said Fritha, the girl watching her fingers shimmer as she moved them.

'That's probably supposed to be good for you, too. Rub on your face. Let's see if Floria was right.'

Fritha shook her head, slowly massaging the oil into her hands. 'No, I don't want any artists on my conscience.'

Imoen laughed, licking her own fingers clean and wiping them on her trousers. 'I wonder what food they will lay on at this wedding. Ooo, a banquet –I'm already excited and it's still two tenday away.'

Jaheira smiled. The invitations had arrived with a courier that morning. Nalia's wedding was to be held at de'Arnise Keep on the twenty-fifth day of that month and she, Fritha and Imoen were all invited to share in her joy.

'And two tenday is plenty of time to have dresses made,' Imoen continued practically, 'I think mine will be… pink. What about you, Fritha?'

The girl shrugged. 'I haven't really thought about it.'

'You always liked blue -what about a light blue one, like the one Ellesime wore to that party?'

'Yes, perhaps.'

Imoen puffed a sigh, seemingly deflated by her lack of enthusiasm, the girl pushing a hand into her pocket to pull out a slightly crumpled square of parchment.

'And what is that you have there?' asked Jaheira suspiciously, though she felt she could have already made a guess. Imoen seemed to be _very_ focused on opening it out, and to the point where she could not even meet her eye.

'Just a letter.'

'It came with the same courier as the invitations, I suppose? I _knew_ I saw you stuffing something into your pocket this morning- you _said_ it was nothing.'

'Did I?' muttered Imoen innocently. Jaheira snorted. She had a pretty good idea who it was from, too, if the girl was inclined to be _that_ secretive. The druid understood it though, that desire to enjoy such things alone and let the pleasant stir of emotions fade a little before sharing it with the world. And apparently, Fritha recognised that look, as well.

'Another love letter?' she confirmed with a smile, 'You are building quite the collection.'

The pink was rising in Imoen's cheeks. 'It's _not_ a love letter-'

'Then a poem, perhaps?' offered Solaufein mildly. Imoen snorted.

'I _don't_ think so! Some soppy love poem- I'd sick up my guts.'

The drow raised an eyebrow. 'Very descriptive. I can see you have a flair for the poetic even if you disdain the thing.'

Jaheira smiled as the two girls laughed- his Chondathan was improving and with it was emerging a previously unheard wit –she wondered if he had ever before been given chance to exercise it.

'Go on then,' the druid sighed, gently batting away a rather persistent bee who had taken her thin, russet tunic as some strange bloom, 'what news does young Corthala send from the city?'

Imoen glanced up from the parchment. 'How did you know-? Oh, bugger off!' she laughed at the round of knowing smiles. 'Valygar says that everything is well. Minsc is staying at his house while he's still looking for passage north and Anomen seemed settled at the Order when he met him last. He also mentions that everyone's favourite Lathandite, the dishy Squire Simon-'

'Your words, I assume, not his,' quipped Jaheira.

'-may be _Squire_ no longer, for he is to be put forward for his knighthood this coming Greengrass.'

Fritha was smiling. 'Really? Oh, that is good news –I am so pleased for him.'

'I know,' grinned Imoen, making to fan herself with the parchment, '_Sir_ Simon –it just sounds _gallant._ Anyway, Valygar also says he dropped in at your theatre. Apparently, Higgold is renting out the playhouse of an evening to some Waterhavian troop, while they begin rehearsals for the _Minstrel and the Maiden_.'

Fritha frowned. 'But that is a musical play.'

'Yep, and apparently when he was there, Higgold told Valygar that casting has yet to be finalised, and he would be very glad to see you in it.'

Fritha smiled even as she shook her head. 'I think my days on the stage are over.'

'Days?' repeated Jaheira, 'It was _one_ evening, Fritha.'

'And that was all I needed to convince myself it was not the life for me.'

'You never said you were in a play,' cried Imoen eagerly, 'what part did you have?'

'I was the apprentice in the _Sorcerer's Bane_ for one night after our leading man fell ill –I wasn't very good.'

'You were fine, Fritha,' Jaheira corrected sternly, 'quite apart from the fact you learnt the entire part in a day.'

'Yes, all rather nerve-wracking, wasn't it?' the girl sighed absently, as though recalling a life long past now.

'Well,' continued Imoen, eyes back on the parchment, 'I'd offer this Higgold myself for the part of the maiden, but I think I might find the acting of it a bit of a stretch.'

Jaheira rolled her eyes as Fritha and Solaufein enjoyed a laugh, Imoen looking more than pleased -Amusement or admonishment, the girl revelled in both.

'Oh, and Meck says could you please come back, Fritha, and give him someone to talk to, because since the play was announced everyone has been spending every spare moment in the dressing room practising their scales, in anticipation of the music tutor Higgold's hired.' Imoen glanced up from the letter with a grin, 'So, who's this Meck then?'

'He's the messenger for the playhouse,' answered Fritha. Her friend's green eyes were instantly alight.

'Is he handsome?'

'He's about ten years old.'

'Oh well,' Imoen sighed, 'I'm better off with Sir Simon anyway.'

'_Squire_ Simon,' reminded Fritha, 'he's not knighted yet. You carry on like that and you'll jinx the boy.'

'Oh, what a shame that would be –I would have to do my _best_ to comfort him.'

'Imoen!' cried Jaheira, over the snorts of laughter, 'By Silvanus, was there something in your porridge this morning?'

The girl made no answer unless her giggling was to be counted. How telling that she seemed happy to flirt about every boy but the one who had taken the time to write to her.

'I'm glad everyone is well,' sighed Fritha, the girl stretching her legs out before her, her feet suddenly glowing white as they left the shade of the parasol. 'I think I may go for a walk and wake myself up. Do you want to come, Imoen?'

Her friend shook her head, now reclined upon the sun-dappled blanket, the letter held above her and shading her face she read it for what was likely the twentieth time.

'Nah, I'm happy here. You go ahead –don't do anything _I_ wouldn't do.'

Fritha just smiled, Solaufein already stood at her side, a hand reached down to help her to her feet, and the pair were moving off through the trees. Jaheira watched them go before returning to her book; it was as the sages said: spring was the hope of summer.

xxx

Their table was in the shadow of the bar, easily overlooked -even by the maids- and with a good view of the doors, he and Minsc keeping a close eye on them as they drank in steady silence. They were in The Yardstick, one of many grimy tavern brothels that dotted the north-west of the slums, each place holding the same air of drunken destitution, where the majority of the patrons went to escape their reality in the bottom of an ale cup, _or_ in a chalice of another sort, Valygar considered with some revulsion as he watched another man being led upstairs by a heavily-painted whore. The ranger shifted his weight on the ill-padded bench, raising his cup for another sour mouthful and displeased to find his sleeve peeling slowly from the table, clinging to what looked to be the sticky residue of a few days' spilt ale.

It had been three days now, each night finding them in a different round of taverns. But still there had been no sign – this Gorro was either lying low, or they had just been very unlucky. Valygar glanced to the windows at the far end of the room, the panes black. He had agreed with Minsc an hour ago- one more drink and they were finishing for the night.

At the end of the bar next to them, a stout but handsome whore was nursing a cup, her eyes straying to the doors as often as his, black curls bobbing as she suddenly raised a hand to call across the din, 'Here, Amie, you off home?'

The younger woman glanced up from where she had been fastening her threadbare cloak, a smile making her look far prettier than a first glance would have judged as she weaved her way over to her friend.

'Aye, it's too quiet for me in here tonight and young Matthew's ill again.'

'Oh no, the poor bairn -same as last time?'

'Yeah,' Amie sighed, running a hand through her dirty blond hair, 'it's all on his chest and his breathing rattles day and night, bless him. I'm giving him that linctus old Pherod give us, but it ain't doing much.'

The stout woman snorted. 'Pherod? I ent surprised, that old charlatan. Here, Amie, I've had a good run of tips lately, how about we go over to the apothecary tomorrow, get him looked over and buy some proper medicine?'

'Oh, heavens bless you, Ulga,' Amie cried, sounding suddenly close to tears, 'that would be a weight off us all. So, you here much longer tonight?'

'Nay, just waiting for that dog, Gorro, then I'm off, as well.'

Across the table, Minsc's eyes sparked –he had heard it, too. Back at the bar, Amie gave a snort of disgust.

'That swine -never pays a copper more than he must. At least it's easy work.'

'Aye,' agreed Ulga, 'though I hear he don't last long in either respect.'

The two women laughed, their amusement brief as they leaned together to kiss their farewell.

'You be safe, then, pet.'

'Aye,' nodded Ulga, 'I'll stop by yours tomorrow and we can go down first thing.'

The two women parted, an air of expectation now over the table as the two men waited, the whore Ulga oblivious to them though her impatience matched their own as she sighed and tutted, and swilled the contents of a cup she no longer desired to drink. It was a good quarter hour later when the door finally opened and in he stepped, the man so obvious that all Valygar's previous worries that they could have been within the same bar before and missed him seemed suddenly farcical. In those drab surroundings of grey and brown, he shone like a beacon, red cloak clashing with the vibrant orange hair, even the self-satisfied grin set him apart from the crowd in there, his weasely face taking on a lecherous cast as he arrived at the bar.

'All right, Ulga?' he leered, groping her behind in greeting, 'You ready to go up.'

Her tight smile did not flicker.

'Aye, as you will it.'

Valygar's attention snapped back to the man opposite as the couple moved off, Minsc's eyes bright in the gloom.

'We'll leave it a few moments and then follow them up, agreed?'

The Rashemi nodded, words beyond him in this swell of anticipation, the moments ticking slowly by when they rose as one and made their way up the creaking staircase. Amie had been right. It was a very slow night; most of the whores stood at their open doorways chatting up and down that long L-shaped corridor, Valygar's eyes drawn instantly to the closed door at the end of the short hallway to his right. He collared a passing girl, his stomach twisting as she looked up and he realised she was barely into her teens.

'We're looking for Ulga –is she in here?

She nodded mutely, Valygar taking a step forward as the stocky Madame rushed to halt them.

'Ah, hello gentlemen, and what can I- ah, now you cannot go in there, Ulga is already-'

She could do nothing, Minsc pushing past her and the door was suddenly opened, not on some cramped coupling, but a square room of decent size, Ulga filling the last cup for the six men seated about the table.

'Now, is there any thing else I can be getting for you, gent-'

She glanced up, everyone frozen when Minsc roared, 'Lejun!' and everything was happening at once, the Rashemi charging into the room to kick the table over in a shower of ale, the men all on their feet, those rushing for weapons tangled up with those rushing for the door, Minsc wading into the chaos, blade swinging.

Three men were already dead, Valygar blocking a blow from a short, wiry man, the dagger he held swung wide in his panic and it took little effort to bring his katana round to slash across his chest, Minsc finishing another with a stab through the torso, the blond man that was left dropping his dagger and holding up his hands as he backed into the corner.

'Mercy, please, I surrender.'

Minsc was advancing on him with heavy strides, the man giving a terrified squeak as he seized his collar. 'We owe you _much_, Lejun.'

Valygar left him to it, his attention turned to the only other in that room still breathing, Ulga stood in the far corner her eyes fixed on the carnage about her. She was not shaking; she looked too surprised to be frightened, the woman just frozen, her wide glaze flicking to him as he approached her. Valygar reached for his pocket.

'Here, take the boy to a priest.'

The woman nodded, the gold chiming merrily with her footsteps as she shoved the purse into her blouse and scurried to the door. Valygar turned slowly back to Lejun, the man stood trembling in Minsc's grip. A nod from Valygar and the Rashemi was shoving him roughly into the nearest chair, the two men towering over him.

'Speak,' barked Minsc, 'You sought our deaths –why?'

Lejun was wide-eyed. 'We –we never sought your deaths!'

'I have a scar that says otherwise.'

'No, I mean, we just wanted to capture you. It was that mage's idea, but then his wand didn't work and he teleported out, that bastard!'

'And who was this mage?' pressed Valygar. Lejun shook his head wildly.

'I don't know! We never learnt his name, just some foreign bastard from out East. He approached us a tenday ago, said he had a business proposition for us. With the city all stirred up over slaving there are many in Athkatla who are seeking to get rid of their merchandise-'

'These are people you speak of!' roared Minsc.

'Yeah, all right, all right,' cried Lejun hastily, 'people, they're people. These slaves, they aren't just your usual labourers or pit fodder- others' words, not mine!' he added quickly at Minsc's furious look. 'You see, the slaves still hidden here now are skilled craftsmen –chef, masons, weavers, who've served houses here for years. In a place like Amn where slavery is illegal, the risk of keeping them has to be outweighed by the value they hold. I tell you, that Roenall's execution put the fear of Bane into the people round here- there hasn't been a noble executed in the city of Athkatla for any civil crime in over a century! Well, now the Magistrates have made a stand, everyone wants to be rid of these slaves lest they are caught and are next to face the noose.' Lejun shook his head tiredly. 'Most are too frightened to just set them free, lest they go straight to the authorities, and killing them has its own problems. This mage had a solution, he would find buyers for them in his native Mulhorand and export them there. We knew the guards would be watching the ways south to Calimsham, but Mulhorand is far and foreign with it -you would have to have contacts there, and this mage was ours. We would provide the slaves and he would provide the buyers, each taking a cut in the transition and everyone was happy.'

'So what happened?' asked Valygar quickly, before Minsc could explode again.

'I told you,' Lejun pressed, 'that mage said he wanted to make a quick bit of coin first to help with the initial outlay and after hearing your friend here had killed old Ehid, we decide to capture you for sale. Then he betrays us and we're dead. Please,' he sighed tiredly, 'I know we planned much, but we never actually managed anything.'

'You threatened Rigo and his daughter!' bellowed Minsc. Lejun glanced wildly between them, panicked once more.

'Who? Look, mate, I don't know anything about that! The mage arranged it all with our new leader, Guillaume. The mage said he could get you to the Crossed Keys and he did.'

Valygar frowned. 'Do any more of your gang still survive?'

'No,' Lejun muttered, eyes downcast as he took in the bodies of his friends about them, 'they were the last of them.'

'And what of these people that still hold slaves on their estates?' pressed Valygar, 'Did Guillaume keep a list?'

'No, he could barely write as it was –but I can likely remember a few of the names,' he glanced up, suddenly hopeful, 'it should look good for the Magistrates, don't you think?'

Valygar snorted. 'I would not count solely upon that if you wish to avoid the young Roenall's fate.'

And as though on cue, the distant rattle of armoured bodies echoed up the stairs.

'Make way for the Watch!'

Lejun's throat bobbed nervously, his face ashen; Valygar and Minsc shared a smile.

xxx

Valygar pulled his door closed behind him, the afternoon spent pouring over the accounts leaving him tired- a feat in itself considering he had not risen until noon. Last night they had had to wait and give their statements to the Watch, handing a pale Lejun into their custody and it was well past midnight by the time he and Minsc had finally made it back to the estate.

In fact the only thing that still irked was the absence of this mage. But, whatever the reason for his betrayal, the man seemed likely long departed and the Watch planned to take a full statement from Lejun at the gaol –perhaps they could consult the Cowled Wizards and find him yet.

Valygar moved down the hall, his booted feet making no noise on the thick carpet. He felt pleased, with both their work last night and this afternoon, the two seemingly disparate halves of his life slowly merging into a manageable whole. He learnt more of his estate each day and he and Minsc had managed to rid the city of another group who would profit by people's misery, the news of which they planned to take to Hendak that evening over a few drinks.

He had reached the landing and the large stained-glass window that lit the stairs, his family crest glowing in the warn dusk sunlight and he felt an unfamiliar sense of pride- House Corthala: no longer synonymous with dark magics and corruption, it would hold a reputation for justice and altruism –and one that he intended to earn for it.

'Ah, Valygar,' came the familiar voice, the ranger glancing up to see old Alergard descending the staircase above, 'I was hoping I would catch you –I would give thanks for your hospitality.'

'You are leaving?'

'At noon tomorrow, yes, but you are always out and about, I thought to seize my chance now while I saw you. The estate has been keeping you busy?'

'In a way, though it has been other business which occupied my time of late.'

'_Oho_, do not speak to me of business,' the mage chuckled, 'I had quite forgotten what a den of thieves the City of Coin could be -deals broken and remade in the blink of an eye, everyone fighting for that extra gold piece. But my business is over now, thank Mystra, and I can leave the trading to the merchants. So it is off to Waterdeep for me, where I can return to my studies.'

Valygar nodded. It was strange seeing the man again after so long, the memories of his youth and those long forgotten lessons something he had believed he had put behind him. But for all his reluctance towards the end, Alergard had been a good tutor and it was not his fault that Valygar's own path had differed from his family's expectations. He swallowed dryly.

'I have plans to be out this evening, but I have a little time yet –perhaps we talk over a cup?'

Alergard smiled, dark eyes sparkling. 'Yes, I think I should like that very much.'

They took their tea in the library, sat in the armchairs either side of windows just as they had when he had first arrived there four days ago. Alergard seemed to sense his reluctance to speak of their studies together, Valygar conceding to tell him, after some prompting, of his trouble with the slavers and their eventual victory.

'Well, it sounds as though you _have_ been busy,' Alergard smiled, 'Your mother would be proud –she always said you were destined for great things.'

Valygar said nothing, mention of the woman stirring the familiar guilt and he turned to look out at the well-tended grounds next to them, golden in the dying light.

'I heard, you know,' continued the mage quietly, 'how she died… That in the end magic consumed her mind –it was a pity I learnt all this after the fact, perhaps if I had been here I could have… but no,' he sighed, 'it is useless to meander along such imaginings. I just wish to say I understand why you took the course you did, Valygar, and perhaps she would too.'

Valygar dipped his face, the words coming slightly hoarse. 'Thank you, Alergard.'

'Yes, well, enough of this,' the mage continued briskly, 'I am sure you do not wish to spend your entire evening listening to the ramblings of an old man. Go and enjoy your victory while you may.'

**…**

The Coronet was crowded with the usual noise and laughter. Valygar watched it with a smile, glad to see the difference from the places he had been forced to frequent most recently, half an ear on the conversation next to him as Minsc gave Hendak a blow by blow description of their meeting with Ehid's old gang, an account only old soldiers could truly enjoy.

'Here now,' gasped a voice behind him, Valygar turning to see the once whore, Violet, setting her empty tray upon the counter, her silver tooth winking as she offered him a smile.

'Tis a proper scrum out there tonight. Three more ales, please, Bernard, and a flagon of small beer.'

'Violet, my flower,' boomed Hendak cheerfully, 'take a cup with us while you wait. My friends were just telling me of the end of Ehid's gang.'

'Here now, is that so?' the woman cried, as delighted as the old gladiator, 'It is I that should be buying you the drink then! How did you come by them –I heard they've been lying low e'er since Ehid disappeared two months back.'

'He sought us out actually,' offered Valygar, 'or Minsc at least, using a ceramics dealer of the Promenade to lay a trap for him.'

'Yes,' agreed Minsc sternly, 'Rigo and his daughter may now be at peace once more.'

Violet's well plucked eyebrows disappeared under her fringe. 'Rigo? Old Rigo Se'Nir? That great fat fella?'

'Yes, you know of him?'

'Oh, aye, though I'm probably one of the few left who do. He used to work with the slavers over near the bridge, what, nigh on twenty years back now.'

Valygar felt a sudden knot tighten in his stomach. 'He told us he was a contact for Ehid's gang…'

'_Oho_, I'd say he was a mite more than that, pet,' Violet laughed grimly, 'Him and his lass were partners with Lehtinan for a spell –at one time, they were supplying half the slaves in Athkatla.'

'A woman?' cried Minsc, 'Young Catrin?'

Violet shook her head. 'No, I think her name was Aethal -his wife, as he would say, though no god had blessed it. Anyways, it all went sour when Ehid came along- he could supply people faster and cheaper with that fleet of his and Lehtinan dropped that pair straight away. He and Ehid partnered up and drove Rigo out of business. Why, I expect he's as happy to hear about the end of Ehid's gang as we.'

xxx

Rigo was nodding, his daughter at his side and watching as he cheerfully dropped the purse into the hand of the robed man before him, the grin suddenly frozen on his face as he glanced past him to the company of watchmen that were crossing the slowly emptying Promenade. The robed man whipped round at his look, and Valygar felt a surge of angry regret as he recognised the tanned face of his once mentor.

'Stand where you're at by order of the Watch,' barked the tall, freckled Captain Ludan, the men behind him fanning out the surround the small stall as Valygar and Minsc stepped forward

'So, Alergard, it seems we are to meet again before you leave.'

'The mage from the battle,' accused Minsc hotly, 'Valygar, you know this man?'

'I thought I did, but it seems I was mistaken.'

Rigo's tiny eyes were darting about them, his nervousness no longer an act as he faltered his welcome.

'M-Minsc and Valygar, too, we have heard what happened to Ehid's gang, -we are more than grateful for your intervention.'

Valygar raised a cool eyebrow. 'Indeed you should be, since it was you who first arranged it. Sending Minsc to that den was the first step in wiping out your old rivals –I know all about your past dealings, Rigo Se'Nir.'

'Why, yes,' he nodded quickly, 'I freely admitted to you my past, but that does not mean I would take up the trade again.'

'Well, then you have nothing to worry about,' said Ludan curtly, 'I'm sure any investigations into your recent dealings with prove the same.'

At a nod from their captain, two guards stepped forward to take them, Catrin suddenly frantic.

'No, no, it was not me, Father planned it all! I was barely a girl when all this was begun an age ago -it was him, he threatened me!'

'Silence, Catrin!' roared Rigo, struggling against the guard that held him as he tried to lash out at her.

'He made me go along with it. He heard Ehid's gang and Alergard had arranged to export the slaves to Mulhorand. Father knows as much as they of the trade from his old dealings -he sold them many of the slaves himself. He approached the mage and struck the same deal for a lower cut of the coin, on the proviso that the competition was wiped out at the same time. Then he could just wait until all this fervour about the slaving had died down and start trading again –that was his plan, he told me –I never wanted any part in it!'

She finally broke down, limp in the guard's grasp as she sobbed into her hand, more than one of the surrounding Watchmen looking sympathetic to her plights. Valygar snorted bitterly -men were ever fools for a crying maid; he wondered if Magistrate Ianulin would be similarly impressed.

'Take them over to the gaol,' ordered Ludan, 'and as for you-'

'I have committed no crime here,' Alergard interrupted calmly, 'no transactions have taken place.'

Ludan saw things differently. 'The dealing of slaves is a crime and your work with this pair is enough for a charge of conspiracy to the act –though perhaps a confession where others are implicated will be looked upon favourably by the Magistrates.'

The mage breathed a terse sigh. 'Fine, I will come. I know what you likely think of me, Valygar,' he continued, patiently waiting for the two guards to step in and take his arms, 'but I really did wish to pay my respects to your parents.'

Valygar felt the cool hatred suddenly flare.

'Speak not of them, slaver! You betrayed Ehid's gang knowing they would be out for your blood. What better a place to seek sanctuary that at the estate of the wizard-murderer, Corthala. I was a fool to trust you, mage!'

'You do not understand, Valygar,' the man pleaded, this hatred seeming to distress him more than anything so far, 'I needed the coin for my studies –the things I am learning could benefit generations of mages. Back in Mulhorand, slavery is way of life –the slaves themselves are owned by the temples and treated fairly, some even able to gain their freedom. The nobles of Athkatla would have found a way to dispose of these slaves one way or another; I was acting for the good of all.'

Valygar snorted. 'I doubt any here would see it as such.'

'And I suppose you'd rather see them all floating face down in the river?' snapped Alergard.

'I would rather see them freed, as would any decent man!'

The mage laughed bitterly. 'As ever, so quick to judge; I wonder if Adess even stood a chance.'

'Do not bring my mother into this!'

'Why,' Alergard roared back, 'when she is the root of it all? Selfish _boy!_ You only ever saw things your own way -your right and your wrong. Adess loved you; you were her only son and you destroyed her! She gave you all you could have ever wanted as a child, a stable home, a fine education, a loving family -how do you think she felt when you rejected all she was? The letters I would get from her, pages and pages on how you were, the way you had found your strength in arms rather than the magic for which her ancestors were so famed, how proud she was of you! She never scorned you for turning away from the Art she so loved -but you could not afford her the same courtesy. It broke her heart when you finally left home and turned your back on her for good, and your poor father could do nothing to comfort her. No wonder she turned so wholly to her magic- she had nothing left after you went!'

He threw a gnarled finger out at him, a guard leaping in to wrestle the arm behind his back, Alergard still raging. 'She may have been corrupted in the end, but not because of the magic, boy, it was because of you!'

And Valygar stood there dumb, as the mage was marched away.


	4. Vows

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: Well, I've been trying to publish this since Friday, but the site was just not playing, so sorry it's a bit late. Thanks to everyone who left feedback and emailed me for the last chapter, all this encouragement is a real help. _^_^

**Vows**

Fritha watched the breeze stir the leaves outside the open window, stippling the pale green quilt with early morning light, the air fresh and cool enough to make any exposed skin bristle in pleasant protest, though the peace of it all was somewhat marred, Imoen on the opposite side of the bed, madly throwing things into her old leather pack. A knock on the door behind them, Jaheira's stern tones quite audible through the wood.

'Imoen, I will await you downstairs.'

'Yep, just a moment.'

'You really should have done this last night,' Fritha sighed, watching the girl hastily shove in tunics and trousers in a rainbow of colours. 'You'll be pressed to make it there for the twenty-fifth as it is –Jaheira wanted to leave days ago. Here, you know what Beth taught us,' she scolded catching the girl's hand as a heavy silk dress nearly went the same way, 'You must roll it so it doesn't get creased -I don't think that there will be any means for you to press it there.'

'Yeah, yeah, all right,' Imoen dismissed, already casting about her for something else as Fritha smoothed out the deep pink silk and carefully rolled it up.

'Fritha, have you seen my- ah, here they are!'

Imoen appeared from under the bed, wielding two black slippers, puffing her hair from her eyes as she threw them in after the dress and paused to make one final check.

'Right, perfume, jewellery, dress, shoes and I think that is everything. Now, are you sure you aren't coming?' Imoen huffed, struggling to buckle the stuffed pack closed, 'There's still time for you to pack if you rush and I bet we could find you a dress in Trademeet-'

Fritha shook her head, smiling gently. 'No, I am better here -I get tired too quickly to travel any distance.'

The excuse was a poor one, but it was the easiest one to give and they had all accepted it on that merit. Imoen sighed.

'I s'ppose… it will be strange without you there though –I don't even know her.'

Fritha's smile broadened 'Nalia invited you, Imoen, she wants you to be there. You'll enjoy it -and I am sure Lord Corthala will have been in receipt of an invitation too,' she added slyly. Imoen laughed even as she flushed a pink to rival her hair.

'You hid yourself away from the world, but you still managed to find the time to nose about in my affairs, eh?'

Fritha heaved a dramatic sigh. 'As always, I must enjoy my romantic thrills vicariously.'

Imoen smiled, something about her manner softening.

'You be safe while we're gone -and maybe when I'm back we can have another talk about what we're going to do next.'

Fritha dropped her face to the quilt beneath her, fingers moving to play with a stray thread that made up the intricate pattern of oak leaves that was embroidered upon it. They had talked of this a tenday before, when, after days of Imoen's relentless questions about the style of dress she was having made, Fritha had finally told the others that she would not be attending Nalia's wedding with them.

Imoen sank on to the cover beside her, Fritha forcing herself to meet the sincere green eyes.

'I like it here, Fritha, I really do, but I want to get out and see the world, like we talked about when we were younger. Maybe we can just visit Athkatla at first,' she offered eagerly, 'you can show me round -maybe we can even get little parts in your theatre's new play! Oh, Fritha, after everything, it would be nice to just have some fun.'

Fritha felt her heart ache. She knew she was being unfair, keeping them there as she hid from the world, and she had to remind herself that while she had been out travelling Amn, for good and ill, Imoen spent the same four months trapped on some desolate rock –Was she now to make Suldanessellar a similar prison?

'Yes, all right,' Fritha sighed, glad to feel a warm determination creep in at her own words, 'we can talk about it. Come on then, Jaheira will be getting impatient –I'll walk you both down to the gates. Good grief,' she cried as she made to heave Imoen's bulging pack from the bed, 'it's fortunate for you the elves lent you horses. Did you pack everything you own?'

Imoen laughed. 'Oh, give it here; it's not that- Ow! Oh, I think I've just pulled my shoulder.'

xxx

Anomen spent a moment brushing the creases from his formal, blue tunic before folding it into his waiting pack, the room about him still painfully neat and little changed for the fact he had lived there at the Order for almost a month.

He had been glad to receive leave to attend the wedding –at the time, a part of him had wished he had perhaps asked the Prelate instead as he had stood under Sir Ryan's austere gaze waiting for the man to make his verdict. Anomen had met Valygar and Minsc earlier in the tenday –unsurprisingly, both had received invitations to Nalia's as he had, and once his knight had agreed he could go and Anomen had immediately collared a young squire to take a message over to the Corthala estate and arrange to meet the men at the gates, that they could travel out together -their three and those others of the Order who had been invited, as well.

It was all arranged now; they would leave early, just after the dawn, arriving at the keep by the afternoon where they would camp the night with many of the other guests on the plain before de'Arnise Keep, ready for the ceremony the following day.

Anomen glanced to the window where the setting sun had set the sky ablaze, pale coppery clouds drifting across the sky in wispy tendrils. He knew the others had been invited –Nalia had asked him via his invitation where she should forward theirs. They would have had to leave Suldanessellar days ago if they were planning to attend –would Fritha be with them?

He felt the hope squirm in his stomach even as his heart twisted with reluctance. Wonderful as it would be to see her, he was rather dreading it, too. It had been so pleasant those last few tenday, without that constant gnawing worry, this reunion and the idea of finding her just as broken as when he had left, merely a chance to stir up all that old misery.

But what if she was better? Would he feel jealous that she had been healed without him –even by another's hand? He saw her behind his eyes, flushed and laughing as she used to be and doubted he would even care as to the source. The bell for dinner broke him from his thoughts, the man tying closed his pack and setting it at the end of his bed ready for the morrow.

The courtyard was all but deserted, the square of stone buildings still radiating the day's heat even as the chill of the twilight drew in.

'Ah, Sir Anomen, you go to dinner?'

And Anomen turned to see Brieanna, the woman striding across from the ladies' dormitory to meet him in the centre of the yard, her green tunic bringing out the auburn in her hair.

'Yes, my lady, will you walk in with me?'

'Certainly,' she nodded, puffing a slight sigh as she admitted, 'I am rather glad to be out of the dormitories; I share a room with three of the other ladies and the only subject that can hold them this afternoon is this wedding –they speak little of the groom, but House de'Arnise seems to carry much influence here in Athkatla.'

'It is so, my lady, and I suppose many are surprised to hear of this match –the Lady de'Arnise suffered somewhat after the recent death of her father.'

Brieanna frowned. 'Yes, I have heard that madness claimed her –the lady refusing her previously arranged betrothal and taking to the adventurer's life for a time.'

Anomen's defence was instant.

'Indeed, though it was no madness which prompted the decision, but a desire to help others and she was good ally to have.'

'She travelled with _you?_' the woman exclaimed, glancing about the courtyard with a puzzled frowned, as though wondering why the lady had been allowed to ride within the Order's ranks.

'Yes,' Anomen explained, 'when I journeyed the land seeking to prove myself and earn my knighthood –I have only had honour of it since last autumn.'

'I see. Then you, too, must be invited to share in the Lady Nalia's joy. I know that the ladies Irlana, Celia and Genevie are leaving with the dawn.'

As were Squire Veren, Sir Dextis and many more of Brieanna's new friends within the Order; the words had left Anomen's mouth before he even considered them.

'Would you like to accompany me, my lady? As a friend, of course,' he added quickly, 'I mean, my invitation included a guest and, well, I understand that many of your acquaintances will be attending-'

Brieanna was frowning again, thin lips pressed together as she clearly decided on her phrasing.

'I should be glad to accept, but I worry it may put you in a compromising situation with your lady. Perhaps I speak out of turn,' she added at his, no doubt, surprised expression, 'but Lady Irlana mentioned something the other day, which led me to believe you were courting a young woman of the adventuring persuasion. I believe she said her name was-'

'Fritha,' Anomen supplied for her, 'and I- we were, but, I-'

'Forgive me,' said Brieanna, briskly interrupting his discomfort, 'I can see this subject troubles you –let us speak of it no more. As to your offer,' she continued, smiling once more, 'I should like very much to attend with you, Sir Anomen.'

'Er, Anomen is sufficient, my lady.'

Her smile broadened. 'And you may call me, Brieanna.'

'Yes, well, we had best get on,' he prompted, realising they were not a step closer to the refectory and the meal would likely be well served by now. He held the door open, gesturing for her to take the lead lest he be unable to keep the discomfort from his face. He was merely behaving courteously –indeed, how he would have treated any lady. But it suddenly felt terribly disloyal to the feelings he still held, and he did not wish for Brieanna to get the wrong impression –or anyone else, Anomen considered sternly, noticing the heads turn at their entrance as they stepped into the low roar of the refectory, Simon already whispering furiously at Erick's ear.

xxx

Jaheira glanced to the girl at her side, Imoen's face pale in the twilight and bearing no trace of her previous tiredness as she surveyed the sprawling camp about her, the darkness dotted with small campfires. It had been a seven day journey from Suldanessellar, a small company of elves kindly escorting them the two days to the river where they caught passage to Trademeet, the pair leaving the town but a day ago and hitching a ride with a caravan to come the rest of the way to the keep.

The castle itself was towering next to them, windows glowing a warm yellow over the dark plain before it where large pavilions had been pitched in anticipation of the arriving guests, smaller camps springing up around them as more people had arrived through the day, the atmosphere buzzing with a sense of anticipation as the different groups called to each other, the excited murmur of talk and laughter hanging over the field.

'Over there,' cried Imoen suddenly, a hand thrown out to the tiny camp a few paces from them 'it's Anomen and Valygar and-'

And the last name was lost to a squeal of delight as she nearly floored the Rashemi in her exuberant embrace.

'Minsc! Ah, I thought you'd have left for Rashemen already.'

'No, no, young Imoen,' the man rumbled, patting her head fondly as she at last let go, 'we have been delayed in the city- but young Fritha is not with you?'

Jaheira shook her head, sinking into the place beside Anomen as the girl dropped to sit between the two rangers.

'No, she decided to stay in the city.'

'Yeah, she didn't want to slow us up on our journey.'

'She is ill?' asked Anomen

'No, no, nothing like that,' Imoen assured him, 'But she gets tired quite easily nowadays –yeah, I know,' the girl added at his frown, 'she didn't mention it to _us_ for ages either. But she's doing a lot better now –she was laughing like Lliiran over your letter, Vals.'

'Letter?' repeated Minsc, both he and the knight turning to Valygar with knowing smiles, the ranger himself seemingly too fixated on Imoen's words to notice

'You let Fritha read it?'

'No,' the girl offered blithely, 'I just read bits out when we were all out on a picnic with Solaufein and the elves.'

'You read it _out?_'

Jaheira rolled her eyes; by Silvanus, the girl was a _devil_.

'I think _gave us the gist_ would be a more accurate description of the event,' she offered, adding sincerely, 'I believe Fritha greatly appreciated the news of her theatre.'

Valygar just grunted, suddenly very focused on stoking the small fire, Imoen fighting against a wicked grin as she clapped her hands together briskly.

'Anyway, what's been happening with you lot?'

The men's tales of slavers and merchants took them well into the night, Anomen retiring to his own camp after a few hours while they just pitched their tent there next to the men's, the field slowly quietening about them as everyone finally found their beds.

The next day dawned bright and sunny, most people sleeping in after the late night and Jaheira enjoyed a quiet breakfast with Valygar and Minsc, Imoen emerging from their tent just as the druid was contemplating changing into the formal tunic she had brought. For an instant, their small company had been frozen, Imoen there before them, her smile more uncertain than usual as she'd smoothed out the heavy silk skirts of her deep fuchsia gown, a sash of vibrant orange about her waist, the colour picked out by the anthers of the white silk lilies she had pinned into the simple twist of her chignon.

A moment for the men and Jaheira to change their tunics and, their four gathered with the rest of the guests in the courtyard, a company of Tyrite priests putting the finishing touches to the large wooden altar that had been set up in the centre and all waiting for the couple who had brought them together. They did not have to wait long.

Lady Nalia de'Arnise was married at high sun on the twenty-fifth day of Tarsakh to cheers and great applause, the girl's freckled face beaming beneath the circlet of laurel leaves, Lundav looking similarly overjoyed under his verdant crown, the deep blue of her gown well-matched to his fine blue doublet and complementing the gloriously clear sky above, the blue and gold gryphon of her house banner flapping side by side with the stout scarlet wyvern of his own.

The guests were milling about the courtyard now, waiting for dinner to be announced in the great hall, the newlyweds doing the usual tour of thanks and congratulations, Nalia looking exhausted but happy as she found them in the throng.

'Ah, Jaheira and Imoen, too,' she cried, sweeping one after the other into a warm embrace, 'I'm so glad you could make it –and is Fritha with you?' she added, eyes scanning the crowds about them.

'Ah, no,' admitted Jaheira, 'she is well, but a little weak yet to make the journey.'

A flicker of disappointment to her face, something of it lingering in her eyes even as the sunny smile returned.

'Well, perhaps that is for the best; our memories make us who we are, but sometimes it can be nice to forget. Oh, and Anomen,' the girl continued brightly, the knight appearing next to her, a tall dark-haired lady at his arm, 'it is good to see you again -and I do not believe we have met, my dear.'

Anomen stepped in to make the customary introduction 'Lady Nalia, may I present Lady Brieanna, a fellow of the Order.'

'I am pleased to know you,' the woman demurred, green velvet skirts sighing as she bobbed her curtsey. Nalia beamed.

'You are most welcome, my dear.'

'Ah, and here's the lucky man himself,' cried Imoen, her grin matching his own as Lundav arrived at his new wife's side, 'Congratulations, Lundav!'

'My thanks, my lady.'

'So, does this mean you are Lady di Sifiso now?' she teased Nalia, the lady hiding her smile in her sleeve as Lundav laughed loudly.

'Not likely -the Amnian tradition has it that the greater house keeps the name and they do not come greater than this one. I am still di Sifiso, but my lady will retain the name de'Arnise, as will our line –and proud I am that they should bear it, too! Anyway, forgive me,' he continued, turning to his bride with a smile, 'I came over to tell you Lady Delcia is seeking you, my love, before I was distracted.'

'Auntie is looking for me?' Nalia repeated, a concerned frown creasing her brow, 'Perhaps something is wrong in the kitchens -I had better go and see. I will catch you all again later and we can have a proper talk,' she promised, Lundav nodding his agreement before the pair disappeared off into the crowds, their way much slowed by the many guests stepping up to wish them well.

Imoen immediately turned her attention to the two left, a hand thrust out at the tall woman at Anomen's side.

'Hello, I don't think we've met, have we? I'm Imoen.'

'Ah, hello,' she answered, a glance to the man next to her betraying her discomfort, 'as Anomen said, I am Brieanna.'

'Nice to meet you there, Brieanna. So, how long have you two known each other then?'

'Well, this past month… I- we met on the road from Trademeet.'

'Really? That _is_ interesting.'

'Ho Anomen!' came the shout behind them, the pair whirling to see a lanky, dark-haired youth waving to them from across the courtyard. Anomen turned back to them with a polite bow.

'Ah, if you will excuse us a moment.'

Imoen nodded airily, the smile souring as soon as their backs were turned.

'Didn't take him long, did it?'

'Imoen!' hissed Jaheira.

'What?' she cried, all innocence, the druid given no time to finish her scolding as Imoen's eyes caught on something behind her. 'Oh, look, there's Valygar and Minsc –Oi, Vals!'

And she was gone, Jaheira turning to watch her moving swiftly through the crowds towards the pair, pausing to take a wine cup from a servant as she passed and Jaheira hastened to catch her before she could cause any real trouble.

xxx

Solaufein ascended the three steps, finally escaping the afternoon's glare as he entered the deep shadows of the covered porch, days of familiarity not quite forestalling his knock, though he no longer waited for an answer, the parlour beyond dark, cool and quite empty.

'Fritha?'

'I'm through here,' came the call, the back door open to the garden and he stepped out onto the back porch to find her knelt upon that long, lush lawn, her face pink and fingers muddied as she worked the weeds from one of the raised flowerbeds that ran along either side of the surrounding high fence. The breeze was stirring through the flowers, the bobbing heads of yellows, pinks and whites, a sea of colour where bees dived and looped.

'Solaufein,' she greeted, a forearm shading her eyes as she turned to him, 'you are here early –trying to get a reputation as a good student?'

He smiled. 'I fear my reasons are far more self-serving; I must admit to merely enjoying your company.'

Fritha laughed gently. 'Teacher's pet. Gods,' she sighed, dropping her arm to return to her work, 'it's so warm today.'

'Here,' he offered, shading his own eyes with a hand as he stepped down and placed his wide-brimmed hat upon her head, the girl brushing the stray curls from her face with a forearm.'

'My, you are getting brave.'

He shrugged, already back in the shadows of the porch. 'It is shaded here and my eyes grow stronger by the day.'

She smiled and nodded at this news, and he settled down to his studies, listening to the gentle huffs and sighs of the girl at work, Fritha finishing her weeding of the beds to set to the task of dividing a large pot of bright green shoots into the spaces she had made.

They had spent many days the same way since the women had left, a couple of times finding them walking out of the city, once with Leidril and his friends as they had taken them on a visit of the old temple ruins that had not long ago been overrun by his own people. But the rest of the time had found them there, at the back of her house, him absorbed in his studies of the local language and the world in which he now found himself, while she tended her garden or practised her lute, sometimes even sewing or reading on the porch as he did, the pair sharing idle talk in the Chondathan that improved with every day.

'Ah, that is better,' Fritha sighed eventually, washing her hands in the watering can next to her and drying them on the skirts of the loose yellow gown she wore, the girl rising to stretch out her back, her gaze drawn to the clear blue sky as she fanned herself idly with his hat. 'I hope the weather is this fine further north.'

'This is the day of your friend's joining?' Solaufein confirmed, the girl nodding as she passed by him on her way back into the house, her voice accompanied by the chime of cups.

'Yes, I hope Imoen and Jaheira made it in time –I'm sure they did,' she assured herself, appearing in the doorway with a tray bearing two cups and a pitcher of chilled tea she had clearly made a while back and left to cool in the pantry. She set it between them with a smile, settling in the corner opposite next to her lute case to pour their cups, handing him his along with his hat. He let his eyes drop to the jug between them, the long mint sprigs she had placed in the brew just breaking the surface, like the freshwater weeds that grew in towering forests from the deep beds of the lakes far below this land of light, fed by the volcanic fissures that ran beneath and nurtured by his people. He had watched the slaves sometimes, out on their wide flat-bottomed boats, harvesting the leaves of the upper canopy as delicacies for the table –he may never see such again.

'Do you regret not joining them?' he asked, glad to distract himself from such brooding before it could take a proper hold.

'Attending the wedding, you mean?' said Fritha, slowly shaking her head. 'Ah, no, I don't think it would have been for the best.'

'You did not wish to see the others?'

'In part…'

A long pause. Fritha was an open girl, if you were able to approach her with a question she could not neatly sidestep. Solaufein watched her sip thoughtfully at her tea.

'Who is Nalia to you?'

A smile graced the rim of her cup. 'Ah, you have earthed out the root of it, haven't you? She was my friend from long ago – we travelled together a time before she returned to her lands. I was in love with her, I think, and I believe my feelings could have been returned, too, though it was hard to tell at the time how real it all was. There was a lot of affection in me back then –it needed an outlet.'

'And you felt that your attendance to such a day may stir up too many memories for you both.' He nodded. 'You were wise to avoid it then; I find the best course with such wounds is to just leave well alone. What is it?' he questioned at her ripple of laughter.

'You've been practising your Chondathan with Imoen, haven't you? You sounded just like her.'

'You miss them?' he asked, 'She and Jaheira, I mean.'

Fritha nodded, smoothing out her warm yellow skirts. 'Yes. I know it did not seem so when I could go days without seeing them, but it was nice to know they were around. But, I can't expect them to hover about forever,' she glanced to him, suddenly grave, 'Imoen was asking again about our plans before they left –she wants to go to Athkatla.'

'And do _you_ wish to return to Athkatla?'

'You always know which questions to ask, don't you?' she sighed, smiling ruefully as she admitted, 'Not really, but this is not just about me, I have to consider her feelings as well.'

'As long as you do not forget your own,' he reminded. She sent him a soft look.

'Always watching out for me, aren't you?'

'Of course,' he nodded, a slight smile creeping in. 'I never had a sister.'

'Sister?' she laughed, looking surprised by her own amusement, 'You do mean that, don't you? It's just the last man who named me so had other intentions in mind.'

'You speak of Anomen.'

She laughed again; it sounded wistful. 'That I do.'

'Do you think of him often?'

'I rather try not to… I think in both our best interests.'

'I doubt he would agree.'

She cocked her to the side as though deliberating the thing.

'I think more of him does, than doesn't –he left, after all. And I do not blame him. Being with me has already killed him twice -only once more than the rest of them, I will admit, but still.'

'Is that why you let him leave?'

'Yes. It was not fair to ask him to stay, to give up the Order –and I know he would have had I asked him. But what was between us is gone now, and even if something else could have grown to take its place, what sort of life can we share? No, we are better off apart and this way he is free to find someone new. A nice, warm girl –like the one I used to be.'

She shook her head to herself, turning to unpack the lute next to her and he spent a moment or two listening as she watched the bees, carelessly plucking a high wavering tune with many sliding notes that seemed inspired by their dance.

'So will you be leaving for Athkatla then?' he asked eventually. The girl shrugged, the last note she had played left to fade in the air.

'I suppose of all the places Imoen could have wanted to travel, there would be the easiest for me, and I would like to see my theatre again –perhaps it would not be so terrible.'

'And may I accompany you?'

'You would want to go to Athkatla?' she asked, seemingly surprised. It was his turn to shrug.

'I would like to see more of the surface –though I understand my company could make matters more difficult for you.'

She snorted faintly. 'I doubt anyone _there_ would care, as long as you've coin. Oh, I can see it now –we'll buy you fine clothes, I'll get you a part in the playhouse, make sure you are invited to _all_ the right parties. Oh, the ladies will all be clamouring for you as guest of honour: the mysterious warrior who carries the riches of the Underdark with him –I'll make you toast of Athkatla in under a tenday,' she proclaimed with a laugh. He joined her in a wry smile.

'I had hoped I had left my acting in Ust Natha.'

'Ah, I would _I_ had…' she sighed, suddenly frowning as she admonished herself, 'No, no, I should not say such things -I am more myself now than I have been in a long while, even before we left for the Asylum.'

'You wore such masks before you entered the Underdark?'

She nodded. 'Raising the coin for Imoen's rescue was a trial in itself, and as the leader, I felt I had to put on a brave face for the rest of them.' Her gaze shifted, eyes staring out across the sunlight garden. 'I suppose that was why my change was such a shock for them.'

There seemed little more to say after that and he returned to his studies, the girl laying down her lute, likely worried she would disturb him, and producing a book of her own, and they stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, the sun sinking slowly behind her garden.

Fritha had been dozing for the last half hour, the book lain open in her lap while the light crept up the green decking, the sun low enough that the porch was gradually losing its shade, and Solaufein was deliberating on waking her that they could retreat to the cool of the parlour when the decision was made for him.

The knocking rattled through the house, Fritha awaking with a start and frowning as she rose to answer it, opening the front door to find a blond youth stood there in the pale blue livery of the palace servants. He bowed.

'Lady Fritha, her Majesty, Queen Ellesime, requests your presence at the palace.'

'This very moment?'

'If you can be spared, lady.'

Solaufein frowned, suspicious of this sudden summons. 'And may I attend also?'

The youth looked uncomfortable. 'It was not mentioned.'

'It will be fine, Solaufein,' Fritha soothed with her usual mildness, 'I will come now.'

'I will await you here then,' he agreed, more for the messenger's benefit than for hers, and he stood on her porch, watching them move off down the walkway until they were lost to the glare.

**…**

The messenger left her just inside the main doors, a couple of maids who recognised her from her stay there, gladly taking her the rest of the way through the airy, quiet corridors into the heart of the palace. Ellesime was waiting for her, the room they led her to, a large circular chamber that was half-room, half-garden, the pale wooden walls lined with large pots overflowing with flowers, a fountain playing in the corner, while above was open to the verdant canopy –it was very beautiful, but Fritha preferred her own garden.

An ornate table of scrolling wood had been placed in the centre, two chairs either side, and two glasses atop it, the Queen turning from where she had been watching the fall of water to dismiss the two maids with a nod, a smile welcoming Fritha into the room.

'Fritha, you came.'

Fritha dipped her head in a bow. 'As you requested.'

Ellesime gestured to the chair opposite, the elf pouring the pale pink wine from the tall fluted jug between them, though neither woman touched their glasses as the meeting began.

'So, you are enjoying your stay at the city?' the Queen smiled, 'I noticed you were not tempted away by this wedding.'

Fritha had little patience left for such pointless pleasantries. 'No, I was not, but was it truly talk of that which brings me here?'

Ellesime sighed; perhaps she had wanted to build up to this moment, her eyes lingering on the table as she ventured, 'Do you recall, Fritha, when you first rose in the Great Temple after three days of death? I said that the people of Suldanessellar would forever be indebted to you, and that there would always be a place for you here…'

She paused, moving as though she would take a drink before she though better of it, her slender hand clenched as she laid it next to her glass.

'There are rumours coming from the south, of giants on the move in Tethyr and other clamourings of war. The borders are far away though and we thought little of it, at first, but our scouts have since reported back that people are foraying into the southern edge of the Wealdath, this great forest where Suldanessellar finds its home. It is believed they were looking for the ruins of a temple that was once located there, one that was destroyed two decades past now…' Ellesime swallowed dryly. 'A temple dedicated to Bhaal. A group of soldiers leave tomorrow to investigate further and assess the threat to this city, and the Wealdath at large.'

'And you would like me to leave with them,' confirmed Fritha evenly. The Queen flushed.

'Your actions saved this city. I gave you my word you would always have a place here and I will not break it, but…'

Ellesime trailed off and Fritha nodded, speaking the excuses she could not bear to offer.

'You have your people to consider. If a Bhaal cult is emerging then I am surely to be a target and your people have suffered enough strife of late. I will go,' she sighed, 'but there are terms. I want Solaufein and the others to be allowed to stay here if they choose it –Imoen is not as well known as I; her presence would pose the city little threat. And when the others return, they are not to know where I have gone -you _must_ tell I just left,' she pressed, 'that I went to- to Candlekeep or somewhere, and you do not know when I will return.'

The Queen nodded, finally able to meet her eye.

'You have my word. May Corellon Larethian watch over you.'

**…**

Fritha left Ellesime there and then, no desire to stay and make empty chatter with the woman, and she was halfway home when she stopped on the small platform that overlooked the marketplace the tier below, the long benches that were set about the border interspersed with fine statues and flowerbeds, couples and small groups seated or promenading the edge, enjoying the peace. Fritha took a seat on the nearest bench, unmindful of the stares as she lay back and closed her eyes against the golden sky.

So the wheels were in motion already, and though she wished she could reason it all away with thoughts of coincidence and rumour, it did not feel that way, a dull weight heavy in her stomach ever since the Queen had told her. She knew of the prophesy –the Children were fated to drown Faerûn in blood, and most of it their own, in that final step to Bhaal's return – it was just her part in it all of which she was uncertain.

Should she go south with the elves? She knew she had just promised Ellesime as much, but she had the general impression the woman hardly cared as long as she was out of her city. Perhaps she could go north, back to Athkatla as Imoen had wanted and meet the rest of them there. But a part of her felt like she was just putting off the inevitable and she was tired of running, knowing her destiny was yet to be faced, her life and the ties that went with it all the more difficult to invest in when she was waiting for it to end. Perhaps it would be better to just walk willing forward and get it all over and done with.

Fritha felt the breeze caress her hair, the inside of her eyelids burning red in the fading light. She wished she had someone to talk to, but the voice was gone and even the one that had kept her company since her lonely childhood in Candlekeep now felt forced and staged. She sighed. There was nothing to be done, and, in reality, she had made her decision when the Queen had first told her. She would go south and meet her fate, and the others –well, would do what they willed, but she would not see them dragged along with her.

The pale twilight was drawing in by the time she finally mustered the energy to return to her house. The parlour was empty; Solaufein had likely grown tired of waiting and returned to his own rooms an age ago. Fritha gazed about the small room, kept tidy by the drow's daily visits –at least it would make it easier to pack.

But Gods above, she felt wretched! And, for a moment, she was almost tempted to get drunk, just to take the edge from it. But she had learnt her lesson with that long ago; however much you drank there was always that inevitable moment where you were sober once more and you found all your original woes awaiting you -plus possibly a few more and a headache into the bargain.

A moment stooped over the table making a neat pile of the books and maps she would be taking with her, and she was marching up the stairs, her old pack fished out from under her bed and placed open upon it as she slowly emptied the wardrobe. A few trousers, a few tunics, some underwear, _no_ dresses –they took up too much room and she never had chance to wear them anyway. Her jewellery? Oh, why not, it was small and at least she could sell it if she had to.

'Fritha, forgive me, but you could not hear my calls downstairs. I thought you may be hungry, so I brought us-' and Solaufein stopped just a moment after she did, the girl frozen with a neatly rolled tunic halfway to her bag, the man's pale eyebrows knitted in a puzzled frown as he watched her from the open doorway.

'Are you going somewhere?'

She nodded slowly, her mind whirring through the possibilities –she had not expected to have to explain.

'Yes, I- I've decide to take a walk out for a few days -I heard there are some temple ruins to the south and I would like to see them.'

'You are going alone?'

'No, with some elves.'

A long pause; Fritha could feel her face growing hotter as his eyes bored into hers –for one who had been brought up to never question a female with such insolence, he had certainly taken well to it.

'And may I attend with you?'

'I…' Fritha faltered, finally defeated as she sank onto the bed with a sigh, 'I used to be so good at this –_really_ good- I could have convinced you the sky was green and fish flew about it had I been so inclined.'

His smooth face wore a gentle look. 'So the truth is?'

'Ellesime's kicking me out. I agreed to go peaceable if the rest of you were allowed to stay, so…' She gestured to the pack next to her. Solaufein was frowning again.

'You are leaving without the others?'

Fritha sighed deeply.

'Yes, and I _know_ they won't agree with me, but it really is for the best. I am destined for destruction, and I know for some _unfathomable_ reason they all want to share it with me, but I don't. It won't be easy for them or me, and too many have died already trying to keep me from my destiny. I thought I had accepted it before, being a Bhaalspawn, but I had not understood the consequences of it. All this trouble with Irenicus -him murdering my friends, stealing Imoen and then our souls- at last showed me what my heritage could truly mean for me and I was bitter, angry that life had dealt me such a hand. But good and bad comes to all people and I understand now, have understood it ever since I stood beneath this great tree and thought on the death that awaited me at its heart. I have accepted what I am and the future I will likely have… I can do nothing else.'

She looked up at him, trying to will him to understand it, too, as she asked, 'When the others arrive back, please just tell them I've returned to Candlekeep for a visit –they will only follow me otherwise and, selfish as it sounds, their presence will just make everything harder for me in the end.'

Solaufein was still frowning, a determined cast to those fine, silvery eyes. 'I do not want to stay here.'

Fritha snorted, finally pushing the tunic into her bag and continuing her packing.

'Well, you're free to leave whenever you choose.'

'I mean, I wish to go with you.'

'You don't know where I am going yet.'

'I would not care.'

'The Underdark.'

The man could not suppress his gasp. 'Sweet Eilistraee, truly?'

'No,' she laughed gently, 'but I feel a bit better that you believed me. As for our destination, it was as I said before. Someone has been poking around looking for the ruins of a Bhaal temple on the southern edge of the Wealdath and a group of soldiers are being sent out to investigate.' She glanced to him again. 'You still want to come?'

'I do.'

'You had best go and pack then,' she sighed, half guilty at the relief she felt –it would have been a harder journey without _any_ ally, 'we leave with the dawn.'

Solaufein nodded, taking the sandals she now held and placing them in the bag for her, in an unprecedented display of boldness, his other hand hovering at her back as though to usher her from the bed she was still seated upon.

'Indeed, but first we eat.'

xxx

The great hall was a crush of people, the tables pushed back to make room for the many couples as the minstrels struck up the first bransle of the evening, and the courtyard outside was little better, guests gathered beneath the paper lanterns that had been strung across the battlements, talking and drinking under a star-scattered sky. Valygar kept his eyes fixed on the pink twist of hair, trying his best to keep up without spilling his drink as the shorter girl weaved easily through the throng.

'Come on, this way.'

She was heading for the steps in the corner, the girl tripping lightly up them and at last they were above the warm press, the air cool and much quieter there on the walls, the rest of the gathering just a low roar far beneath them. Imoen sent him a pleased grin, sparing not a thought for her gown as she jumped up to sit on the lower crenelle and patted the stone next to her, the sheer drop on the other side seemingly outside her concern.

'There, this is a bit better, isn't it?' she sighed as he sank down at her side, Imoen taking a good sip of wine, an eager hand already pressing at his arm, 'Now, I want _all_ the gossip -you can tell me who Anomen's new bird is for a start!'

'You speak of Brieanna?' Valygar confirmed, 'There is little to tell. She was travelling to Athkatla with hopes of joining the Order. We met her on the road back from Trademeet and she travelled the remaining leagues to the city with us. I assume by her presence here, she and Anomen have become better acquainted since.'

'Clearly,' Imoen sniped, her disapproval evident, 'Fritha is _loads_ prettier.'

Valygar remained decidedly neutral. 'Well, if the sages have it true, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.'

'Beholder is right; she was all teeth and eyestalks!'

He snorted into his cup, Imoen still lost to giggling next to him as he began his reproach.

'And why should you be concerned about Anomen's choice of lady –I did not believe you approved of him.'

The girl shook her head, swallowing another mouthful. 'I don't much, but then Fritha went to all that effort to bring him back to life and I figured _she_ must like him well enough.'

'Perhaps, though she seemed to favour company of another sort when we were back in Suldanessellar,' Valygar offered, wondering when he had begun to even take note of such things. Imoen was frowning.

'What? Who?'

'Well, the drow was one of the few people she would speak to before we left.'

'What, Fritha and Solaufein?' Imoen considered aloud, before quickly dismissing it with a shake of her head. 'Nah, Fritha couldn't keep a secret like that from me. So what about you,' she continued with a careful nonchalance, 'had the ladies of Athkatla cried the city a second river in your absence? But seriously, are their any new girls on the horizon or are you just sticking with the usual dozen?'

Valygar quirked a smile. 'My habits are so far unchanged. But what of you, do the young men of Suldanessellar strew the streets now, broken-hearted?'

She shrugged airily, a sly smile pulling at her mouth. 'Probably, but I made them no promises.'

Valygar laughed; the girl's cheek could always raise a smile from him, Imoen giggling as well.

'You know I was talking to Fritha just before we left Suldanessellar and we might be coming back to Athkatla soon enough –we still good to stay at yours?'

'Ah, yes, if you wish it,' he faltered, recalling the offer he had made what felt like an age ago, 'There is more than enough room.'

'Poor Vals,' she sighed teasingly, 'you'll be lonely once Minsc has gone.'

Valygar made a movement somewhere between a shrug and a nod. 'I am used to the solitude and Minsc would have left long ago had he been travelling southward -the caravans cannot seem to hire enough guards.'

'Why?'

'Have you not heard? I thought with you coming from nearer the border…' he trailed off, Imoen giving a wry snort.

'Perhaps you didn't notice it when you were there, but Suldanessellar's a bit isolated'

'Well, the rumours have a band of giants roaming Tethyr, though to what end no one can yet say. The last report I heard had them sighted in the Starspire Mountains.'

Imoen's pale face hid nothing of her rising dismay. 'The Starspires? They border the Wealdath –that's right next to Suldanessellar!'

'Imoen, the Starspires are a tenday from the city, and whatever these giants plans, I do not believe the elves are their target.'

But it was as though these truths meant nothing to the girl, her knuckles white about her cup as she stared out across the courtyard.

'I… I need to speak to Jaheira.'

'But-'

'I need to speak to Jaheira _now!_' she snapped, a surge of blue sparks dancing between her fingers.

Valygar scowled, on his feet in an instant and thrusting his cup at her. 'Fine. Wait here.'

Imoen's face fell, the girl hastening to catch his arm.

'Vals, I'm really sorry, I-'

But he had already gone.


	5. Opening moves

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: A bit early this week as I'm away at a wedding tomorrow (Congrats, Rachel and Ned!). The wheels are slowing beginning to turn in this chapter, so I'd be interested to know what people think. Don't be shy, R&R!_ ^_^

**Opening moves**

They had eaten dinner together in her darkened parlour, neither of them bothering to light the lamps, the pair talking little over the route they would likely take before Solaufein returned to the palace to pack his few belongings, Fritha clearing the dishes and raking out the hearth, the girl set upon leaving the house as tidy as when she had arrived there.

Solaufein had returned in little under an hour. Perhaps he did not quite trust her still to be there in the morning, and he had stayed the night at her house. It was a warm evening, Fritha pulling the jumble of blankets from her bed and they had slept on the back porch, her last waking memory: Solaufein knelt in amongst her swaying tulips as he had made the nightly prayers to his goddess.

It was the morning now, the blankets back inside and folded neatly upon her bed once more, Fritha returned to the porch to take one last look over her garden, the tiny chrysanthemum seedlings she had planted just the day before bejewelled with dew in the hazy dawn light. She would never see them bloom, but she had asked her old neighbour to keep them watered all the same. Fritha turned from the garden, her eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom of her parlour, so empty and neat, as though she had never even lived there -at least in her garden she had made her mark. She filled her old leather canteen at the sink, giving the smiling leviathan a fond pat as she shouldered her pack, the keys left upon the table as she headed for the door.

Solaufein was on the front porch, long sword at his hip and wide hat pulled low over his eyes in anticipation of the day. She reached for the handle and pulled the door closed, her hand lingering on the smooth globe of wood. This was it; she would likely never see this house, this city or even her friends ever again. For a moment, the sense of loss was overwhelming.

Solaufein shifted at her side, grey eyes watching her from the shadow of his hat. Had he felt the same all those months ago as they had panted and scrambled up that dark earth tunnel? His voice was gentle with a sympathy that suggested the possibility of it.

'Are you ready?'

She let her hand drop and turned to step down from the porch. 'Yes.'

They made a brisk pace to the city gates, the cool, grey dawn leaving the walkways empty and the air damp. Fritha's skin shivered, a hollow nervousness churning in her stomach, a mix of too little sleep and worries for the journey she was about to embark upon, and she was glad when the walkway at last opened out to that wide platform. A group of eight lightly armoured scouts, a woman and seven men, were already assembled loosely before the wide trunk, their commander standing a little way from them. Not that he had any mark to show him as such, the man clad in the same light leathers and long padded jerkins as the rest of his company. But it was clear from his manner he was one who expected to be obeyed, narrowed eyes watching their approach from behind a chin-length sweep of blond hair, the rest tied back and tucked under his burnt brown cloak. His face was as handsome as it was stern, thin lips twisting with an obvious dislike as they arrived before him.

'You have come, then –the drow and the Bhaalspawn- I am Captain Ferdanil, the leader of this company and commander of this assignment. I will speak this now and frankly: it is only my unwavering loyalty to my Queen that induces me to tolerate such company within my troop. We head south and we do so at our pace –do not think I will delay our mission for the weaknesses of your kind, whatever insights you may bring. Keep up, or be left behind.'

Fritha just caught herself from sending a glance skyward. Oh, Ellesime had to be having a laugh. Solaufein looked as though he was about ready to strike the man, Fritha letting surreptitious fingers hover lightly over his wrist as she sent Ferdanil her sunniest smile.

'Well, now that those pleasantries are out of the way, shall we be off?'

xxx

It was a cold morning that promised to become another warm, fine day, the arc of sky above a clear, faded blue while in the east a golden mist was lingering still over the dark forest, the trees casting long shadows across that mostly sleeping camp.

Valygar shifted where he was seated on his pack a pace or so from the mouth of his tent –he would have to take that down soon, as well. His boots were slick with dew from the lush grass and wet enough that he was glad he had not made a seat of his cloak, the ranger leaning forward to poke at the small fire he had coaxed into life a while back, the damp wood smoking about the small pot of water he had hung over it in anticipation of the morning's desired tea.

He was not even sure why he was awake, why he had risen early and packed up the few items he had brought with him. He did not believe for one moment Suldanessellar was in any danger, from giants or otherwise. But Imoen did, and the two women had agreed last night to return that morning, and for some reason unknown to him, he had offered to attend with them.

The man snorted to himself, giving the fire another half-hearted poke, feeling frustrated by his own irrationality –he was supposed to be shouldering the responsibilities of his estate, and yet here he was, gallivanting off at the first chance. He wondered if his presence was even welcome. Imoen had not tried to apologise again after he had left her on the walls, and he had noticed a marked coldness in her manner towards him ever since he had returned with Jaheira, though he could understand it; she may have surprised him, but he had hurt her feelings. At the tent next to his, a great bald head was slowly emerging, Minsc dragging his bag with him.

'Good morning, Minsc. You are packed; you plan to leave early with the Order?'

The Rashemi frowned and shook his head. 'No… I am coming south with you and the women. Long into the night the Boo and I talked- I know I should return to the city and continue to seek passage north, but young Fritha is my friend and I cannot leave her to this peril.'

'Minsc, there is no evidence that she or anyone else in Suldanessellar is in any sort of danger.'

Minsc sent him a measured look. 'If it is so, then Boo wonders why you are going.'

Valygar flushed and made no answer; in truth, he did not have one to give.

'Minsc and Boo will travel south –if all is fine as you say, we will have lost but a fortnight and the journey north may still be made. My people would see me return for judgement, but good Dynaheir held high the value of friendship and it is her example I shall follow.'

'This will all come to naught,' muttered Valygar sourly, 'we press south just on the basis of a few rumours and a young girl's fretting.'

Minsc was frowning again. 'You may say that, but sometimes such feelings are sudden and heavy, and must be followed to their end.'

A rustle at the tent flap opposite, Jaheira emerging back first and still arguing with the girl she had left.

'Where is the tea, Imoen? -You've packed it, already? -Yes, yes, but we have time for one cup. Ah, Valygar,' she sighed, finally straightened and turning to face the men, 'you are packed, I see. And Minsc is up, also -you are here to bid us farewell?'

'No, Boo and I are joining you.'

'Joining us?'

'Jaheira -Ah, morning you lot,' greeted Imoen, the girl interrupting the druid's questions with her appearance, already on her knees as she set to pulling the tent pegs from the soft earth. 'Jaheira, the tent's empty now -I'm going to start collapsing it.'

'Yes, fine,' the woman sighed, clearly trying not to lose temper with her chivvying, her exasperation fading in a smile as her eyes caught on the figure moving steadily toward them across the camp, Anomen already dressed and armed, his breath misting in the cool air. 'Ah, and here is one who _is_ here to make his farewells. The Order depart soon, Anomen?'

'Within the hour, my lady -many were only allowed a day's absence. And yourselves?'

'As soon as we can,' Imoen offered with an impatient glare to the others, as though to remind them that this would be a lot sooner if they would stop chatting and get on with it. Anomen nodded.

'I wish you safe journey then.' He swallowed, something of the emotional about him as he turned back to Jaheira to press, 'You understand, my lady, had I any more leave myself, I would be accompanying you.'

Jaheira offered him an unusually sympathetic smile. 'We understand.'

'Do not concern yourself, Anomen,' Valygar sighed, 'there is likely nothing amiss.'

'If you think it's nothing, then go back to Athkatla,' snapped Imoen 'I know of at least _one_ person you can make the way with.'

Anomen flushed, but said nothing, Imoen wiping off her soaked knees to march past him. 'I'm going to ask the kitchens for something for the road to Trademeet.'

The camp seemed to breathe a sigh as she left.

'We are about to take tea,' continued Jaheira, 'will you have a cup with us?'

Anomen dipped his head in apologetic decline. 'Ah, no thank you, my lady, I have yet to pack.'

'May I ask a favour of you then?' said Valygar, 'My estate will be expecting us back this day-'

The knight anticipated his request. 'I will send a squire over to explain matters.'

'I am grateful.'

'Well,' Anomen sighed, something of the melancholy creeping in as he surveyed them, 'I wish you all a safe journey.'

And Valygar watched him move off through the tents before returning his attention to the fire, Jaheira stirring tealeaves into the simmering water. When had Anomen become so sensible? And when had _he_ become one for a fool's errand?

xxx

'Here, Anomen?'

Anomen started from where he had been pushing a half-eaten chop about his plate to find a large hand being waved before his face as Simon at last stood and leaned across him to fetch his own carrots, the dish in one hand and serving spoon in the other as he returned to his seat with a sigh and a frown.

'Goodness, Anomen, where are you today?

'Sorry, I was just thinking,' Anomen muttered, the man suddenly wondering how he had managed it in the tumultuous clatter of the refectory at dinner.

'So,' continued Simon, smiling again as he returned to his plate, 'Tell me about the wedding then.'

'There is not much to tell. I stayed mostly in the company of Squire Veren and the others of the Order.'

'_And_ Lady Brieanna,' added Simon, the grin broadening. Anomen bit back a sigh.

'Yes, and the Lady Brieanna.'

'Well, what else?'

Anomen made no attempt to suppress his sigh that time. 'Simon, it was just a gathering. I spoke to the Lady Nalia and wished her well, I saw my former companions but briefly just after the ceremony and then…'

He trailed off as he recalled it once more, stood in that dark courtyard in the surrounding press of guests as he and Jaheira had related to each other the last month, when Valygar's arrival had interrupted them; Imoen was apparently having a fit about something and would Jaheira come now? The druid had excused herself, and it was as he had been standing alone in that throng that he had realised it: he was an outsider now, an acquaintance -someone with whom they could share a polite word or two at a wedding, but he was no longer a part of their group and their troubles were not for him. He had been told later by Minsc that Imoen had heard reports of the troubles in Tethyr and was worried for Suldanessellar. They were not concerns anyone else had shared, including himself, but the girl would not be comforted and it was all Jaheira could do to dissuade her from setting back to the city right there and then.

'And then?' prompted Simon, Anomen started back to the table once more.

'Hmm? Oh, and then we met later, as well.'

His friend was frowning. 'Is that all? You've been in a very odd mood since you returned.'

'Have I?'

'Yes, most_ certainly_… Are you sure nothing happened?'

'No, nothing.'

'No altercations, no _disappointments?_'

Anomen scowled –he did not like the route this discourse seemed to be taking.

'At what are you driving, Simon?'

The squire looked suddenly sheepish. 'Well, Irlana mentioned that Fritha wasn't there, and I was wondering-'

'Not _everything_ has to come back to her, Simon,' he snapped sharply. His friend shrugged, turning pointedly back to his meal.

'Fine then, as you would have it.'

But these crossed words killed the last of his appetite, and Anomen retired to his room soon afterwards, the man sinking onto his bed as though all Toril was pressing down upon him. Everything felt so confusing. He had worked his whole life to be where he was now, a knight of the Order, and yet he had never before considered what it would actually be like. Of course, he had had a good idea –he had been a squire there long enough, serving in campaigns with his brothers as he worked to prove himself. But then he had joined Fritha and the others, and he had been given a taste of a freedom he had never before enjoyed in his life of rules and structure that had begun since the seminary.

He _was_ happy there at the Order, but he missed his old life, too. Here his days were spent drilling the younger squires and men-at-arms, awaiting the time when the Order would next marshal its forces, or he was perhaps selected to join some smaller quest. It was all he would have wanted before he was knighted –now it did not seem enough. The older, more established knights had more freedom in where they chose to wander and the causes they took up, but that was only after they had many campaigns behind them –such trust earned rather than given freely.

Anomen heaved himself up again, crossing to the window just for something to do. Brieanna and Irlana were on the canals below, the latter talking to one of the guards outside the temple to Lathander. The women looked fair in the fading sunlight, graceful even from this distance, one head shining gold while the other was a burning blot of auburn, when suddenly she had turned and Brieanna was staring straight up at him, eyes trained upon his window high above.

Anomen froze, his heart pounding as though been caught doing something he shouldn't, though he realised almost instantly she could not have seen him, not at that height. Irlana spoke a word at her arm, and Brieanna turned back to the conversation with a smile. Anomen stepped back from the window, heart still rattling in his chest.

xxx

Fritha dropped her pack to land with a rustle on the forest floor, her body aching all the more for this sudden release. The day had been a hard one. Captain Ferdanil had marched them south at a pace she could match easily enough, though not without an effort that her weakened body was not used to giving, and she felt now as though she could just fall asleep where she stood. Next to her, Solaufein looked little better; the day had been hot and all the more, she suspected, under that hat, an underlying current of animosity that was directed mostly at him souring the close air.

She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to wake up a bit as those about her fanned out, dropping their bags, as well, to begin unpacking as the dusk drew in. They had finally halted for the day in a clearing that seemed created for that very purpose, the small glade already cleared of branches and rocks, a stone-ringed firepit sunk into the centre, while three thick logs had been set about it to serve as benches.

Fritha willed herself to move to her own pack, but this respite of the body had allowed other aches to surface too, her mind drawn back to Suldanessellar and the friends who would soon be returning there to find her gone. Would Ellesime remember her promise and tell them she went to Candlekeep? Fritha hoped they would take the Queen's word for it, and merely await her return, at least at first; she could just imagine Jaheira's displeasure if the woman, just arrived from Amn, had to hike twice that distance north again, back up to the Western Heartlands to be told Fritha had never even arrived.

They would probably be angry though, once they did find out, and likely hurt, too, and she could see Imoen's face, pale under the scattering of freckles and bright-eyed as her friend realised her duplicity. Fritha slumped onto the nearest log with a weary sigh; why was everything so hard?

'Are you well?' asked Solaufein, glancing back to notice her there. She heaved herself back onto her feet with a wan smile.

'I'm fine, just a bit tired.'

Ferdanil was barking orders in his native tongue. The elves had been speaking Elven all day, though not to her –perhaps they did not think she could understand them.

'Vestil, Tandith, set to collecting some firewood. Bryn, you known where the nearest stream is –Avilar has the cooking pot. The rest of you, begin pitching the tents.'

Fritha sighed again, stooping to unpack the elven-made tent that had long ago made the journey with her to Athkatla and back.

'Right, Solaufein, you heard the man.'

'You understand them,' the drow confirmed mildly. Fritha nodded, passing him up a bag of wooden pegs.

'Yes, my Elven isn't as good as, say, my Netherese, but it's better than my Alzhedo –even if I couldn't understand a word, I'd get the gist from that look,' she added, eyes drawn to where the brothers, Sephis and Orvel, were watching them over the canvas peak of their own tent, sharp faces close as they whispered, their pale hair glinting gold in the dying light. Fritha returned her attention to the man beside her. 'But you can speak in Elven, too, if you'd prefer, Solaufein.'

The drow was frowning, narrowed eyes still fixed on the pair across from them. 'I would not. I should practise my Chondathan and I like to hear you in your native tongue- it is familiar.'

'You two, hurry yourselves!' snapped Ferdanil's brusque common, 'I understand your kind prefers the sweat of slaves to your own, but we have not such luxuries here.'

Fritha bit back a sigh, gathering the jumble of poles into her arms and taking a few paces to the glade's edge, Solaufein following with pegs and canvas, muttering in his own tongue.

'Solaufein?'

'Does he not _anger_ you?'

'Anger me?' Fritha repeated, genuinely surprised by the venom with which he'd hissed the question.

'We fought for his city -you spent your life to save it, yet he speaks to us with nothing but _contempt_.'

Fritha let the idea mull a moment as she pegged out the canvas. 'I suppose I never really thought of it like that. But to be fair, I didn't save Suldanessellar for him, particularly -I saved it because it needed to be saved.'

She sent in the last peg with a well-placed blow of the mallet, and made to stand once more, perhaps too quickly, the girl for a moment dizzy as she left her head at her knees. Solaufein was frowning again.

'Sit, Fritha, I will do this.'

'No, no, can't have the good captain thinking I am making a slave of you, can we?'

It just seemed to have been assumed the two outcasts would share a tent. Solaufein appeared more troubled by the idea than she -perhaps he had not before had the necessity of sharing rooms and tents with sometimes his entire company. Fritha hardly cared as long as she didn't have to share with Ferdanil, the man turning from where he had been helping the auburn-haired Vestil to light the fire.

'You two! Finish that tent and set to the next!'

'For a man unused to slaves, he surely knows how to treat others as them,' muttered Solaufein audibly. Fritha glanced up as the copper-skinned Tandith arrived beside her, the wood elf casually brushing his dark fringe back from his eyes as he stooped to help her peg out the next tent, the older, golden-haired Avilar helping Solaufein with the poles.

'Good cousins,' began Tandith, his voice just low enough to be lost in the activity behind them, 'try not to take what the captain says with offence.'

Fritha summoned a smile of her own as proof of her goodwill –as if she gave a dried fig what any of them thought. 'Ah, we don't, do we, Solaufein?'

The drow said nothing, Avilar perhaps sensing this silent dissent.

'Please do not judge him harshly -his son was lost in one of first drow attacks upon the temple.'

Tandith nodded, the wild crop of hair falling into his eyes once more. 'He was young -some say too young for the duties he was given. He was taken below to their city and never seen again.'

Fritha swallowed, the guilt rising hot in her stomach as, for a moment, she was back there, watching that young elf warrior tremble and sweat before her, as, at her side, Phaere savoured the scene like wine.

The tents up and fire lit, the night seemed to close in quickly, their group sat about the stone-ringed flames to eat their meal of flatbread and cured squirrel meat, Vazaela enchanting the group with a long elven ode from their native Evereska, her dark hair swinging about her as she swayed to the accompaniment of her husband, Jastren's, flute, before all bedded down for an early night.

Neither she nor Solaufein had been given a watch- Fritha seeing this lack of trust as a distinct benefit if it afforded her more sleep, the elves about her retiring to their tents, some just laying cloaks beneath the star-shot canopy to lie or sit in blank-eyed reverie.

The darkness of their tent was a heaven of blessings for her tired eyes, Fritha dropping instantly to her knees upon the cushion of bedding and blankets Solaufein had taken the time to lay out, the man behind her and waiting patiently as she turned to remove her boots before pulling her legs inside as well, the drow following after a moment and they were both within, knelt upon their bedding and packs at hand as they turned their backs to change.

'You have been quiet this evening.'

'Have I?' she asked, voice muffled as she hauled off her tunic and camisole in one, and pulled on the slip she had laid out ready.

'You are thinking on your friends?'

Fritha slipped off her trousers and finally turned around, Solaufein clearly hearing her movement as an indicator it was acceptable for him to do the same, the man now changed as well, his leanly muscled chest bare above a pair of thin trousers of ash green linen that looked much darker in the gloom.

'Thinking on my friends?' she repeated, having to consider the question, 'No -Well, no more than I was yesterday.'

And it was the truth. She did miss them, but the feeling was hardly a new one; she had felt the same when she had been back in Suldanessellar, the girl unable to interact with them as she once had, never quite shaking the feeling she was somehow letting them down -the way Jaheira had watched her with so keen an eye, and poor Imoen, constantly tugging at her sleeve, cajoling her along. And though she was sad it had come to it, a part of her felt relieved to be finally accepting her destiny- a certain melancholy pride coming from the sense she was sparing those dearest to her from its path.

'Then someone here said something which troubled you?' Solaufein pressed, settling down amongst his blankets. Fritha shook her head, the uncomfortable weight in her stomach growing heavier as he neared to the truth of it. She leaned over her bag to swap her hair pins for her brush as she made to comb her hair out for the night.

'No, no, nothing like that. It's… it's just when Avilar told us of Ferdanil's son. When we were in the Ust Natha, when I was Veldrin, I went to a gathering of Phaere's and for our,' she swallowed past the sudden nausea, '_entertainment_, two elves they had captured were made to fight to the death. One of them was so young, and scared almost witless –I wonder now if it was Ferdanil's boy taken into the darkness to die.' She paused in her brushing, Solaufein watching her in silence, his hair overly white in the gloom. 'His older companion won the duel and was to be dragged screaming to the altar. I set up an escape attempt and cut his throat before he could reach it.'

'You did all you could,' said Solaufein quietly.

'Did I?' she sighed, hairbrush left in her lap as she began to weave the braid in which her hair would sleep. 'I sat there and watched as one man was forced to kill another, and all I could offer the survivor was death. Was that the only way, or was it the only way I could see at the time? Perhaps if I had waited until we had left the chamber, killed the guards myself and, I don't know, just let him escape the city, then-'

Solaufein did not let her finish.

'Then he would have been hunted down and killed, and your failure may have earned you a similar fate. I do this, too, lie awake mulling over all the things I did, once willingly and then to maintain my bloody façade as a loyal follower of Lolth. Was there not more I could have done, and if not, why did I not try to leave the city sooner?'

'And why didn't you?'

He sighed deeply, the blankets whispering with his shrug.

'I do not know. I was as any other drow in my earlier years, keen to prove myself to Lolth and house, and crawl my way up from the slavery in which most males are kept. My change in outlook was not some sudden revelation, but a slow awakening. As I rose through the ranks, so did my disillusionment with the life in which I found myself. Was this all there was? Killing for a goddess who would never be sated; for a Matron who could never have enough power? As my importance grew, so did my dissatisfaction with what it had earned me, that which I had once so desired suddenly worthless now won. I had slaves of my own then, gold if I wanted it, the attentions of higher ranking females –what did any of it matter? I was still as much a slave as when I was birthed. We all were - slaves to our fears.'

'So what changed?'

'I was out of the city, on campaign with many warriors of Ust Natha. The Illithids were encroaching on our western territories and we had been sent to drive them back. After many days of diversions and sneak-attacks, we raided their burgeoning stronghold and slaughtered them to the last, though this victory did not come without cost. The commander of our company, a notably fair and noble man in that world of betrayal, had taken too many wounds to be saved. He called me to him as he lay dying in his war tent -he knew his end was upon him and likely did not care anymore. He told me he had watched me over those last few years, recognised the dissatisfaction that had once mirrored his own. He told me of another way, another path meant for us drow.'

Solaufein shook his head, ruefully amused by his stubbornness as he confessed, 'I could not accept his words at first, though I carried the secret of all he had spoken for a long while afterwards and slowly it worked upon me. I had found a book in amongst his belongings, though I did not open it until many months later. It was nothing much, just some scraps of vellum, handwritten prayers and ceremonies to the Goddess and her doctrine, but I treasured it all the same. His last words to me had been to open my heart and Eilistraee would enter –and by Her grace, She did. Yet, still I remained within Ust Natha, slowly rising through the ranks of the Male Fighters' Society. At first, I convinced myself I would find no better welcome on the surface. The only tunnels I knew of led out in the forests of Suldanessellar and the elves there were used to our raids; I would have been slaughtered on sight. Then I met Phaere and I thought that perhaps my place was with the drow, spreading word of my Goddess.'

'Did you ever tell Phaere of your faith?'

He snorted bitterly. 'I would hardly be here talking with you if I had. I loved Phaere, and the warmth she showed to me made it hard to admit that, though the capacity for such love was within her, she was drow and _very_ much her mother's daughter. I would see her tender passion when we were alone together, watch that verve sparkle in her eyes, only at other times to be confronted by her ruthless joy at the downfall of an enemy or her lust for battle and blood. I tried to convince myself she was merely playing a role as I was, but no -she was not ready to open her heart to Lady Silverhair.'

'Just to you,' said Fritha quietly.

'Yes, just to me… and how she suffered for it. After she was taken by the Handmaidens, I did not know what to do. At first, I waited for Phaere to return to me, but it soon became evident that the woman I had known was gone. I became more reckless then, visits to the surface around Suldanessellar one of the few pleasures left to me in life –though I still always stopped short of leaving Ust Natha for good.'

'So what made you finally decide to leave?'

'You mean after years of dreaming of the surface, what made me want to go with you?' Solaufein sent a contemplative frown to the canvas above them. 'I thought on it often while you were away in Athkatla hunting that vampire.' He shifted, turning to gaze up at her, grey eyes reflecting silver in the half-light. 'Do you recall what you said to me, Fritha, as you stood before me in my chambers, smiling down at me with a compassion I had never before seen upon the face of one of my own race? _There is a place for you on the surface_; did you know those are the words of my Lady, Eilistraee? Whether it was a coincidence or She herself had some hand in it, I may never know, but it was what I needed to show me the time had come to do what I had both longed for and feared since Phaere was taken.'

Fritha shrugged mildly, at last reaching the end of her braid.

'Well, it wouldn't surprise me if your goddess had had some influence there; everyone seems to want to make use of me for some divine errand or another -right before entering the Underdark I was being heralded as the Shark Father's blessed saviour. I sometimes think we all have it wrong; it's not Bhaalspawn, it's Bhaal's pawn.'

He chuckled quietly. 'Does anything faze you?'

'Oh, plenty of things,' she smiled, a hand in her bag and absently rooting for her hair tie, 'but not that, not anymore. I have accepted it now, and perhaps there is a little of life left to be enjoyed before the end must come.' She sighed, nestling down under her blankets as he had. 'We had best get some sleep while we may.'

A silence fell over them, just long enough for Fritha to realise how loudly the breeze was hissing through the leafy canopy far above them, when-

'Fritha, do half-elves reverie?'

The giggle bubbled out before she could stop it; a high, childlike ripple that came straight from the last unburdened corner of her heart.

'If they do, I never have. Solaufein?'

'Yes, Fritha.'

'Do drow snore?'

The darkness could not hide his smile.

'You will have to tell me tomorrow.'


	6. Spring's Heart

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Ah, this was a long week! I've been on a detox since last Sunday and for something which is apparently good for you, I feel like hell. Thank you to everyone who left feedback; cut out alcohol and hula-hoops, and it seems reading your comments is one of the few pleasures I have left._ ^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Spring's Heart**

The last day of Tarsakh was drawing to a close, the hazy sky the swirled colour of buttermilk over the forest, the Starspires looming above the northern canopy, brown against that pale yellow and marking the, now very nearby, boundary of the Wealdath. They would reach their destination on the morrow, and Fritha was very aware that, depending on what occurred at the temple ruins, their small group could be split once more- the elves returning to their city while she and Solaufein were left to decide their next step.

The verdant peace of Suldanessellar was five days and another world away; they travelled with soldiers now and were expected to live so, every morning begun with the bow exercise of which Valygar was so fond and sword drills. Fritha was always paired with Solaufein and _always_ on the losing side, something he was clearly worried was disheartening for her, the drow assuring her he had seen her fight better than such paired practises allowed, and drills meant little in the bloodthirsty chaos of true battle.

Then would come the long day of walking. Most of the elves spent it in quiet talk amongst themselves. Ferdanil's obvious disapproval was enough to keep the majority at bay, but the bolder of their company seemed more willing to make friends, the wood-elf Tandith and old Avilar, the Pathfinder of Rillifane, their usual visitors, young Bryn and the couple from Evereska sometimes dropping back as well to join she and Solaufein as they brought up the rear together. Of course, there were others who were just as set upon their dislike, the brothers, Sephis and Orvel, being the most obvious and wilfully so. Solaufein had kept his patience with their comments so far and she had to keep reminding herself that, though the drow's anger at this treatment was evident, after a lifetime of training, their petty jibes were unlikely to breach his iron self-control.

Fritha accepted her musings with a mental shrug and went back to her washing, rubbing the cloth over the back of her neck where the sweat and dust always seemed to mix to an oily grime above her chainmail. Shy, young Bryn had told her of the pool on his return from fetching the evening's water, face pink under his sandy crop of hair as he had confessed he had heard her speaking to Solaufein about wanting a wash the day before. It was a small glade, the narrow stream snaking through the trees from the north, its source likely high in the mountains there. The pool itself had been eroded out from the deep earth bowl left by a fallen tree, a few others looking as though they may soon be joining it, their gnarled roots twisting out across the pool as it stole the earth from under them, before chattering off on its way once more and Fritha wondered if it eventually joined the river that fed the great Lake Esmel of Trademeet.

She had done her laundry when she had first arrived, what was now her entire wardrobe hung about her over bushes and lower branches, as though some group of people had wildly flung off all their clothes a desperate hurry to be naked. _She_ certainly had been, the girl wearing not a stitch now, stooped over the small pan of water and kept warm by her activity as she vigorously rubbed a well-soaped cloth over her skin.

Her wash finally done, she rinsed the cloth, laying it on the grass to dry and throwing the dirty water to soak into the forest floor, at last ready for the moment she had been anticipating since she came upon that inviting, azure pool.

The water was cold, a pleasant shiver bristling her skin as she waded to the centre. It was not deep, the level just above her waist, the girl drawing a steeling breath to dunk herself under and gasping as she finally surfaced to settle on her knees, the sandy bed smooth beneath her legs and water rushing about her shoulders, Fritha leaning back, letting it ripple though her hair as it flowed its course.

A rustle of undergrowth, Fritha straightening in time to see Solaufein step from the trees, his pack over his shoulder and likely drawn there by the same reason as she. The instant he saw her, he had turned smartly on his heel, his voice even though the tension to his shoulders betrayed his discomfort, Fritha watching the gather of long white hair sway slightly as he spoke.

'Your pardon, Fritha, I had not-'

'Don't worry, Solaufein, I'll be out in a moment. Wait, if you want.'

'Well, I-'

She smiled slightly. 'Are the drow usually so uncomfortable with nudity?'

'No.'

'And I'm hardly fussed anymore, so why pretend we're bothered when we're not? Besides, I doubt you could see much even if you looked.'

The man seemed to consider this a moment, before taking a few steps to place his belongings down in the long grass opposite and settle next to them, his gaze lingering anywhere but the pool -as it should be. Fritha leaned back again with a contented sigh.

'The water is pleasing?'

'Yes, very. I don't like not being able to wash regularly. I cleaned my clothes too, see,' she offered, nodding to the nearest tunic, 'Leave yours and I can do them for you, as well, if you like.'

'I thank you, but I will wash my own.'

'Stooping to slaves' work?' she teased. He nodded once, eyes still watching her drying tunic.

'Rather I than you. Were this a drow company, were you still Veldrin, such things as clean clothes and hot baths would be the least of the luxuries afforded to you by your slave retinue.'

'Now, I am not one to advocate the use of slaves, but that does sound very nice -it would be worth it just to see the look on Ferdanil's face.' Her laughter was lost in the roar of water as she stood once more, wading back to the bank to where her travelling cloak and pack were waiting, the girl wrapping herself in the towel there and settling on the soft, silk-lined robe, as, behind her, Solaufein's gasp indicated he'd braved the water. He had already waded in up to his waist, his bared chest nothing she had not seen before and she watched him begin his wash, the man scooping something from a jar on the opposite bank, though it did not foam like soap, the consistency against his glistening shoulders looking more gritty and she wondered if it was some stronger version of the walnut and cherry oil scrub used on her face.

'_Ferdanil_,' the drow sneered with an obvious odium as he continued their talk, 'I understand his dislike of me, but why you?'

Fritha shrugged, reclining back on her robe to gaze up at the distant canopy. 'Bhaalspawn? Half-elf? Too short? Too pale? Too ginger? If people don't want to like you, they will always find a reason.'

'You do not sound particularly troubled by his intolerance.'

Fritha snorted a frank laugh. 'I'm not. The problem is his, not mine. But does it still bother you so?'

'In part. I was a man of rank in Ust Natha, head of the city's fighting males and I take pride in my skills, even if they were employed less nobly than I would have liked. But now,' Solaufein sighed, disconsolate and frustrated, 'I am no one -just another drow _murderer_. And I know few others here on the surface will see me differently.' He glanced to her. 'I wonder sometimes why you did.'

She shrugged again, not sure she had an answer for him.

'I suppose I have always just judged people as I find them. I never faced this before I left Candlekeep, this prejudice the rest of the Faerûn seems to learn from the crib –I never realised the world was so segregated. My world was made of many creeds, sages from the length and breadth of Faerûn; humans, elves, dwarves from the Dalelands to Calimshan, and some of the visitors came from even further away. But in Candlekeep, it didn't matter who or even _what_ you were, all were judged on their minds- unfortunately for me,' she added with a wry laugh. 'But things will change for you, Solaufein, and if they do not, do the opinions of such bigots really matter?'

'And what of you?' he questioned gravely, 'I note I do not face this prejudice alone.'

'It is hardly the same; most people don't know I'm a Bhaalspawn. And of those that do,' she considered aloud, 'well, they usually either want to kill me or are scared of me, or both -but some see past that to person I am.'

'As Ellesime did,' he offered quietly. Fritha sighed.

'Well, yes, there is that. But it is hard to feel wronged in something when you can see where the one responsible is coming from.'

Solaufein nodded, stooping slightly to splash water across his torso. 'I understand your dilemma. Though Ferdanil and the others' attitudes anger me, I wonder sometimes if it is as much as I deserve. I have lived a long while and have committed many atrocities in the maintenance of my act, something made worse by the fact I knew I did not agree with them, but could see no other way –perhaps, their distrust is justified.'

Fritha smiled, eyes back on the golden sky. 'Perhaps. But we must all play the hand we're dealt. Many grow up free and choose paths much worse than the one you were forced to walk. And, gods-willing, you've many years left to redress the balance.'

A pause to the splashing, Fritha glancing back to find him watching her once more, pale eyes alive in the fading light.

'You have a beautiful soul, Fritha.'

Fritha laughed. 'Beautiful or not, I'm just glad to have it back.'

Solaufein shook his head, smiling as he return to his washing, Fritha closing her eyes to better enjoy the chatter of the stream and gathering birds both, as they settled into their roosts, and the next thing she saw was the drow standing over her, dressed now and framed by the twilit canopy, the rest of his clothes hung about the glade with her own.

'Solaufein?'

'You fell asleep.'

She nodded, still trying to wake up, and he waited while she discarded her towel, finally pulling on her slip and pale blue travelling cloak, her feet in her battered leather sandals as they set off.

'The night draws in,' offered Solaufein to the gloaming, 'the others may already have retired.'

Fritha suppressed a shiver, drawing her robe about her. 'I hope they have not all decided to take reverie outside again like last night; it's like you get up in the morning and they're all dead.'

But, back at camp, it seemed none there were sleeping, even if they had wished to be, half the elves still up and caught in a heated discussion of the symbiotic relationship between nature and elfkin, the lights of what was likely a village in the distant foothills, just visible through the trees, hanging in the darkness like a tiny swarm of fireflies.

'Elves are born of nature,' offered Vestil, red hair bright in the firelight, 'their relationship comes as instinctive.'

Sephis was frowning. 'But what of those elves who would live within the human cities –some have clearly lost such an affinity.'

'Perhaps,' conceded Ferdanil, 'but return them to the fold and they will soon relearn our ways.'

'It is so,' nodded Orvel, 'but I believe the elves should take a more active role in enforcing a similar relationship between nature and the other races.'

'Faerûn is for everyone,' reminded Vestil, 'we cannot dictate how the other races should live.'

Sephis gave a sanctimonious snort. 'The other races I will concede, but the humans are too young and greedy as a people –all the races agree it. Their lives are too short to care for the consequences of their actions.'

'I agree,' said Ferdanil firmly, as though daring any to contest him, 'the humans are blight upon Faerûn. They would destroy nature for their own profit, damning even the future of their own people, as well as the other races. Why, even here on the edge of the Wealdath, we have seen recent evidence of careless felling by their kind.' He finished the rant with a glare to the two newcomers.

'I don't know _why_ he's looking at us, Solaufein,' said Fritha in a clear, orotund voice, the drow smiling as she turned to their tent, 'Goodnight everyone.'

xxx

Imoen lay still, staring up at the dark canvas roof of the tent as Jaheira slept next to her, the rustle of the swaying branches and distant creaks and groans of the forest echoing just beyond those fabric walls. They had tried to get a boat from Trademeet, but none were heading southwards and they had had to make the way by foot in the end, five days of hard travel finding them under the Wealdath's canopy once more. She listened to the forest about her, fingers playing absently with the blue stone pendant at her neck, her eyes hot and sandy even as they refused to close in sleep. She knew the others did not understand her urgency. Indeed, she did not understand it herself, only that ever since Valygar had mentioned the troubles in Tethyr, there had been a knot in her stomach, heavy enough to leave her sick, and she knew the feeling would not leave her until she saw Fritha's face once more and knew she was, as the others kept insisting, perfectly well.

Imoen sighed deeply, trying not to fidget. Her worries for Fritha were only half her troubles. Ever since she had left de'Arnise Keep, the dreams had begun once more -their respite lasting only slightly longer than her stay in Suldanessellar.

They were bad, too, but different to the ones she suffered from before, where every night would find her back in Irenicus's care, mind swimming with the horrors he had shown her. Now, the dreams were more abstract, not as such frightening but they disturbed her enough to make for restless nights. Imoen let her mind drift back to the one that had just awoken her: a city aflame and people screaming as a tide of blood engulfed them. It was no good; there was no way she was getting back to sleep now.

Outside, the embers of a small fire were glowing in the firepit, like a clutch of salamander eggs, moths and other insects engaged in an elaborate dance above, while Valygar sat within the small circle of light, his broad face set as he stared out into the night.

'I thought Minsc had this shift,' she murmured, throwing down her cloak and herself after it.

'I sent him back to his tent –I could not sleep.'

'I don't suppose you're tired now?' She snorted at his frown. 'No, me either,'

'You are worried for Fritha?'

Imoen nodded, prompting his sigh.

'Nothing will have happened, you know.'

'Will you stop saying that! Something is wrong- don't ask me to explain, I just know it.'

'Fine,' he rejoined tersely, 'but we will be there soon enough and until then perhaps you should try to put it from your mind -you will only make yourself ill.'

'Yeah, you're right,' she sighed, his concern making her feel suddenly all the worse. 'I'm sorry I keep snapping. So what's your excuse for being out of bed, then?'

Valygar shrugged, poking at the glowing embers to send sparks rising up into the darkness.

'When back in the city I was re-acquainted with an old friend of my parents… and my former tutor. He stayed at my home a time, though our parting was less than cordial and in the exchange, he spoke of my mother… I have been thinking upon that.'

Imoen was very careful in her phrasing. 'On what you did to her?'

'In a way… I do not like to think on my past, my childhood especially, but I have found myself dwelling on it more and more of late… and I am remembering things, moments between my mother and my younger self, ones of kindness and the love I had assumed absent in my upbringing –I was happy.'

'Then, what happened?'

'As I grew older, I leant more of our family's heritage -our vow concerning Lavok and our lost wealth were but two of generations of follies- and I saw that our affinity with the Art was the cause of it all. I felt at the time that my mother was growing more distant as my dissatisfaction grew, but I wonder now if that was not me pushing her away. It all came to a head when my uncle was arrested for dealing in 'necromantic supplies'. Such a business is frowned upon in Waterdeep and it was only with a great deal of coin and influence that he was spared the gaol. I accused my mother of heading down the same path, that she would eventually be corrupted by the magic and how I would not stay there to watch it. And, good to my word, I departed and, if Alergard is to be believed, left a void in my mother's life that only the Art could fill. I sealed her fall.'

His last word died in the air, Imoen with little to offer the silence and they sat like that a while, the frustration building in her heart until-

'What do you want from life, Valygar?' she burst out suddenly, 'You returned to Athkatla to run your estate –why, when you never cared before? Is it guilt over this –over your mother's death?'

'In a way, though it comes more from my decision as the last of the Corthala line to end our cursed heritage for good. I thought to give my ancestors renown instead of an heir.'

Imoen was stunned. 'No heir?' she laughed weakly, 'Gods, you're really going to do the thing properly, aren't you? I certainly hope you are the last Corthala then. What a waste it would be if there was some distant relative still kicking about with name and curse both.'

'I believe the risk of such is slim enough to chance –but what of you, what are your plans?'

She dismissed his question with a wave of her hand.

'Ah, I can't plan ahead -I never could. We'll get back to Suldanessellar -everything will be _well_,' she added pointedly for his benefit, 'then we can all go back to Athkatla together and everyone can move forward… We can only move forward, Valygar,' she pressed quietly, but the man avoided her eye and she could not tell whether he'd heeded her or not. She let her gaze fall from his face to notice the map had been studying.

'So, how many days now before we get there?'

'Another one and a little into the next at this pace.'

Ah, are you having trouble keeping up, Vals?' she teased. The man snorted, going back to his map and Imoen lay down there upon her cloak, letting her eyes close at last.

xxx

The first day of Mirtul had dawned an inauspicious grey, the sky dull and overcast, though Anomen doubted a blizzard would have dampened his friend's good spirits. He was in the squires' dormitories now, seated on the spare bed William would have usually occupied, were he not away with his knight, Erick next to him, while the other three beds served as chairs for their usual occupants. Aiden, Sadir and Simon were all up with the larks and chattering just as merrily as they completed their knights' chores, Sadir cleaning Sir Gethan's boots and Aiden running an oiled rag over a pair of leather bracers, while Simon burnished a large ornate breastplate to a mirror-like shine.

'Ah, only a few short hours now, Simon,' laughed the swarthy Sadir, 'then comes your _judgement_.'

'Are you nervous?' asked Aiden, running an anxious hand through his floppy brown hair, 'I'd be nervous.'

The summons had come two days ago, the Order requested to marshals their forces and march into Tethyr to meet with Knights of the Silver Chalice that they may together rout this group of giants and brigands who were bringing trouble to that land. A company of a hundred knights and their squires left on the morrow, but for Simon a trial of a different sort was yet to be faced –not that the man himself was regarding it as such, Simon characteristically unruffled by the look of things, the man admiring his own beaming reflection in the breastplate before setting it aside to work on the back.

'Ah, what is there to fret about? What will come, will come, and I know the least of what is come will be a party. My parents are holding a gathering at the estate tonight. I expect to see you all there –and the lovely Brigitte too, Aiden.'

'Truly?' the lad grinned, already looking forward to it, it seemed. 'Ah, she will be pleased, Oh, I'd best let her know now then; she will have to ask her father's permission.'

And off he went no doubt to find one of the younger boys to deliver the message, leaving a frowning Erick in his wake.

'A gathering? Do you not think that is a little premature, Simon – you may not yet be knighted.'

'_Erick!_' cried Anomen; he could not even imagine how awful _he_ would have felt if anyone had said the same to him before his judgement. But Simon just laughed.

'Well, if it comes to that, then I shall definitely be wanting a drink!'

Sadir was grinning, already on his second boot. 'The gatherings at your estate are always the best, Simon –your sisters are going to be there, aren't they?'

'Yes, and my brother, Gerard, too, with Fariha, Adris and new baby Riama. My mother has been smiling for the last tenday; she always loves to have the house full.'

Anomen smiled, too, leaving them to their talk of families and the gathering to come, the man moving downstairs to the entrance hall, the clatter of those last few who had lingered over breakfast echoing from the refectory. It was not there he turned though, the man heading straight to the door out onto the courtyard, his hand reached out for the handle when it swung back of its own accord, Brieanna suddenly in the mouth, both hair and tunic free from the sprigs of flowers many ladies wore on that day.

'Lady Brieanna.'

'Ah, hello, Anomen, a fair Greengrass to you.'

He moved to the side, the woman inadvertently mirroring his movement and they shifting back and forth for an awkward moment, each trying to get out of the other's way, Anomen finally taking a wide step back into the entrance hall and fighting against a blush.

'Forgive me, my lady.'

'It is quite all right,' she smiled, entering at last, 'that was the first dance I've had since the wedding.'

Anomen joined her in a laugh. 'You seem in good spirits, I see Simon is not the only one who has no worries about the outcome of their judgement –I fear _I_ was a bundle of nerves.'

'And I have no doubt I would be the same, but I will not be joining the other squires in the ceremonies this day. I spoke to the Prelate this morning and we agreed I could defer my judgement until Midsummer.'

Anomen could barely believe what he had just heard. 'You asked to _defer_ to the summer ceremonies?'

Brieanna nodded gravely.

'Yes, I wish to prove my mettle now I am within the Order's ranks. I know there is a battalion leaving for Tethyr on the morrow and I have asked to be counted in their company. I feel it must be done, for the honour of Torm and, indeed, my own heart.'

Anomen really could not think of anything to answer such humility, though he was saved the effort.

'Ah, Lady Brieanna,' called Simon, the pair turning to see he and Sadir clattering blithely down the stairs behind them, 'Fair Greengrass, my lady. Has Anomen here told you of the party to be held at my estate? It is from the sunset, and you are most welcome to attend.'

Brieanna smiled, a light-hearted spark suddenly resting in those brown eyes. 'Why, thank you, Sir Simon.'

'I'm afraid it is still _squire_ as yet,' the man admitted with a grin.

'Of course, but I thought it best to practise it a little.'

Simon laughed loudly. 'Careful, my lady, you'll swell my head!'

'I wouldn't worry, Simon, it surely couldn't get much bigger,' offered Sadir. The blond man laughed affectedly, throwing an arm about his friend's shoulders and cuffing the back of his head, the pair of them still bickering blithely as they stepped through the doors.

'You had best hope I don't get knighted –you'll be on stable duties for a tenday.'

'And what threat is that? I've had to share a room with you for five years.'

'Well,' said Brieanna, still smiling as she turned back to him, 'I will no doubt see you tonight then.'

'Yes, my lady, until then.'

He bowed to her nod, and his eyes followed her until the refectory doors were closed once more.

xxx

Fritha ducked into the tent, dropping instantly to her knees in amongst the soft blankets, the man she shared with still asleep beneath his own, white hair escaping from its tie to lay across his polished, black shoulders, his handsome face still tense even in sleep.

'_Solaufein_?' she murmured, slowly extending the ash branch she held, fresh green leaves drooping under their weight of dew, '_Solaufein?_'

The branch was right above his face now, the girl feeling a smile pulling at her mouth as she gave it a good shake and dislodged its shower, the man spluttering as he sat bolt upright.

'_Nyloth sper'r-_ Fritha?' he choked, finally finding her, the girl instantly pressing the branch into his hand with a joyous laugh.

'Fair Greengrass to you, Solaufein!'

'Ah, and a fair Greengrass to you…' he answered, after a long pause, the man frowning slightly as he asked, 'Fritha, what is Greengrass?'

'It is the first day of Mirtul, a celebration of the spring that is well in down here and has not yet even touched the northern lands. But it does not matter- all celebrate the day.'

He gave the branch he held an illustrative shake.

'By attacking people with leaves?'

'It's lucky to wash your face in dew –they say you will keep spring's youthful glow all year.'

'And has it worked?'

'Perhaps not on your hair,' she smiled, the girl laughing lightly as he reached a tentative hand up to check the rumpled mess of snowy tresses. 'I collected our clothes from the glade –they've all dried, thankfully. Here, I've put yours next to your bag.'

And Fritha left him to dress, moving outside to welcome the dawn with a song of larks and blossoms as she moved about the camp's edge collecting wood enough to rekindle a flame from the cinders of their firepit, the elves slipping from the tents or stirring from their reverie to join her in work.

'You seem in fine spirits this morning, child,' offered Avilar with a smile, the man handing a pot to Bryn for the morning's water.

'Fair Greengrass to you, Avilar -and to you, Bryn,' she called after the youth, the boy waving his acknowledgement.

'Ah, Greengrass, is it?' confirmed Tandith, as he brought out the flat seeded bread and sweet cheeses that would be their first meal, 'the celebration of spring –good, good, for there is much in the season to celebrate.'

But not all were in agreement with him; Orvel barked a condescending laugh.

'Really, the pointless way the humans find to mark out the year –they are exulting in nature one day and raping its bounty the very next.'

Fritha smiled sweetly. 'And a fair Greengrass to you, Orvel, I wish you every joy.'

The man snorted, stooping to mutter something at Sephis's ear, and the two laughed unpleasantly.

Fritha ignored them, the fire before her was dancing merrily and now she was satisfied it would not return to a smouldering stack of wood once her back was turned, she began rummaging through her pack for the tea. Jastren and Vestil were busy toasting the batches of flat bread, Solaufein stepping from their tent, branch now tucked in his belt, the drow moving to help the just arriving Bryn with the water, and the tea was soon steeped to an appetising red, Vazaela ladling out the cups as Captain Ferdanil stepped from his tent, the man surveying their industry with an air of satisfaction.

'We are all here?' he confirmed with a glance over the camp, 'Good. Listen then to my orders. The temple ruins lie a few leagues from here to the west on the very edge of the Wealdath. We will therefore keep camp here and the group will be split. Myself, Sephis, Orvel, Vazaela and Jastren will head to the temple with our _guests_. It will be easier to approach unseen in smaller numbers and we must exercise caution –some of those who trespass there may be still about. The rest of you will hold here and await our return. Understood?'

A prompt chorus of 'Understood!', breakfast a much more subdued affair as Ferdanil joined their circle, the group eating in near silence and Fritha was quite glad as, one by one, those who were leaving dusted off their plates and made to pack up, Solaufein drawing the ash branch from his belt to snap off a sprig for his hat. Sephis snorted his contempt.

'That the humans indulge in such foolishness is pathetic enough, but that _you_ would bother, as well. Tell me, drow, what spring is there to celebrate in the Underdark?'

Solaufein sent him a cold look and Fritha edged a step closer, ready to step in if needed.

'We have our own seasons there as anywhere, _elf_ -just because you know nothing of the world outside your own forest. Perhaps when you are _older_, you will be allowed to see more of it.'

Sephis flushed. 'I have seen more than you, drow! You likely know little more of your own city than the tiles at your feet.'

Solaufein said nothing, pointedly snapping off another sprig to place it carefully behind Fritha's ear, the girl quickly moving it to a more secure position entwined about one of her wooden hair pins as they set out.

...

It was a few hours' walk to the ruins along the southern edge of the Wealdath, and long enough for Solaufein to calm down, the first hour of the journey walked in silence, Fritha at his side in unspoken comradeship as they brought up the back. The captain had changed course slightly now, their bearing more south-west as they slowly left the forest. About them, the trees were thinning, falling away as the ground became stonier. Even the green of the leaves seemed to take on a yellow tinge there, in that sepia stained landscape of brown mountains and dusty earth, as though too much sun had leached its colour into land.

And there was the temple, just a shell now of a once grand building, the great copper dome missing half its panels, rotting shutters hanging at the dark windows. The building was set on the tree line of the Wealdath, its back within the trees to hide its sprawling size while the front stood in the shadow of those sharp-spired mountains, a clear plain of dry grass, gorse and sage brush leading up to the broken pillars of the doorway, a great stone skull carved above and judging all who would enter.

'There,' hissed Ferdanil, as though this confirmed everything, 'the temple of your kind.'

The place was silent, more tomb than temple. Fritha's nostril's twitched, assaulted by the scent of charred wood and damp as they stepped into the gloom of the entrance chamber, fungi growing on rotting beams above, while at their feet, rye grass poked from between the once polished stone tiles wherever there was light, both walls and floor the same brown stone of the nearby mountains.

'Be careful,' offered Jastren in a whisper, 'the others could have left traps for any that follow.'

Ferdanil nodded grimly. 'Split into pairs, I want the place searched.'

Fritha led the way, Solaufein but a pace behind her as they took the rightmost corridor to find themselves in the main hall. Here, the stone tiles could barely be seen for plants. The ceiling was completely gone and one of the walls collapsed as well, the three that were left blackened by smoke, the only thing not touched by any of it, the great stone altar that was set at the end. It was not the same dull brown stone as the rest of the temple, but a glossy dark grey, brought from far away upon devoted backs, each face carved with scenes of demons and skulls and tiny figures bent in either pain or worship.

'_No, no, let me go, filthy forest-walker! Let me be!'_

A glance to Solaufein, and the pair were running back through to the entrance chamber, the walls echoing with shouts and Solaufein had the lead as they barrelled into what had once been the kitchens. The elves gathered on the edge, Ferdanil stood in the centre with his sword drawn, a hand clamped about her bony arm as an old woman struggled and cursed at him, her black ragged robes hanging loose on her thin form, face tanned like leather and twisted with anger under a wiry nest of iron grey hair, her free hand swinging wildly as she tried to claw at him with long curved nails. Half the roof was missing and a myriad of pots had been set beneath to collect the rainwater, one knocked over and smashed in the scuffle, the water it had held lost to the parched stone tiles.

'Unhand me, blighted-one!'

'Tell us, human, tell us of the men who came here!'

'Hey, leave her alone!' Fritha snapped, barging through the gathering of onlookers, Ferdanil breaking his hold at merely the threat of behind touched by her, the old woman instantly scuttling back to cower amid the brimming pots, Fritha's eyes catching on the glint of gold swinging in amongst the rags she wore: a leering golden skull, one of its ruby eyes long missing. The woman could have likely sold such for enough coin to live her remaining years in comfort, and yet there it hung still, above her heart in that ruined temple. Fritha sighed, her voice gentle –devotion was devotion, after all.

'You were a priestess here, weren't you? What happened to this place?'

'People came,' she spat, 'all with the reek of the _noble_ faiths upon them -came with blades and magic, came to stop our work.'

'What work?' snapped Ferdanil. The priestess sent him a poisonous glare, but answered all the same.

'This place, blessed by Bhaal, once and many times over. In our wombs we carried those blessings, those that would restore him.'

'The Children of Bhaal,' murmured Vazaela, kissing the golden oak leaf hung at her neck to avert the evil of it. The priestess nodded, watery eyes glazing over and rapturous smile gracing her wizened face as she lost herself to the memories.

'The time had come for the first of the sacrifices. We, the faithful, had gathered in the temple, those chosen vessels ready and lined before the altar. The high priestess entered in her robes of shining scarlet, her little daughter following so solemn behind, bearing the bone knife that would perform the deed. Not five summers to her name, and already the image of her mother, a little doll in blood red robes, a frown of concentration on her face as she made sure not to trip. Oh, she was daughter of us all!'

'We are not here for your foul reminiscences, hag!' snapped Sephis, Fritha just stopping herself from striking his shoulder.

'Shush! And then? What happened then?'

The woman's lined face creased with a sneer. 'Then _they_ came! The high priestess would not be halted though –the work had to go on! Even as we fought, she began the sacrifices, the altar slick with blood. There was fire everywhere, women screaming, cut down as they fled, the blessed vessels crying out and running as they could. I sank back with my own, and watched as some foul mage of light killed high priestess -engulfed her in fire and _stole_ her poor, precious child!'

'She was killing children!' shouted Jastren. Fritha sent him a quelling look.

'And what of the others that came here more recently?'

The priestess gave an ugly laugh, suddenly gleeful.

'Oh, yes, the men that came, men who had studied the old prophesies –thought themselves so _wise_. Looking for the root of the power, as the old texts had describe, the power our Lord Bhaal planted here so long ago. But they did not understand- it was taken in a time long past now. How they raged about the temple searching for it, but to no avail.'

'And who were they,' asked Ferdanil, 'these men that came?'

The woman shrugged indifferently. 'Just men, seeking gold and rank in the wake of one more far powerful than they. He thinks himself like my Lord, but his is a stolen power.' She laughed again, pale eyes shining with spite. 'Sister Nyalee thought herself so clever, slipped from our sisterhood and stole a child of her own to raise! But her boy turned on her. Not like mine -I spilt its blood on the altar, just as my Lord intended!'

'Where were these men from,' pressed Fritha, 'do you know?'

'Ah, they came from far from here- far south across the mountains.'

'The Starspires?' asked Orvel. The woman shook her bushy head.

'No, no, too cold for them. Look to the fires that burn within.'

'Fires within?' repeated Jastren. 'Could she mean the Marching Mountains –they are the only active volcanoes I know of within Tethyr.'

'And they are within this land only barely,' added his wife, 'they form the boundary between here and Calimshan, far to the south.'

Fritha nodded, crouching to the woman's level and letting a hand hover over the broken shards next to her, the pot reforming at her glance.

'We thank you, priestess.'

But the woman barely seemed to hear her words, her pale, watery eyes suddenly wide as she stared back at her.

'Oh, oh, oh, it's _you_. Oh, I see those eyes; you always had such pretty dark eyes… Hah!'

A flash of curved nails, Fritha's hand clamped to her wet cheek as she stumbled back, the air filled with shouts and a manic laughter that was soon lost to curses, Solaufein's fist in that briar of hair as he hauled the woman furiously back, long sword ready in the other.

'Leave her, leave her,' gasped Fritha, Vazaela's arms under her own as she helped her to her feet, 'we have what we came for.'

The drow released her with a sulky look, muttering something in his own tongue as he spat at the priestess's feet, his displeasure matched by the captain's as Fritha stooped to her bag and set two day's worth of rations on the tiles.

'I'll get replacements.'

...

Outside once more, the sun was high, the elves gathering in a discourse of their own and Fritha moved a few paces from them. The scent of the sun-warmed sage was hanging in the air and she could almost feel the brush pulling at her clothes, the dusty ground hot and smooth beneath her bare feet, and far away, someone was calling her name.

'Fritha?'

She started, Solaufein sending her a concerned frown as she whirled to face him. 'Are you well, Fritha?'

'Yes, I- I just felt strange for a moment.'

His frown deepened as he threw a glance back to the charred husk of the temple. 'This place reeks of death -I will be glad to leave it. Your face-'

'It's nothing, just a graze' she dismissed quickly, smiling as she noticed again the small sprig of ash leaves secured to his hat, 'Come on, let's get back to the camp.'


	7. On the Cool Edge of Night

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: And we're back! Apologies for the delay; enthusiasm has been hard to come by of late. Still, the Megrims have retreated for now, so on we go. Thanks as always to my Betas; your patience was appreciated._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**On the Cool Edge of Night**

They returned to camp with the others, though their stay was brief, Ferdanil relating their encounter at the temple as Avilar tended Fritha's face, the old elf insisting it be healed, his prayers fading the welts to three pink lines that would likely be gone completely by the morning. As for their next step, it seemed their group would not be parting ways after all. Since the threat to Suldanessellar was still unresolved while this band's motives were unknown, Ferdanil had decided to investigate further; they left for the Marching Mountains at dawn.

But that was many hours away yet, and in the meantime, Fritha, it seemed, had plans, the girl re-shouldering her pack and explaining to the surrounding elves that she intended to hike out to the nearest village for additional supplies, Solaufein not waiting for the invitation to join her as he stooped for his own bag.

The sun was sinking in the west by the time they had left the cover of the trees, the brown foothills golden in the dying light. Fritha seemed to know the way, the girl leading them up a narrow path through the dry undergrowth, the trees kept clear by the flocks of sheep that roamed there, the creatures looking burdened by their heavy fleeces in that heat and watching them pass with unfathomable black eyes, their ruminating jaws never stopping once. It was a half hour later when they reached the village, finally cresting the slope they had been a quarter hour climbing to find it nestled in the dip just beneath them, the mountains proper towering behind it.

Solaufein paused on the dusty path, eyeing the huddle of whitewashed buildings with a wary frown, Fritha glancing back to him with a concerned look.

'Solaufein?'

'Perhaps, I should await you here.'

'Don't be daft,' she laughed, continuing her course and clearly expecting him to follow, 'I somehow don't think even the keenest of drow raids make it all the way out here. The only way they'll know your people is by reputation -and it is one which only you can change.'

The village itself was two long rows of squat, white buildings, each curving round to leave an open circle at the far end. It was a small place of barely a score of houses, the people that packed it now likely drawn from holdings in the surrounding hills, this gathering seemingly as much about trade as celebration, with stalls set up outside some of the dwellings, chairs and benches spilling out before the tavern. A group of people were gathered in the open circle at the opposite end, some singing while others played instruments in accompaniment, the men and older women dressed in dark, serviceable homespun, while the younger girls were in white, though perhaps that was just for the day –Solaufein could not imagine anything staying white for long in that dusty place- females of every age wearing a bright shawl about their shoulders, thick black edges bordering the geometric patterns of colour woven within.

No one noticed their arrival at first, the celebration continuing unabated, though one by one, people would spot the newcomers, heads bowed with their neighbours as they whispered and Solaufein could feel the eyes following them as they passed, the drow fighting to keep his hand from his sword hilt.

It did not take long for one with some influence to decide to force an introduction, a tall, lithe-looking man, even for his advanced years, leaving his friends to make his way slowly towards them with a measured pace that reminded Solaufein of Valygar, the whole village rapt as the scene played out. He had reached them now, the man's face tanned and craggy behind the tangled grey beard, a contrast to the black hair that fell to his collar.

'Fair Greengrass, travellers, I am Derhed, headsman of this village. May I ask why ye visit Remmstor?'

Fritha bared her neck in a deep nod of respect.

'Fair Greengrass to you, sir, I am Fritha and this is my good friend, Solaufein; we're with a band of elves who are camped down on the edge of the Wealdath. We're here investigating a disturbance in the nearby temple ruins, though are running a little short on supplies. We had hoped to replenish them here –and perhaps join your celebrations. We are not here to cause trouble,' she added gravely, gaze flicking to the narrowed-eyed men that watched them from outside the tavern, 'just to welcome the spring as do all in Faerûn.'

Derhed looked down on them for a long moment, his dark eyes stern beneath the bushy brows, and it seemed more for their spectators' benefit as he extended a thick arm and solemnly shook her hand.

'Well, we would be glad to share our bounty, as Our Lady Chauntea shares Her own with the world. Welcome, friends.'

The wealth of that village seemed built upon the sheep they grazed, Fritha browsing the few stalls, admiring the brightly woven rugs and painted earthenware, Solaufein at her arm and still feeling more guard than companion as he watched people watch them. But if Fritha felt any discomfort, she was not showing it, completing her shopping with a detailed and rather expensive map of that land, a heavy, smoked cheese of ewe's milk for the elves and one of the colourful woollen shawls for herself in blues and greens, the girl looping it about her neck as they came to a halt outside the tavern.

A counter had been set outside, perhaps to allow the innkeep to enjoy the bustle, as well, a line of men stood at it and laughing with the server. Fritha led the way through the scattering of chairs and tables that had been brought out into the sunshine, the stout, ruddy barman hailing them as they arrived.

'A fair Greengrass to ye, strangers,' he greeted, eyes lingering for a moment on Solaufein, before he was all smiles once more, 'I am the innkeep of Remmstor, Alban D'souza, and I will get ye whatever drink my small tavern can supply, but first a toast of _dhiz _with us!'

'_Dhiz?_' repeated Fritha, giving voice to Solaufein's question as the man retrieved a bottle of clear liquid from under the counter and set out three small cups.

'Aye, miss, 'tis our local speciality, made from the sour apples that grow around these parts.'

Solaufein had seen a few of those scrubby, gnarled trees on their walk up there –it looked as though even the sheep refused to eat them. He eyed the cup of clear liquid now in his hand, a glance to Fritha confirming it and-

He felt as though his throat was on fire –no poison could taste so vile, Solaufein coughing as the harsh liquid burned to his stomach. The men about them were laughing, though not unkindly.

'That'll put hairs on yer chest, that will, lad.'

'_I'd_ best avoid it then, eh?' joked Fritha, the men still laughing as she sank her shot and slammed the cup rim-down on the counter with a triumphant _snap_.

'_Oho_,' laughed the innkeep, 'downed like a connoisseur.'

Fritha licked her lips with a satisfied grin. 'Of course -I grew up in a monastery, you know.'

More laughter, the innkeep drawing them two tankards of the local ale and they moved away a pace to make room for the next lot of patrons, the pair leant back against the tavern wall and watching the world go by. Solaufein let his eyes drift across the street to where the headsman, Derhed was back with his own group, laughing kindly as he slapped his comrade's shoulder, and paying no attention to him, the rest of the village following his example –it seemed in the face of such celebrations, their fame was to be brief.

Derhed glanced up to catch him watching and offered him a sombre nod, Solaufein returning it, his eyes moving back to the girl at his side.

'You read people well, Fritha. I doubt this village would have welcomed even Ferdanil and the elves, and yet here I am.'

Fritha merely shrugged, drawing a mouthful of ale. 'Actually, I think it was the ash sprig in your hat that did it.'

'You dismiss your skills too readily.'

'Not at all,' the girl cried, gesturing to the people that milled all about them, 'Look around you, Solaufein, that hat that set you out in Suldanessellar, marks you as a brother in this village of shepherds. Derhed has likely heard tales of your people, then he finally meets a drow and he is wearing the same hat that his son puts on every morning,' she glanced to him, her eyes grave above the smile, 'Such small things make people think and question, and that is only _ever_ a good thing.'

Solaufein nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to the celebrations around them. 'They will have gatherings like this all across Faerûn today?'

'Yes, though different places have different customs. In the northern cities, nobles wear flowers that have been specially grown in hot houses or throw them on the ground as offerings to encourage the spring –a scandalous waste of flowers if you ask me, but each to their own. The day is important, as well, to farmers, druids and others who make their lives in the land. I wonder what Jaheira is doing for the day; I hope she found some wild place where she could make her prayers. They could be still at de'Arnise Keep or even in Athkatla visiting Valygar. I bet Imoen will drag her out for a proper celebration this evening. And Simon will be knighted by now- Erick and Anomen carrying him about Athkatla as he celebrates his success.'

She smiled absently, for a moment far away from there as she watched the friends she had vowed to leave behind.

'So, how long will it be before we reach the Marching Mountains?' he asked gently. Fritha frowned, doing a quick calculation in her head.

'About a fortnight, depending on where Ferdanil wants us to head –we will basically have to walk the entire length of Tethyr. I don't even know what he hopes to find, the mountain range is huge – unless they really do have giants in their company it may be impossible.'

'The local people will surely have an idea,' he said practically.

'Oh, I don't doubt it –it is just if Ferdanil will deign to ask them.'

Solaufein shared in her wry smile. 'I am surprised he is even pursuing this –he can surely see there is no threat to Suldanessellar.'

Fritha snorted, laughing into her cup as she offered, 'Perhaps Ellesime just told him to take me _far_ away -you watch, our next clue will lead us down to Calimport.'

'I am glad you can take amusement in all this –you seemed more disturbed at the ruins earlier.'

'Did I?' she sighed, 'It was just a bit strange to be there, to know so many others of the Children were both born and had died in such a place.'

'You seemed merciful enough to their murderer,' he commented dryly, the cold hatred stirring again within him as his eye caught on the three pink scratches her cheek still bore.

'The old priestess?' Fritha confirmed, something of the wistful creeping in as she admitted, 'I suppose I felt sorry for her, her whole life in that temple awaiting Bhaal's return. To lose your god, even one like Bhaal, it must be such an awful thing –what lengths would you go to restore them?'

Solaufein said nothing, too consumed by the idea of it. He had come to Eilistraee's worship late in his years, but even then, he could not now imagine the yawning hole it would leave within if he were ever to lose Her light.

'You worship no deity of your own?'

Fritha shrugged. 'I was brought up a devotee of Oghma the All-Knowing, but that pretty much ended the day Gorion said I was old enough to get myself out of bed and down to morning prayers. Now I pray here and there when the situation warrants, but I have not devoted myself to one god as some others do –it never felt right.'

'You came to age within a library, did you not?'

She nodded, taking another long draft of ale. 'Yes, but I was not born there. My mother was a lady at the elven court of Ashabenford, far to the north of here.'

'Would you wish to return there one day?'

She glanced to him, seemingly surprised. 'You know, I have never even considered that. Perhaps I should mention it to Ferdanil –it's even further from Suldanessellar.'

She laughed again, finishing her ale and flapping her hand to encourage him at the same. Solaufein gulped back the tangy liquid, feeling a touch light-headed – he had never been one for drinking.

The group at the bar had moved to take a table, and Alban was already beckoning them back across with a smile as he poured another three cups of the foul _dhiz_.

'So what brings ye two here to Remmstor then?'

'We're part of an elven band,' gasped Fritha, setting her empty cup back on the counter -Solaufein was pretending he had not noticed his. 'We're here investigating the temple ruins –we heard there had been a disturbance there recently.'

'Oh aye, a band of men were seen travelling in the western hills, though they brought no trouble here, thanks be. In fact, we have had much to be grateful for of late. The weather has been mild and more lambs than ever survived, praise be to Chauntea. We dedicated the first lamb of the season in Her name at high sun –it will be kept back from the flocks and raised here in the village for its first year to ensure its survival. Young Ewen, the carpenter's son won the honour of its ownership during the wrestling earlier today. A shame ye missed that,' he added with a nod to Solaufein, 'I imagine ye'd have done well. Doesn't look so much of a challenge now, does he?'

Alban laughed, pointing to a young man, thickset and tall, though he hardly looked it then, slumped over the table as he was, blond head lolling as his bleary eyes found them, the youths either side of him looking little better.

'Alban, more ale here!' shouted the dark-haired youth next to him.

'I think ye've all had enough for the time being, young Keev.'

'I asked for ale, not a scolding,' the lad shouted back. Alban ignored him, pointedly refilling their tankards, Fritha knocking back the stray cup of _dhiz_ still waiting on the counter.

'So, do you get many outsiders around these parts?'

'Well, the elves of the Wealdath sometime pass by on their own business, though they never stay. The dwarves are a mite friendlier though. The Gordriven are the clan, miss, though their halls are a fair distance from here…'

Solaufein let the man's voice and his tales of the dwarves wash over him, feeling unusually contented and quite ignored as he watched the village about them, the groups of men and women gathered in talk and laughter about the few stalls, some with a sprig of sage or leaves pinned to shawl or jerkin.

A knot of young girls had stopped just before the tavern, their talk quick and conspiratorial as they swung the short sticks they held, the lengths decorated with ribbons of plaited grasses. Solaufein scanned the street, quickly finding the target of their chatter in a similarly tight group of young boys further down the street, the girls finally selecting one of their company via much hissing and shoving, the chosen maid sneaking forward with stick outstretched and lightly tapping the nearest boy to much squealing and laughter.

'What are they doing?'

'What?' asked Alban, following his eye to finally understand his question, 'Oh, 'tis a tradition of our village. The girls make the sticks at dawn ready for the ceremonies later, and the boys they tag during the day are marked as their sweethearts –but 'tis all in fun.'

That was perhaps debatable; Solaufein had never seen so many knots of wary young boys –there was safety in numbers, after all.

'Course, 'tis a more serious business for the older ones,' Alban continued wisely, pointing out a group of slender young women, all looking very fair dressed in white with their coloured shawls and hair loose, their chatter barely indistinguishable from their giggling as they eyed a group of young men who were leaning _very_ casually against the building opposite. 'Many a betrothal will be announced in the following tenday.' Alban laughed, sending Fritha a theatrical wink, 'As in nature, 'tis the ladies that do the picking.'

Solaufein nodded; he knew all about that.

'Here, Alban, we want our ale,' shouted Keev again, others of his group voicing their agreements and Alban sighed deeply, at last relenting.

'Gods, give me patience –excuse me there, friends.'

Fritha turned her smile to him as the innkeep bustled off, the light behind him now, bathing her face in a pale gold light and setting her hair ablaze.

'Are you all right, Solaufein –here, I mean? You don't feel uncomfortable or anything.'

'No, I am fine, Fritha…' He sighed, taking a long draft of ale and letting his eyes take in the warmth of the scenes all about them, peaceful and yet so full of life, the air rippling with laughter both nearby and distant. 'It is not quite like anything I have seen before, not even in Suldanessellar.'

'Do you miss the elven city? Because, Ellesime promised you could-'

'I do not miss Suldanessellar,' he cut in firmly, 'The city was beautiful, but it was sheltered and their ties to my people were too close –I was tolerated, even welcomed by some, but it never could have become my home.'

'Is that why you came with me?'

He faltered, her query throwing him. It had just seemed so obvious at the time, he had not even questioned it himself. If she was leaving, it had felt only right he would go with her. But Fritha was still waiting for her answer.

'I-'

Solaufein whirled at the peal of shrill laughter, the light tap to his leg barely registering as he came upon a dark-haired girl of little more than five summers, the stick trembling in her hand as she greeted his surprise with a cheeky belly-laugh, her friends peering around the corner of the tavern as they giggled merrily.

'Ye up to mischief there, young Astrin?' laughed Alban, back behind the counter and grinning widely, 'I fancy this one might be taken.'

A bell was clanging back in the square, a cry going up from the girls as they straightened their shawls and hurried off towards it, Astrin watching them go.

Alban smiled, untying the apron from his barrel-like waist and laying it over the bar, as about them, people rose as well, only the drunken youths remaining in their seats -though perhaps that was more from necessity than choice by now.

'The sun is setting and it is time; are ye two coming to watch it?'

'It's the planting dance, isn't it?' confirmed Fritha. Alban nodded.

'Aye, that it is –I know we aren't much for farming up here, but everyone relies on the land all the same. Ye seem knowledgeable enough of it though -ye fancy joining them, miss -oh, unless ye are married, of course,' he added with a quick glance to the still mute Solaufein. Fritha laughed gently at his undoubtedly unnerved expression.

'No, I am not wed.'

'Perhaps, then, ye could pair up with young Astrin here; she hasn't yet been able to dance, for, as ye likely know, it requires an even number of girls and we have had an odd number here in the village in the last couple of years. I know Elder Yeema keeps a spare stick in case one is lost in the day.'

Fritha sent a smile to the girl still next to them. 'Would you like that, Astrin?'

The girl bobbed a curtsey, suddenly shy without her friends. 'If it please ye, m'm.'

'Come on, then.'

And Fritha hurried after her, Solaufein and Alban following at a steadier pace. The other girls were already paired and assembled in a ring within the circle, onlookers gathering at the edge and the two men joined them as the two girls pushed through to find a place in the ring, the sun behind them, just a sliver of darkest orange cresting the mountainside.

The music began, a lone violin whining its tremulous cry over the silent village, the girls raising their sticks as one, though not a step was taken until the drum's beat joined the air. They moved in harmony, a slow graceful dance of sweeps and dips, sometimes turning to their partner, stick meeting stick across the pair, the sound _crack_ putting Solaufein in mind of the occasional clashes between the deep rothé males. They danced until the last inch of sun was gone, the circle plunged into sudden blue twilight. The beat stopped, the girls followed, the violin fading with the light.

No one applauded, the air quiet and solemn as the girls returned to their families, Astrin skipping back to parents who were beaming in pride, Fritha smiling as she found him in the crowds.

'You came to watch, then.'

'Indeed,' he nodded, emboldened by ale to add, 'You once said I should see you dance; I am glad I was afforded the opportunity.'

Fritha just laughed, the musicians striking up a more sprightly tune for the couples that were taking to the circle. They did not join them though –Solaufein knew none of the dances and, whether it was his presence that caused it or not, no one came to ask for Fritha's hand either, and they returned the tavern. Alban was back there and ready to greet them, the man only pouring two cups of _dhiz_ this time, a nod to the ale carafe next to them indicating for Solaufein to help himself.

'And here's to ye, miss,' the stout man laughed, a few of the men next to them raising their cups, too, 'Young Astrin was glowing!'

Fritha smiled. 'She danced it very well, did she not? All the girls did.'

'Yerself included,' added Alban with a kindly smile, nodding to the bottle as he moved off do a quick clear of the surrounding tables, 'just help yerrself to the _dhiz_ there, miss.'

'That's a very safe sort of generosity,' muttered Fritha, downing the cup he had poured her with a cough and reaching instantly for her ale, her smile broadening as she found him next to her. 'Well, Solaufein, are you longing for your bed yet?'

'Not quite yet,' he smiled, and in that moment of such unfounded jubilance, he wondered if he ever would be. He followed her gaze back to the square and its chaos of dancers, and he rather wished he could have pleased her similarly, though talk of it would have to suffice.

'How did you know that dance, the planting dance –it is a well-known one?'

She turned back to him, taking a moment to work out his question.

'Oh, I learnt all the dances I could find in my youth, usually religious ones, some tribal, others that were linked to certain customs –whatever someone had taken the time to write out the steps for, really. Chauntea's worship is wide-spread and Her rites many; planting, reaping, threshing all given form in dance. But you must know a few dances yourself,' she added blithely, 'does not Eilistraee have many of Her own? You will have to show me them –oh, if it is allowed.'

Solaufein smiled, sudden and full, at this mention of his goddess. 'That She does, and I would be very pleased to have you see them.'

Her moon would be rising soon, the mountains sharp black spines against the dark blue sky. Half the chairs had been taken to the edge of the circle and he and Fritha joined a table of older men, whose dancing days were well behind them, one of them producing a tile game that Fritha seemed to know well enough, the girl joining them in a hand and the customary cup of dhiz as they talked and drank, Alban busy clearing the tables about them, constantly harangued by his three resident drunks.

'_Alban?_'

'Be silent, Eiain, I will not serve ye another drop.'

Solaufein turned back to his own table, the four men surrounding them all dark-clothed and long-bearded as though it were a uniform.

'That is a fair shawl ye have there, miss,' offered tall Yuid to the girl next to him. Fritha beamed.

'Yes, I thought so. You have skilled weavers here, and dyers too -the colours are wonderfully bright.'

Another of the men, Leodar, laughed kindly as he placed his tile.

'Ah, tis Hallen's wife who should hear that praise –she is mistress of the art here in Remmstor.'

The crooked-nosed Hallen was nodding proudly. 'Aye, my Petrid is the one, and she has the stained hands to prove it, though these hills yield little bounty when it comes to the dyers' needs. She and the other women must harvest most of their plants from the edge of the Wealdath –not that ye elves care for it,' he added rather sharply to them. A chorus of disapproval.

'Hallen!'

'It ent their fault.'

But Hallen would not heed them. 'Tis true, and I won't say otherwise. Last autumn, one caught her -had the cheek to tell her it was _his_ forest!'

'His name wasn't Ferdanil, was it?' muttered Fritha. Solaufein just suppressed a snort, though Hallen did not hear her.

'As though anyone can claim ownership of a forest.'

'Kings and lords do often enough,' offered Unoc practically. Hallen looked grim.

'Aye, and we know how well that can end…'

Another uproar –Solaufein was beginning to suspect the old man liked the trouble of it.

'Hallen!'

'By the gods, man, don't talk of that here.'

'Ah, it's yer move, Yuid,' he snapped over them, grumbling away to himself as the game continued, though he said no more.

'Ah, that is better,' sighed Alban, sinking into the empty chair, his chores finally finished, this respite merely another chance for the youths to press their case, the dark-haired Keev swaying as he made to his feet.

'Here, Alban, I'm fine now, see- now, give us another round.'

The innkeep ignored them. 'Ah, jovvet, is it?' he continued, nodding to the game in progress, 'Ye will have to deal me into the next hand. I am surprised to see ye here though, miss -Ye two not taking to the floor then?'

Fritha shook her head. 'No, we don't know any of the local dances.'

'_Alban, _we only want another carafe_-'_

'Be silent, Keev.'

Across the table, Yuid smiled. 'Mayhaps, ye can show us some of the elven dances then.'

Fritha glanced to him, Solaufein feeling that same amusement he could see sparkling in her eyes –he certainly had not taken well to them at Ellesime's party, the movements feeling forced and full of artifice after the more instinctive dances of his home. At the table behind them, Ewen sneered.

'Yeah, girl, show us one of yer mincing elven dances.'

Hallen slammed a fist into the table with a rattle of tiles. 'Bite yer tongue, Ewen Ganstave, I am sick of listening to ye!'

'Ah, shut yer face, Hallen! Ye like the elves well enough when 'tis ye complaining about 'em.'

'_Eiain!_'

And then a voice above the commotion, deep and full of weight. 'Is there some trouble over here?'

The headsman, Derhed, was stood on the edge of the tables and glaring quite pointedly at the three youths. The once tanned Keev was pale.

'What, ah, no-'

'Leriff!' the headsman interrupted in a loud bark that carried far across the street, a broad, blond man glancing back at this summons to make his way over to them. Ewen looked like he was about to be sick.

'Oh gods, Keev, he's called me da!'

Leriff was already frowning; perhaps such trouble was not so unusual. 'What's going on here then?'

'It weren't nothing, da,' assured Ewen quickly. Derhed's stern gaze came to rest on Fritha. Her voice sounded high and clear after the gruff shouting of the men.

'It was just a misunderstanding, I think; no harm was done.'

'Well then,' the headsman nodded, turning back to the three youths, 'Perhaps ye lads ought to think about having a sit somewhere quiet and taking a little something other than ale, aye?'

Mutters of sulky agreement, Derhed and Leriff following the youths out and their group turned as one back to the game, Fritha sending him a quick smile as the turn came to her once more.

'So, do you all live here in the village?'

'I do,' answered Leodar cheerfully, 'so does Hallen and, of course, Alban. The rest of us come from local holdings or Torspeak, a small village two leagues to the east of here.'

'And all are shepherds?'

Unoc nodded. 'Aye, for the soil is too thin to grow a decent crop. But some favour goats over sheep- especially over my way where the ground is stonier.'

'Ah, goats,' muttered Hallen, 'miserable ill-tempered beasts.'

'May be so, if ye are treating 'em as ye do yer sheep, Hallen.'

Lots of loud laughter followed this -Solaufein did not quite understand the joke, though it was likely rather coarse from the way Fritha was giggling, face flushed above her hand.

'If- if ye please, miss?' piped up a high voice behind them, Solaufein turning in his chair to find the young Astrin stood nervously swinging her baton under their assembled gaze. Fritha smiled.

'Yes, Astrin?'

'Well, my brother sent me to ask ye if ye would like to dance.'

She pointed out to the street, the tall, rather rangy looking lad who was standing there quickly smoothing his hair.

Solaufein frowned. 'He cannot come to ask himself?'

The table erupted with laughter.

'Why, that would not do!' cried Alban, 'As I told ye, 'tis the ladies that do the picking on Greengrass.'

This was clearly news to Fritha, as well, and Solaufein realised suddenly it was likely the reason she had yet been asked to dance. The girl though merely smiled.

'Oh, well, I should be happy to then.'

Astrin clapped her hands delighted. 'Ah, I'll go tell him ye are coming to ask,' she cried, her smile broader as she added cheekily, 'ye can borrow my stick if ye like.'

A smile and the slightest squeeze of his arm under the table and Fritha was gone, Solaufein feeling the glare of the five men now solely upon him. Hallen placed a tile down with a pointed _snap_.

'So, ye are a drow, then.'

Solaufein saw little point in denying it.

'I am.'

'Ye were born up here?' asked Leodar curiously. It would have been easy to lie to them –perhaps too easy.

'No.'

'But ye live with the elves now then,' confirmed Unoc.

Solaufein shrugged, eyes flicking over to the circle, though they found no blot of copper to catch upon.

'In a way –I follow the lady, not they.'

A round of gruff muttering, Hallen nodding wisely. '_Oho_, like _that_ is it?'

Solaufein frowned –he did not like his tone.

'Like _what?_'

'Pay him no mind, friend,' interrupted Alban quickly. Hallen, though, would not be silenced.

'Do not pretend ye have not heard the tales, Alban. We may never have met any of your kind before, but we know of your ways...'

Solaufein waited for it, the anger tightening in his stomach- all evening they had been looking at him, pretending to laugh and smile when all the while had waited the accusations of murder and torture and-

'How ye drow are trained for prowess in the _carnal acts_.'

He could have almost laughed. The surrounding men were watching him keenly, Solaufein taking a drink to offer, 'We are… expected to please our females.'

Hallen snorted. 'Oh, aye, I'd heard ye menfolk are all kept well under the thumb.'

'Ah, pay no mind to him, lad,' laughed Leodar, 'tis the same up here, only the ladies are kind enough to let us believe otherwise.'

Hallen puffed himself up stubbornly. 'My Petrid knows well her place!'

'Aye, Hallen, course she does,' nodded Yuid, his eye catching on something behind them, 'Oh, Good Petrid, Hallen was just speaking of ye.'

Hallen whipped about so fast, he jarred his neck.

'Wha- ye buggers! Quit yer laughing, wretches!'

'It gets better, Hallen,' smiled Unoc, laying down his last tile. Everyone groaned that time, the surrounding cups of _dhiz _disappearing, Alban laughing as he poured the next round.

'Come on, deal another game!' cried Leodar, his grin broadening as it fell upon Solaufein, 'ye know how to play jovvet, lad? Well, here sit by me and watch my hand and we'll have ye learning in no time.'

It was a few games and many forfeits of _dhiz_ later –the liquid certainly not so harsh as it had once seemed –and Solaufein felt he was just about getting the hang of it when Fritha returned, flushed pink and smiling, what looked to be half the village with her.

'Fritha, you are back.'

She nodded brightly 'Yes, the musicians are taking a break.'

Which meant the end of Alban's –the stout man already back behind his bar to serve the wave of patrons, their game disbanded as the remaining four men greeted their wives and children. A quick jump and Fritha was perched on the table before him.

'So, you having a nice time over here?'

'Aye -they are teaching me jovvet.'

'_Aye?_' she giggled, examining the almost empty bottle of _dhiz_, 'And not doing so well at the game either by the look of it. How much of this have you had?'

'Not s'much.'

Fritha laughed delightedly and gently tapped the brim of his hat.

'_S'much_, is it? Poor drunk Solaufein, I will be carrying you back to camp.'

He smiled at her teasing. 'I can walk yet.'

'Well, then perhaps you can come with me when the band strike up again - treat the good people to some of our mincing elven dances?'

Solaufein just laughed.

xxx

The hall was bright with lanterns and lamps, the golden glow leaving no corner for shadow and bringing out the colours in the banners to house and Lathander both, a cool breeze from the doors onto the veranda making the light flicker and dance. Anomen settled beside a tall brass plant pot and nursed his ale, watching the colourful chaos of people that thronged about the room, all full of talk and laughter and even the servants that swept back and forth with trays of brimming cups seemed as pleased to celebrate their house's success.

Across the room, Simon's father, a tall, bearded man whose hair was now more grey than blond was talking with Erick and Irlana, the two daughters of that household, stern Olivia and flighty Isobel giggling with Elsenda. Diesveld was standing close by and laughing similarly with the glowing Simon, Brieanna looking a little lost in it all, stood a pace between them and Simon's mother, the jolly, round-faced woman fussing over her newest grandchild, the swarthy beauty Fariha at her side.

'Ah, Anomen, isn't it?,' came a voice behind him, and Anomen turned to greet a blond man of the same chiselled features of his father, a dark-haired boy of little more than three winters dozing on his shoulder. He proffered a friendly hand for him to shake. 'Gerard, Simon's elder brother -I believe we met briefly at the midsummer celebrations last year.'

'I recall it, Gerard. You are well, I trust?'

'Very well, especially since now young Adris has a new little sister with whom to play.'

The man smiled, glancing across to Fariha, mother and child now reunited, husband and wife exchanging such a look of honest love, Anomen almost lowered his gaze, discomfited to witness such open intimacy.

'You must be very proud of your brother,' he offered, Gerard starting back to him.

'Indeed we are –and,' he added gravely, 'I am sure we have you in part to thank, you and Erick both. You have been a sobering influence upon our Simon as he became older.'

A look to the man himself, dark-haired Olivia under his arm as he swung her about, the girl frowning as their mother fretted over them both.

'I don't know that we did that much.'

'Well,' Gerard sighed, 'I had best get this young man off to bed. Perhaps you can persuade my brother to the same.'

He laughed, clearly deeming this an impossibility and Anomen's gaze shifted back to his younger brother as Gerard moved off. Simon has released his sister by now, she and Isobel talking with Sadir, Brieanna in their company, though only barely and Anomen watched the dark-haired woman edging slowly back to be lost in the surrounding press. A moment later and she was at the doors and slipping out on the veranda.

The gardens were in darkness, the empty terrace lit only by the glow of the noisy hall they had left, these panes of light reaching only half way across the grey stone terrace, the long marble benches and thick-columned railing behind deep in inky shadow. Brieanna was stood at the balustrade and gazing out across the darkened gardens, wearing the same green velvet gown she always wore and it struck him suddenly then, that she likely did not have any other.

'My lady?'

'_What?_' she snapped, whirling back, her dismay evident as she found him, 'Oh, Anomen, I am sorry, you startled me.'

'Your pardon, my lady.'

They seemed to turn as one, looking back into the golden hall they had left.

'Simon is celebrating his success in earnest,' Anomen offered to the silence between them. Brieanna sighed.

'Sir Simon blessed in more than his new title… My father died when I was very young; Mother lived until I was nine.'

'I am sorry. How-'

'They were killed by orcs,' she cut in briskly.

Anomen frowned. 'On different occasions?'

She nodded, taking a sip of wine and sinking onto the stone bench behind them.

'Well, yes, though I suppose my mother's end came in a more roundabout manner. A plague had swept the town. She was ill, but there was an attack on the caravan that was carrying the medical supplies –many died that winter. I was sent to the abbey with the other children who had lost their families. We were all to be sent to an orphanage in the lowlands come the spring, but I asked to stay there.'

She shivered slightly, Anomen removing his jacket, the eye of Helm embroidered within winking in the lamplight as he passed it to her. Brieanna nodded her thanks, drawing it about her as she continued.

'I liked my life at the abbey- but even so, the desire for vengeance burned within my heart. When I was not at prayers or chores, I trained with local militia, going with them on patrols of the mountains as I grew older and later leading men of my own. I wanted to purge the land of the evil that had robbed me of my parents.' She glanced to him, eyes grave. 'I was angry for a very long time- but the wisdom of the Tormite sisters showed me that such ire serves no one. I learnt that to serve my god was all I could do, and that is the path I walk now.'

'So how did you come to learn of the Order?'

'I did not, well, not directly anyway. Last winter a paladin of Torm came to our abbey. We are a little way from the town and though the sisters are skilled enough in arms themselves, an able sword is always welcome. Morgad was his name, a good, stern man who shared my devotion to the True God. We would lead patrols into the mountains, protecting the town from the orcs and trolls that would raid the lowlands. And the in the quieter moments he would ask of my plans, tell me that there were greater evils in the world awaiting my blade –I did not know it then, but he had already written a letter to the Order asking if they would take me. They clearly answered in the positive for, before he left, he told me of the Order and asked if I would wish to join. I did, and he presented me with a letter from the Prelate there and then. But what of you, Anomen,' she continued, 'have you a family as lively as Simon's?'

Anomen dipped his face, almost embarrassed he did not have something more cheerful to offer her. 'Ah, no, my lady. My mother died when I was nineteen, my father and sister just last year.'

'Oh, I am sorry. Sickness took them?'

'No, they were murdered.'

'Murdered?' she repeated, clearly surprised, 'You speak of it so calmly! You took vengeance against the villain?'

Anomen paused, for a moment, back there in that silenced hall, Saerk sprawled and panting at his feet, Fritha's face glazed with relieved tears.

'No, I was very angry, but, thanks be, I was talked back from such evil. The murderer was brought justice in the end. Revenge is not the way of the Order.'

Brieanna nodded absently. 'No, it is not. Well,' she sighed, slipping his coat from her shoulders to hand it back to him with a wan smile, 'we will be setting out early on the morrow; I should likely retire. Thank you, Anomen.'

'No, please,' he refused, gesturing for her to keep the coat as he finished his ale; she was right, and he was hardly in the mood for a celebration now anyway, 'I will walk back with you, if I may.'

Her smile broadened to something more genuine and she nodded once, taking the arm he proffered as they both rose to leave through the gardens, the rest of the gathering continuing undisturbed behind them.

xxx

Solaufein skidded on the narrow trail, his eyes deemed better for the task of leading them back to the camp through the dark foothills. He was more drunk than he had ever been in his life, such lapses in control deemed too much of a risk to both body and reputation in his former home. He was not sure he completely liked it either, the sensation of euphoria now tempered with an underlying worry he had exposed them to some unseen danger since they had left the village, though it was clearly not a concern Fritha shared, the girl but a pace behind him, the surrounding hills ringing with her song.

'_Fare thee well cold winter, and fare thee well cold frost. Nothing have I gained, but my own true love I've lost.'_

The drow felt himself smile, eyes drawn to the dark sky that hung above them, acres upon acres of breath-stealing stars coruscating in the void. He had never before been able to appreciate the vastness of it from underneath the Wealdath's canopy, the whole sky scattered with diamonds and dusted with silver, a dark cloak of tributes before a queen's feet, the moon's crescent the benevolent smile of his goddess shining down upon them.

'_And all around my hat I will wear the green willow. And all around my hat for a twelve month and a day. And if anyone should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it, it's all for my true love, who's far, far away... _Looks like someone else is far away, too._'_

He glanced to the girl behind him, Fritha's teeth a smiling crescent that rivalled even the moon's glow.

'I was just looking at the stars.'

'Evidently,' she giggled, sighing wistfully as they resumed their course. 'I always feel better at night; it is easier to be yourself in the darkness.'

They were closing upon the forest's edge now and a silence fell between them as they crossed that narrow plain and slipped into the Wealdath once more, the pair unwilling to disturb those already asleep. Tandith was on watch with the young Bryn, the wood elf raising a hand in friendly salute as they arrived.

'Ah, it is you both,' he greeted, the youth as his side watching them curiously as he saluted, too, and Solaufein straightened, trying not to look as unsteady as he felt. 'The captain had thought you had perhaps left on your own path when you did not return.'

Fritha snorted. 'Well, he's going to be gutted tomorrow, then. Goodnight, you two.'

They entered their tent to the murmurs of goodnight, the air within warm and close from a day set up, Fritha collapsing gratefully onto her blankets with a dramatic sigh.

'Ah, bed's sweet embrace, how I have longed for it.'

They both turned to change with their usual unflustered haste, the pair laid under their blankets soon after, the silence letting him muse upon the day's events. Whether Fritha's plan or not, that evening had shown him that the tense tolerance of Suldanessellar was not the best he could expect in that world of light. He glanced to the girl laid next to him, hair un-braided and spilling out across the pillow, the ash sprig he had gifted her placed reverently between them.

Solaufein closed his eyes, the tent swaying about him as though he were floating in some close soup of blankets, his thoughts a torrid jumble in his hot, spinning head.

'I am… glad that I met you, Fritha. There are many with whom I could travel the surface, but I feel there are few who would afford me the acceptance I find in your company.'

He could hear her frown. 'Is it so? I think you are viewing the situation too cynically.'

'The acceptance they showed in me in Remmstor today was out of respect for you.'

'Yes,' she conceded reluctantly, 'in the beginning, but you had it in your own right by the end. To be accepted, Solaufein, you have to act like you should be, like you expect nothing else –don't help people make an outsider of you. Kossuth's Heart, it's warm,' she sighed, sitting suddenly to heave off her linen slip and Solaufein caught a glimpse of her naked back, a smooth, flawless white in the darkness, before she was laid back down once more, naked under the blankets.

Solaufein lay still, suddenly very aware of his own body and the heat of hers just a foot away as it burned off the liberal amounts of _dhiz_ she had consumed. He had shared congress with countless females in Ust Natha, some because he was ordered, some because it was advantageous, and a few for more heartfelt reasons, but Fritha was the first woman he had actually slept the night next to, an act once steeped in warm fraternity to him, now tinged with something else. He swallowed dryly, trying not to recall it: the body pressed beneath his, her breath at his ear. She could have been another person, lost in the memories of all the others, but she was not.

'Fritha, why did you lie with me in Ust Natha?'

'Wha-?' she murmured, sounding half-asleep and clearly trying to understand where such had come from, no more explanation on his part prompting her answer. She sighed slightly. 'Well, I suppose because I wanted to prove to myself that things like that didn't matter -and, at the time, it did not.'

'You regret it now?'

'No,' she cried, rolling to face him in her earnestness, blankets clamped to her chest, 'don't think that. It was just something that happened. I am not sorry for it, but that isn't who I am now.'

'No…' he considered slowly, as she lay back once more. That proud, fearless woman had been an act, though the qualities which had inspired it still remained; it was merely the presentation which differed now. 'I prefer you this way.'

A ripple of laughter warmed the darkness. 'What half-drunk and out-of-tune?'

Solaufein smiled, at ease once more as he relaxed back into the cool bedding.

'Yes, just like that.'

xxx

They reached the forests around Suldanessellar at noon of the second day of Mirtul, a light rain rattling through the canopy above them, the damp air awaking the scent of the woods in an earthy richness, their panted breath misting as Imoen drove them onward with an urgency that had been escalating since they broke camp that morning.

'Look, there,' the girl cried finally, almost slipping on some knot of wet roots in her haste, 'through the trees.'

And there it was, that tower of a trunk, though things were not as they had left them.

'Finally! I can't-' Imoen stopped, noticing it, too. 'The gates are shut. _Why_ are the gates shut?'

'Imoen!' shouted Jaheira, but it was too late, the girl already crashing through the undergrowth, churning up a mess of the slowly composting leaf mulch in her wake.

By the time they joined her at the gates, Imoen was already scowling, one of the two guards on the other side of those wrought glided bars attempting to soothe her.

'I understand your frustrations and I am truly sorry, my lady, but we have our orders. Queen Ellesime has instructed the gates closed to all those who do not make a home here-'

'We _did!_' the girl interrupted hotly.

'-Until this trouble to the south has passed.'

'And what of our companions?' asked Jaheira, stern but calm as she addressed the elf, 'Are we at least allowed to speak with them?'

A glance between the two men, the second guard stepping closer to offer, 'If you speak of the Lady Fritha, I was informed she left many days ago.'

'What do you mean she _left?_' snapped Imoen.

'She and the drow just departed, they told none where they were headed.'

'Oh, yeah? Well, just you let me ask Ellesime the same.'

'I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot open the gates. I can try to get a message to her Majesty once our shift ends, if you wish?'

'Don't bother,' Imoen snorted, turning abruptly to stalk away from them, a few paces from the gates and still marching as she finally vented her temper.

'I knew it! I just _knew_ something was wrong!'

Valygar frowned, unable to tell whether she was angry her fears were confirmed, or pleased she had been right all along, the ranger sending a contemplative glance back to the gates.

'Perhaps Fritha planned this from the beginning; did you suspect something before you left for the wedding?'

He thought it a rather neat way to explain away her apparent clairvoyance; Imoen, however, looked appalled.

'No, I_ didn't!_ And Fritha wouldn't have done that _either!_'

'So, young Fritha has gone and left no means for us to follow,' rumbled Minsc, averting any further chances for argument. 'Boo says this is not like her –at least, it did not used to be.'

'Yes, well it sounds like just the sort of thing she'd indulge in at the moment,' said Jaheira tiredly. Imoen was shaking her head.

'I still won't believe she planned this from the start. She said we'd talk when we came back, about leaving the city. She wouldn't have lied, not like that.'

Jaheira sighed, shaking the rain from her hair and pulling her hood back up. 'Well, whenever the decision was made, Fritha either left of her own volition or she was… _encouraged_,' the druid finished, unusually tactful. Imoen was quick to seize upon this alternative.

'Yeah! I bet it was that Ellesime –she just waited until we were all away from the city then she could kick those two out without any fuss. Bloody Ellesime and her bloody el-

'Ho there!'

And their company turned at the greeting to see three youths emerging from the forests to the east of them, bows strung at their backs, the tallest of them holding a hand aloft in greeting.

'Who are they?' muttered Imoen, not waiting for an answer as she changed direction to close the distance between them, the others left no choice but to follow.

'Ho yourself, mate! What d'you want with us?'

The blond lad nodded once, gesturing to his two companions as he explained, 'We have heard the city gates are closed to you now and we are sorry for it.'

'You are her friends, are you not?' asked the dark-haired boy at his side, 'Friends of the Bhaal-'

'_Jorrei!_' the other two hissed crossly, the so far silent third of their group offering more properly, 'I am Respen and this is Taeghul and Jorreinderth. You are friends of the Lady Fritha, yes?'

'That we are,' confirmed Jaheira, 'Is it true she and Solaufein have left Suldanessellar?'

The tall Taeghul nodded once and gravely. 'It is certainly the word about the city. I could not say when, but they were still about a tenday ago for we saw them out in the forests.'

'Do you have any idea where they could have gone?' asked Valygar.

'We are sorry,' sighed Respen with a shake of his head, 'we never spoke with the lady, merely saw her about the forests, usually in the west where the stones rise up to make the Spirit Grove.'

'Spirit Grove?' pressed Imoen. The dark-haired Jorreinderth was nodding earnestly.

'Yes, it is an old place, older even that the temple ruins that mark the Descent. They say long ago it was the site of sacrifices, when this land was wild and our people wilder.'

The two blonds were snickering. 'Jorrei, you cannot believe those tales.'

'It is true! My mother says the stones are the mouths of the Fates.'

'It's just an old ritual site.'

'No, it isn't. My mother-'

'Your mother-'

'This grove,' interrupted Jaheira firmly, 'can you mark it on our map?'

They could and did, the boys giving them jumbled directions that were not helped by their bickering over the route, though the gist made it through: follow the brook to the forked tree then head north-west until you reach a glade of ash trees and you will be close by it.

They were deep in the forest now, the air charged and close as the rain grew heavier. And through the trees, Valygar could see them at last, the mossy grey stones looking very much a part of the forest after so long and the ranger could feel his skin bristling as they approached –there was power here.

When the young hunters had first mentioned the place, his mind had conjured up an image of the traditional henge, a glade boarded by squat stone monoliths. But, in reality, the thing was much more than that, a large raised platform of stone, about the same size and shape of a decent room at an inn and bordered on three sides by a wall of carved panels that stood a head higher than Minsc. A curious pattern of grooves had been engraved into the stone floor, tracks that stemmed from each panel curving and weaving out to all meet in a shallow central well.

'This is the Spirit Grove?' confirmed Minsc, gazing about the dais with a frown, 'Boo wonders then, where are the spirits? In Rashemen, such places would be alive with _telthors_.'

'Perhaps they are sleeping?' offered Imoen, 'Or have gone away now no one worships here anymore.'

Valygar left them to their chatter, stepping closer to the stone wall, the surface carved with the worn masks of distinctly elven faces, some fair and knowing, others twisted in fell anger, their blank eyes staring straight through him.

'So, you have come as it was predicted…' came a voice, coolly commanding, Valygar whipping back to see a tall slender woman step from the panels behind them, her robes as black as her short, rain-sleeked bob, lips scarlet under her heavily painted eyes. 'I knew the Fate Stones would not-' she stopped, a sudden frown knitting her brow, 'Where is Fritha?'

'That's just what we all want to know.'

Red lips curled back in a sneer. 'Ah, Imoen, another of the cattle -well, I suppose you will be a worthy second.'

'Hey, _I_ am second to no one!'

'You were here looking for Fritha,' confirmed Jaheira, 'what did you want with her?'

The woman smiled generously 'Oh, no more than I want from your Imoen here, and you, too, I suppose since you're about. Great things are afoot and your contribution comes now. I am Illasera the Quick, fools, and I have been given the pleasure of ending your miserable lives!'

A flash of light, and suddenly there was not one woman but six, the two groups scattering as above that first rumble of thunder roared across the canopy.

**…**

Solaufein stumbled -he could barely see his feet in the glare, let alone where he was placing them- Fritha whipping back just in time to catch his arm as the rocks gave way underfoot, the stones dislodging to shower down the steep and thankfully empty path behind him.

'Damn this heat, and damn this light!' he cursed loudly, his voice echoing slightly in that narrow ravine and making his headache all the worse- last night was the first and absolute last time he got drunk. They had been travelling through the Starspires since the dawn, the low mountains apparently home to tribes of dwarves, orcs and even werewolves, though they had seen no sign of anyone as they had made their way.

Solaufein checked his footing and pulling his hat an inch lower. All that time in the Wealdath, he had not before realised how bright the sun was without the cover of the trees. The steep pass they were currently walking was unfortunately east-facing, and the cause of more than one stumble so far, though Fritha expressed no impatience with this, the girl seemingly happy to let the others pull away from them, at least for a few yards, as they lingered at the back. The girl was smiling now, giving his arm a friendly squeeze as she released him and turned to continue their path, the elves they followed already nearing the summit.

'Come now, the sun will peak soon and then it will be behind us.'

'By which time, we will have likely changed direction,' Solaufein muttered, sending a glare that could have rivalled that fiery eye at the Captain's retreating back. Fritha laughed gently –where, pray, was _her_ hangover?

'Ah, Solaufein, ever the optimist. The sun will peak and all will be well. Come, let's sing a song to pass the time.'

'I do not know any surfacer songs,' he admitted sourly. But Fritha's cheer was not so easily deterred.

'All right, well, I learnt a few drow ones in Ust Natha –what about that one about the orgy?'

Solaufein could feel an unwilling smile pulling at his lips.

'That does not particularly narrow my potential choices. Besides, would you not feel discomforted singing about such-' now how would the surfacers describe it? '-_carnal acts?_ As far as I know, it is not usually spoken of outside of the bawdy insinuations of which your Imoen is so fond.'

Fritha laughed brightly. 'Oh, no, there are _loads_ of songs and poems about it up here, too, only they try to disguise it with allusions to other things, like swords and sheaths and flowers and, er, bees and things.'

'They describe the act of congress via _insects?_' he confirmed; he could not think of any creatures less appropriate –or pleasing. Fritha nodded soberly.

'Yes, quite. I would much rather they came out and said it, frank and fresh as the drow do; all that effort to be all poetical about the thing, just makes it seem as though they are ashamed to speak of it clearly –as though there is something inherently wrong and tawdry in the act.' Fritha shook her head, looking rather disappointed in the world. 'Such beliefs about something which is not only natural, but necessary –it cannot do anyone any good.'

'You two!' barked Sephis, the man stood on the crest above them, bright against the clear blue sky, 'Hurry yourselves! The Captain would move out.'

Solaufein frowned, Fritha catching his hand to pull him after her with a laugh as she quickened her pace.

'Come on, catch up! Catch up!

Panting with laughter and the climb both they crested the hill, Solaufein pausing to catch his breath and there he stopped, for a moment not even bothering to breathe as his gaze swept across the ripping green plains of Tethyr, a silver web of rivers flowing westward to the azure sea and shimmering in the heat. To the south, the Marching Mountains loomed and smoked, while behind them, the forest they had spent the last seven days crossing stretched to the horizon, dark clouds hanging over the northern canopy. He had long thought it, even when all he had known were those nights spent sat under the sighing branches of Suldanessellar, but it was only then when he was confronted with the overwhelming beauty of the surface. Solaufein turned back to see the same wild joy he felt reflected in Fritha's smile, the girl beaming when suddenly it faded, her shoulders beginning to slump under the weight on her pack as her eyes rolled back.

'Fritha!'

The gravel path scraped his knees as he lunged forward to catch her collapse, the peaks about them ringing with shouts as the elves halted their companions and hurried back up the path to investigate. Solaufein ignored it all, his eyes fixed unblinking upon her, the girl lain as dead in his arms.

**…**

Valygar gazed down at her, the others about him doing the same, their group ringed about the twitching Illasera watching as she breathed her last.

'Illasera the Quick,' muttered Imoen, seemingly angered by the woman's death wish, 'Illasera the Terminally Stupid, more like. Four against one –as if you do.'

Her black robes hid the growing stain as scarlet bloomed from the wound in her chest, her blood slowly seeping across the rain-pelted stones to be channelled into the grooves, a swirling pattern of red that seemed to reach each panel in unisons and slowly the stones awoke, their voices as one as they began their elven song. Imoen was casting about her, frantic for answers.

'What are-?'

'Hush!' hissed Jaheira, an ear tilted to the droning chant.

The last sound faded on the air leaving only the soft patter of the rain once more, Imoen waiting a beat before she pressed, 'Well, what d'they say?'

Jaheira shook her head. 'Very little of it made sense. It spoke of wars and bloodshed and a city –_the City of a Hundred Spires_.'

Valygar frowned. 'That is the elven name for…'

'Saradush,' breathed Imoen, whipping suddenly to the woman at her side, 'Do you think Fritha was told the same?'

Jaheira shrugged.

'This Illasera certainly seemed to expect her here; perhaps she was as we and arrived too late to catch her.'

'What do we think?' asked Valygar.

'There is trouble to the south,' rumbled Minsc gravely. Imoen nodded, her jaw set.

'That seals it, then –Fritha can't keep away from the stuff.'

**…**

Fritha cast about her, the dull weight in her stomach only growing heavier as she gazed across that blasted, desolate plane of grey chequered tiles.

'Hello?' she called into the void, her voice stolen by the howling winds before it could travel any distance. 'Oh, Hells!'

'Not quite, sister.'

She whipped back and he was there, stood behind her as he had been all those months ago, white-haired and somehow smaller without his armour, though the grey eyes were still unchanged, burning with the same determination that would have seen the Sword Coast on its knees.

'Sarevok, what's going on?'

Chapped lips twisted in a wry smile. 'Everything, sister -all I once strived for and drove towards. The time of the old prophecies has come and you, sister, it seems, have a unique advantage. It may not have seemed so at the time, but having your soul stolen was something of a blessing- it allowed the Bhaal essence to emerge fully, at least for a short while. Your soul is returned now, but the essence had its moment. It is a separate entity within you, and its knowledge of this saga likely surpasses even my own.'

'But how?' Fritha questioned, not liking to think of some separate consciousness within her -not unless it was willing to chat, anyway.

Sarevok shrugged evenly. 'It is a part of our father, why should it not? And so it brings you here,' he continued, sweeping a well-muscled arm across the plains about them. 'Though you may not realise it yet, great things are happening all across the Realms, things that your mortal self would find it hard to comprehend, and so the essence brings you here, while the multiverse settles on its next step.'

'I was walking through the Starspires and now I'm _here?_'

'Do not look so worried, sister,' the warrior chuckled, 'this is not as before. This is but a projection of you, not your soul. That is still safe within your body, likely being fussed over by that pet knight of yours.'

Fritha shook her head, not bothering to correct him, 'But why bring me here?'

Sarevok shrugged again. 'I could not say, perhaps the essence wishes to test you again.'

'Well, it's certainly testing something,' she sighed tersely, 'Is that why it's summoned you here –to test me?'

Sarevok looked grave. 'I was not summoned here, sister, not this time. When you killed the mage, and this plane closed again, I managed to cling on, holding my soul here until you returned.'

'You still cling to hopes of godhood?'

He shook his head, his voice quieter than she was used to hearing it. 'No, but while I am here, I am not there. I would help you, Fritha, on your path through the prophecy. I gathered much lore when I lived; I likely know more of the what will come than any other save Alaundo himself, but unlike the essence, _I_ will not try to manipulate your path.'

'And why?' she demanded, 'Why would you do this when you wanted nothing but my death while you still lived?'

'There is no need for suspicion, sister; my goal is a noble one. I merely hope that when the time comes, I will perhaps have done enough that I will not have to go back there…' He dipped his face, voice dropped to barely a whisper. 'I am afraid, sister. I once laughed; godhood or death was my goal and I would have done anything to get it. All those horrors I committed without a thought, the lives I threw away in my pursuit -none of it even touched my heart, and yet all that is _nothing_ compared to what I face there.'

'Perhaps you find more sympathy now it is _you_ on the receiving end,' she offered coldly. Sarevok said nothing. The haunted look was back to his eyes, and Fritha turned from him, leaving him to his private horrors as she gazed across that barren wasteland, contemplating her own.


	8. The Stars Align

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Stars Align**

Anomen knelt over his pack in the shadow of the large tent behind, his belongings fanned out on the grass beside him as he made room for the supplies that would soon be arriving. The breeze was stiff, a chill to the air hinting at the rains to come, flocculent clouds scudding across the sun and sending waves of light and shadow over that rippling grassy plain.

It had been a tenday since their battalion had left the Order in force, the company of knights, squires and men-at-arms totalling nearly a hundred and keeping them to the roads as they had made their slow path southeast across Amn and finally due south on the main road into Tethyr, the way busy with trade between the many settlements that lined it, as well as the laden caravans north.

They were to meet members of the Silver Chalice outside Darromar, to join their fellow knights in hunting the brigands and giant hordes rumoured to be stalking the southern mountains, though Anomen was merely glad such a task had them travelling light, their progress frustratingly slow when compared to the ground he was used to covering in his former, much smaller company.

And it was not just the time it took to make and break camp each day. Such a large company could not carry with them supplies for more than a few days travel and, as had happened many times previous to this, that afternoon found them camped on the plains outside the small city of Riatavin, while a group of squires fetched the supplies that had been arranged by the city.

Anomen let his gaze drift across the lush plain, the green broken here and there by the simple canvas tents of his fellows. This was not the first time he has found himself camped outside the city, his mind suddenly swimming with memories of the tournament three years before, his own Order pitted in friendly rivalry against those men of the Silver Chalice and the Champions Vigilant. He has been doing well enough, too, until he had dislocated his shoulder on the third and final day. How cross he had been to have the chance at victory fall from his grasp; Simon had claimed later he had managed to sulk all the way back to Athkatla. Anomen sighed, feeling suddenly very old.

Other memories had been giving him no peace of late either. He was very aware they were passing the Wealdath, the edge of that great forest but twenty leagues from the road they travelled and he would often start, awoken by some fellow or a jolt from his horse, to find his gaze fixed westward. Jaheira and the others would have arrived at the city by now and he imagined them back with Fritha and Solaufein, perhaps sitting together in the palace gardens or Fritha's own house. Anomen smiled and tried not to wish he were there with them.

'Ah, Anomen, you are here.'

And Anomen glanced up to greet her as Brieanna appeared before him, a bundle of heavily quilted linen under her arm.

'Yes, my lady, may I be of some assistance?'

She laughed wryly. 'I hope so. I set to mending my arming jacket an hour ago, but I fear my skills with a needle leave much to be desired –indeed, I just snapped my last one. Could I borrow one of yours?'

He smiled, recognising his own failings at the craft and passing her the small leather wallet where was kept his almost untouched sewing kit.

'My thanks,' she nodded, settling on the grass beside him. 'So, I hear we will reach Darromar within another tenday –they say it is a fine city with a well-disciplined, if small, army under the command of the Queen and her consort.'

'Yes, I had heard the same,' Anomen murmured, his eyes drifting westward across the rolling plain.

'And the Order of the Silver Chalice is to send two hundred of their mounted knights to meet with us… Though I wonder how well our horses will serve us if we must take to the mountains… Does something trouble you, Anomen?'

'Sorry?' he questioned, glancing back to find Brieanna watching him and he realised suddenly he had not a clue what she had said. 'Forgive me, I was just thinking.' Her measured look prompted further explanation. 'I, ah -that is, the young woman Lady Irlana told you of, Fritha, she is currently staying with the elves of Suldanessellar.'

They both turned to gaze west that time, and though impossible, Anomen felt he could almost see in the distance that dark wall of trees and the city they knew was hidden behind it.

'What was she like?' came the voice next to him.

'I've a picture, actually,' he offered and Brieanna waited patiently as he rummaged through his pack to draw out his prayer book, opening the back cover to the square of fine bleached parchment Haer'Dalis had gifted him before they had parted on that grey morning those many tenday ago. It had been taken from the sketches the bard had made in the druid grove, her figure brought out in fine sweeps of charcoal and ink, the girl stood in the river, the water's swell about her calves and curls swept untidily back as she half stooped to rinse the tunic she held, fine face wearing grainy, grey blush. Haer'Dalis had pressed it into his hands, reminding him that whatever had happened, there was always hope. Anomen did not know if he or even the tiefling had believed that -it was certainly difficult to imagine when he'd glanced up into hollow eyes of the girl stood across from them, but it had been kind of the tiefling and Anomen had appreciated the gesture all the same.

Brieanna was gazing down at the picture, her look unreadable, though she smiled as she handed it back to him. 'She is fair.'

Anomen nodded, resignedly placing it back between the pages once more. 'Yes, though this picture does not really do her justice –or, at least, it would not have done. Much of her beauty came from within and now…'

'It has gone?' Brieanna finished for him.

'It has changed. She suffered much in our travels together and though we won through in the end, the damage had already been done. The young woman I left in Suldanessellar is not the same one whom I met in Athkatla in those fading days of summer last year.'

'You must miss her.'

'I do,' he said simply, 'I almost had the feeling she did not wish me to leave Suldanessellar in the end –though perhaps that was just misplaced hope on my part.'

Brieanna was frowning, Anomen surprised to find her hand upon his arm in her sudden sincerity. 'All people can heal, Anomen, with time and care –from what I have heard of your adventures, she is a strong person; it may take time but she will become the woman she needs to be.'

Anomen tried a smile. 'Maybe you are right. At the moment, I am merely glad she is resting in Suldanessellar and away from these troubles. Perhaps after our campaign here is completed, I will be given leave to go and visit her. Or perhaps not… I would not wish to make things worse.'

'Just wait and see,' offered Brieanna wisely, 'who knows what the Fates will bring?'

'I do not know about the Fates,' came a familiar voice, Simon rounding the edge of the tent, Erick at his side, 'but I wish those squires would hurry up with our supplies –I don't think I can stomach another of meal of pottage and hard tack.'

Anomen glanced back to the cheerful red-brick sprawl behind them. 'I wonder how wise it was to send such a large group; sometimes the greater number of men merely make matters more difficult to organise.'

Simon gave a disgruntled sniff. 'Well, I _offered_ to attend with them, but Sir Elquist was quick to remind me such tasks are no longer my concern –after all, we knights have a certain dignity we must preserve above the _common soldiery_.'

Erick was frowning at this less than favourable account of their leader, but Anomen could speak no words in his defence. Sir Elquist was an experienced commander, who was drawing close to forty winters, his dark hair just greying at the temples, while keen deep-set eyes seemed to take in, and _judge_, all they fell upon, the man carrying himself with the stern, unflustered air of one who had seen everything before. Anomen had already felt the clout of his judgement but days before: an opinion offered on the best place to make camp for the night, rebuked with the comment that, for a knight who had yet before campaigned with his brothers, he would perhaps find it more beneficial to observe and reflect on other's decisions rather than offer up his own thoughts. Brieanna, though, was ready with an opposition.

'Come, Simon, I am sure Sir Elquist did not mean it so. Perhaps he believes the squires need to feel they are trusted for such tasks.'

Simon shrugged, though the sly look to his eyes gave him away. 'Perhaps so… I notice he certainly trusts you about a cooking pot – you are on rota to cook again tonight, I see.'

'I _am?_ That is the last _five_ nights!'

Anomen hid his smile, Brieanna's flushed indignation at this blatant chauvinism pleasing to see, though he did not have long to enjoy it before she gathered herself enough to demur, 'If that is what I am to be tasked to, I will not question it.'

Erick was, as ever, diplomatic. 'Perhaps he feels such tasks are better suited to you.'

'Indeed,' she agreed crisply, 'we Tormites are well-known for our skills in the kitchen.' Brieanna sighed, resigned to her fate as she reiterated, 'Orders are orders- I will not question them.'

'A good attitude to have,' barked a deep voice, their company instantly on their feet and at attention as Knight Commander Elquist stalked from around the tent, two squires hurrying in his wake. 'There are many here who would do well to follow your example,' he continued, his eyes lingering for a moment on Simon. 'Sir Erick, Sir Simon, the squires are arrived back from the city –go and organise the distribution of the supplies among the men for travel tomorrow. We will need more water and firewood before dark, as well -Lady Brieanna, go with them and take a few of the lads to help you. Sir Anomen, you are joint watch-commander tonight with Sir Cadril - you can decide the rota of guards between you.'

Elquist did not wait for their salutes, their small group disbanding and Anomen watched him go, marching west across the camp, scarlet tunic bold against the pale green plain.

xxx

Imoen stumbled, the passing man nearly taking the pack from her shoulder as he jostled past, Valygar catching her arm to right her as the guards behind kept up their constant call above the chaos of people moving both ways through that huge gateway, the polished iron doors thrown open on the plains before it. It was the twelfth day of Mirtul, the sun peaked and beginning now its slow descent in the west, and they had finally arrived. Saradush.

'Move along, move along there, keep the gates clear.'

Almost a tenday had passed since their small group had left the forests of Suldanessellar, hiking eastwards through the Wealdath to intersect the main road south and make the rest of their journey to that city. And aptly named the place was, too, that sprawl of houses, shops, and temples all built around a large stone fortress, its many towers and domes stretching up to the cloudless blue sky, a hub around which the rest of the city turned, and even the guards' towers that were set in intervals about the looming city walls were each capped with a copper-domed minaret; from a distance the city had sparkled like a jewel. Imoen smiled, feeling the sudden frisson through her as she stood, at last, in that bustling city: the City of a Hundred Spires.

A cart came rumbling past, Imoen shifting quickly out its path and dancing up onto the narrow pavement, Valygar a step behind her, the area about the gates a hive of people, and Imoen wondered if even Baldur's Gate could compare with such activity. Rows of stalls lined either side of the walls, carts and caravans being laden and unloaded by scores of sweating labourers, that small square bordered by houses and shops, streets and narrow lanes stretching in all directions and teeming with people as they bustled off into the city.

Up ahead, Jaheira was watching the bustle with a distinct frown, Minsc at her side and wiping the sweat from his brow, the close air just aching for rain. The druid had brought them to a halt before the wide steps of the local shrine to Waukeen, caravan masters rubbing shoulders with merchants as they threw their coin to chime in the large brass dish and chanted a quick prayer to the Golden Lady. Jaheira sent them a critical look, before returning her frown to the crowds before them.

'Ugh, even the main gates of Athkatla were not as this. I have never seen so many people crammed so unnaturally into one space.'

'Come on, Jaheira,' laughed Imoen, 'cheer up; you're from round here, aren't you?'

'I am from Tethyr,' the druid corrected, 'not from _here. _I grew up in a small wood far to the west of Saradush -and glad I am of it, now I see the place,' she added, glowering at a group of men who had slowed their pace to watch them as they passed. Imoen shrugged mentally, turning her attention to the man next to her.

'You all right there, Minsc?'

'Ah, the air and the people; Boo feels as though this whole city is pressing in about us.'

'Yeah, it is a bit hot, isn't it?' she sighed, moving a hand to her forehead and surprised to find it damp, 'We'll find somewhere nice to sit and have a drink soon.'

'We need to get rooms first,' said Jaheira firmly, Valygar nodding as he scanned about them.

'There is likely an inn nearby this close to the gates.'

'And then off to the marketplace,' announced Imoen blithely, offering to their frowns, 'well, that's the first place I'd go, if I'd come here –Fritha and me both love looking at all the trinkets.'

Valygar quirked a smile. 'But Fritha has not your talents in that respect –she would have to trade coin for her acquisitions.'

Imoen glanced to him, unusually serious. 'I don't steal, Valygar.'

The man's cheek darkened with a blush, though no other noticed it, Jaheira eyeing the tall building across the street.

'That place looks likely enough –wait here.'

And off she went, Minsc taking up his duty as guard as he departed with her. Valygar turned instantly to the girl at his side.

'Before, I did not mean-'

'I know you didn't,' Imoen interrupted mildly, 'don't worry about it; I just don't steal from people. Though it took me a little while to learn it, I came to the understanding it isn't fair taking coin they had rightfully earned, or worse still, their belongings. A ring might mean a couple of gold to the thief fencing it –to the woman he nicked it from, it could have been all she had left of her dead husband or I don't know -people's things mean more to them than the coin they cost.'

Valygar was watching her with an unreadable look. 'You have an honest heart, Imoen.'

Imoen just laughed weakly; maybe it was the heat but she was starting to feel a bit giddy.

'Yeah, well, as I said, it took a bit of coaxing from my old thief master. I was seventeen and just coming into my own back in Candlekeep, enjoying the thrill of sneaking about and going where I shouldn't. Now, Steen had always stressed to me that the skills I was being taught were to be used only in certain ways, but I was finding myself alone in people's rooms at the inn or their chambers about the keep, my eyes catching on a greenstone pendant here or a coral paperweight there, and I found myself thinking what was the harm? They could have just lost it, and it didn't seem fair others having such nice things when I didn't –Oh, I get all hot in the face just thinking on it,' she laughed sheepishly. 'Steen obviously found out soon enough, though I didn't realise it at first, only things began to go missing from my room. Not big things, but the camisole Fritha had embroidered for me, or the shells I had collected on one of our rare trips to the beach, or my old toy octopus -stuff you couldn't have got two coppers for, but meant the world to me, and I began to understand. I went to Steen, told him I was sorry, swapped my things for what I'd taken and haven't done it since. The last thing stole –properly stole,' she added quickly, 'not something I, you know, planned to give back later- was a telescope. Me and Fritha nicked it from the temple of Gond in the Gate.'

Valygar's stoicism was having a bit of trouble with that, apparently. 'You stole from a _temple?_'

Imoen snorted. 'What do you care? It's not like you hold those they're built for in any reverence. Any luck?' she called out at the others' return, Minsc glumly shaking his head as Jaheira offered tersely, 'No, it is an inn, but they've no rooms spare.'

'Not one?' exclaimed Imoen, 'Is there like some big Saradush festival we don't know about coming up?'

Valygar frowned. 'Perhaps we should ask one of the mercha- Watch yourself!' he snapped as a passer-by collided roughly with his shoulder.

The man turned back, perhaps to shout a reply, though he caught sight of Valygar and thought better of it, the man hurrying on his way grumbling to himself. Minsc watched him go with a frown.

'Boo does not understand the anger here –it seethes in the very air.'

'Neither do I, but I'm going to,' said Imoen, the girl already off, weaving across the street to the few stalls that lined the gateway, a stooped old merchant watching their approach with keen, black eyes.

'Here, mate, what's with all the people? Is there some festival going on or something?'

'Ha, I wish,' he snorted bitterly, 'it's the Bhaalspawn, innit; a hundred came with her and more arrive every day.'

'Her?' repeated Imoen, and for one wild instant she wondered if he meant Fritha.

'Aye, _her_,' the man sneered, 'that do-gooder, Melissan –by, if she was here I'd give her a piece of my mind, bringing this curse upon the city –you mark my words, she'll have doomed us all, her and those Bhaal-spawned wretches.'

'Hey, the Children are just people!' cried Imoen, 'They can come here if they want!'

The beady eyes narrowed. 'Here, you're one of them, ain't you? Aye, look at you all, freakish band! Away from me, I want no share in your curse!'

He waved them off angrily, shuffling back behind his stall as though it would afford him some protection.

'Ah, yelled at by old Pres -how that takes me back.'

And Imoen turned with the others to see him a few paces along the street, a tall, pale lad who was leaning casually against one of the iron lampposts, his freckled face bearing a friendly smile, hazel eyes twinkling from beneath a wild crop of dark red hair.

'Don't worry about him,' he continued, with a nod to the scowling merchant, 'see it as a rite of passage, for you aren't the first- or likely the last. Hello, I'm Agwin.'

Imoen shot one last glare at the old merchant, before taking the hand the lad had offered. 'I'm Imoen, this is Minsc, Jaheira and Vals-'

'_Valygar._'

'-But, aren't you frightened to be talking to us _Cursed Ones_?'

The lad just laughed. 'Nah, why should I be? I'm one, too, and I know all of you ain't of the Children just…' he paused, letting a finger hover playfully over their company before snapping it to her, 'you.'

Imoen was mildly taken aback. 'How d'you know that?'

Agwin beamed, looking rather pleased with himself. 'I can see your auras –it's my own little talent as gifted by the blood.'

'Oh, yeah? What colour's mine?'

'As pink as your hair,' he offered with a grin, Imoen still laughing as he admitted, 'just joking- it's golden, like a halo. All the Children's are. Very pretty and it never changes either, with mood and the like. One of the nicer aspects of the curse, at least for those that can see it. Anyways, I heard Pres telling you about Melissan.'

'Yes,' confirmed Jaheira, 'he said she brought you all here.'

'That she did, though many of the locals aren't too pleased about it –as you have just witnessed.'

Minsc was frowning. 'Boo wonders then, why the leaders here let you all enter.'

Agwin nodded wisely. 'Ah, well, Melissan did not come to the table empty-handed. The whole of Tethyr is in fear of these roaming brigands and for those cities like Saradush, who have barely more than a watch to keep the peace, the worries run high. Melissan has the loyalty of a half-orc general named Gromnir, one of the Children like us, who commands a band of orcs and half-orcs and he has agreed to protect the city should we come under attack, in return for letting all who follow Melissan stay here.'

'But why did she wish to bring you here to begin with?' question Jaheira. The lad shrugged as though he felt it obvious.

'Protection. Many don't like the Children; they see us as cursed and ones to bring ruin wherever we go. Scattered, we can be hunted down one by one, by others of our kind or just people who take a dislike to us. I was the same: forced out of the village where I'd lived my whole life after a group of paladins came through and one was good enough to _mention_ the heritage even I was unaware of to the village elders, but then Melissan took me in. Lots of people round here think she's just some do-gooder who has taken up this cause not worth fighting. But Melissan is wiser than most; she can see that for all people's desire to see Toril ridded of our kind, the death of every Bhaalspawn brings Bhaal one step closer to his rebirth. Melissan has made it her quest to protect the Children and thereby prevent Bhaal's return, and many have flocked to her because of it. But since you're asking me all this, I can assume you aren't here for the same reason.'

Valygar was nodding slowly. 'No, we are looking for our companion-'

'Yeah, her name's Fritha -she's one of the Children, too, and we think she might have come here, possibly with a dark elf warrior called Solaufein. Perhaps Melissan knows of them.'

'Indeed,' agreed Jaheira, 'I, for one, would be interested in meeting the lady–where can we find her?'

Agwin shrugged again. 'I couldn't say- she moves about a lot, but I'll let her know you're looking for her; maybe she'll find you. Until then, you need a guide? I know of a nice inn in the eastern quarter and it doesn't mind our sort either.'

Imoen turned to the others, Jaheira's nod as much enthusiasm she was going to get from them.

'Sure, why not?'

'Good, then,' he smiled, linking an arm through hers as they set off, 'So where are you from?

'Beregost,' Imoen answered promptly in the lie that had served her well in the past –Candlekeep tended to raise eyebrows. Agwin grinned.

'Really, and are all the women of Beregost as pretty as you?'

'Oh aye, more so even. I had to come to Saradush just to get a look in.'

He laughed loudly, Imoen rather liking the feeling and the bustle about her, warmed by the idea Fritha could be somewhere else in that city enjoying the same.

**…**

Agwin stayed with them the whole day, he and Imoen full of talk and laughter as he had shown them about the city, showing them the various sights that might have tempted their friend: the grand temple to Waukeen, the verdant public gardens and the tall stone library that rose among the rich noble houses that ringed the fortress in the finest area of the city.

He had spoke a bit of his life, too, as they had went, the lad most animate when he talked of his saviour, Melissan –the woman seemingly viewed as a saint by more of the Children than just he. From his tales of her she certainly seemed a kind, righteous woman, and to an extent that made Jaheira wary –good or bad, she had always been cautious of either extreme.

But it was not in the nobles' ward that they were to find their lodgings, the lad leading them through the warren of the slums quarter, where the dry clay streets covered everything in a fine red dust, and over finally to the eastern quarter, the centre of the city's artisans and home to the playhouse. It was a once-opulent district with a slightly rundown feel, though it was not without its charms -or bustling marketplace that dealt in cloth, jewellery and other cheap trinkets that pleased the eye, Agwin showing them to the inn as he had promised before finally taking his leave.

They were at the inn now, enjoying a drink in the quiet tavern, the dishes from their meal long since cleared away. It had been a pleasant enough day once she had again grown accustomed to the jarring pace of city life, her months of respite in Suldanessellar and then travelling Amn and Tethyr both allowing her intolerance to return full force against that unnatural press of city life.

Jaheira drew a sip of the sour wine she was nursing, her eyes falling on the man opposite, Valygar's stern face and muscled neck like polished teak in the lamplight, teeth flashing white as he treated the tavern to a rare smile. He had certainly seemed happier since Agwin had left, for all the lad's charisma, the man now sat on the other side of that square table with Imoen, the girl entertaining them all as she tried and failed to show them a card trick Haer'Dalis had taught her.

'So, you put your card back in, Minsc, without showing me, and I shuffle the deck and…' the queen of wands landed on the table between them with _pat_, 'is this your card?'

The Rashemi frowned. 'No.'

A burst of laughter from her audience, Imoen flushing pink and giggling in her embarrassment. 'Right, right, hang on then –is _this_ your card?'

'No.'

'Right, well, just a moment-'

'Just say yes, Minsc,' laughed Jaheira, 'she'll have gone through the entire deck soon.'

'Oh, fine then,' the girl sighed, scooping up the remaining cards and finally admitting defeat, 'I can see this is on a hiding to nowhere -will you pass me the card wallet, Vals?'

He reached across for it, hand closing about the small leather case to reveal the jack of swords lain innocently underneath.

'My card!' cried Minsc, Imoen glowing in her triumph.

'I knew you lot would have no trouble believing I'd mess it up!'

Valygar smiled diplomatically. 'I will never doubt you again, Imoen.'

'Yes, well, just you see you don't,' she agreed with a playful flick of her hair 'when it comes to sleight of hand, at least.'

'And perhaps we can have a _slight_ less hand waving,' said Jaheira, catching the cup as it teetered threateningly, 'before Valygar's drink ends up in his lap.'

Imoen giggled, hands obediently back and idly shuffling the deck as she spoke. 'Ah, I can't wait to show that trick to Fritha –and Agwin, too; he said he'd drop by tomorrow to see how we're getting on.'

Valygar's face was a stern mask once more. 'I do not trust him.'

'He seemed nice enough to me,' offered Imoen mildly.

The ranger snorted. 'You would say that of any man who complimented your hair.'

'Well, russet and pink do sort of look nice together, don't you think?'

Valygar rewarded her cheek with a slight smile, the man gamely accepting her offer to show him the secrets of her card trick. Jaheira went back to her drink, leaving them to their game. It had been a long while since she had been in Tethyr, the land of her birth holding many memories for her and the nostalgia brought the usual melancholy –it was in Zazesspur to the west where she first met Khalid; they had married a year later under the budding trees of the Osif Forest, the grove where she had come to age with her druid guardians.

Perhaps, once they had located Fritha, she could return there, if only to visit the place…

'You seemed pensive, good Jaheira; this city finds you ill at ease?'

Jaheira turned to reassure the man next to her with a smile. 'No, no, Minsc, I am fine.'

'This land then? I know they do not welcome your kind.'

He was referring, of course, to her affiliations with the Harpers- Tethyrans disliked meddling of any sort, be it for their benefit or otherwise. The woman shrugged.

'Not for that, but homecomings always bring both joy and sorrow –it is their way.'

Minsc was nodding gravely. 'This I know well, though I wonder now if I will ever again feel either. I walked this path with you all back to the elves telling all it was to see young Fritha safe, but in my heart… A war rages there; to return to my home is to face a judgement that I no longer believe is fair, but if I return then the Wychlaran must try me and find me guilty –it is our law. I would live as a free man, fighting evil and doing good in this land, and it is this desire that exiles me.'

'Come, Minsc, you cannot say how the Wychlaran will judge. I know you believe you must return alone, but we will find Fritha and then perhaps we can all make the journey to Rashemen together. Go and stand trial; we will speak for you and if they still find you guilty, then we will leave, but at least we will have tried.'

Minsc just drew a mouthful of ale and sighed deeply. 'Perhaps, perhaps…' His eyes drifted to the pair opposite them, Valygar attempting to ease a card under his sleeve as Imoen giggled and coached. 'He is a good man.'

Jaheira smiled wryly. 'So, Boo approves this match?

'He would, but we wonder if such is yet even to grow; they are very different and spring does not lie well with autumn. Ah, forgive me, good Jaheira,' the Rashemi sighed, seemingly frustrated with his own ill-humour, 'the day has been long and hot, and I am tired –I will retire now.'

And he left her at the table, Jaheira turning to watching those opposite, the man wearing that same measured smile as Imoen laughed and joked and tried to coax him from behind that mask.

xxx

The dawn was breaking, the sky a milky grey with light from a sun she would not be awake to see rise above the horizon, the plain outside that small copse drained of colour in the half-light, a bleak place where small sinners might wander in their eternal rest. Fritha shrugged mentally and went back to her work, lifting the fallen branch and shaking from it the few woodlice who had made it their home before throwing it to land on the growing pile between them, Solaufein crouched and harvesting a few of the ferns that were growing up the bank behind them, the pair collecting the brush they would use to hide their small camp.

The elves seemed to realise they would attract much unwanted attention in Tethyr, any warband, however peaceable, sure to cause concern, if not trouble. And so they had kept their travelling to the wilder places and sometimes, to Solaufein's relief, at night, as well, one such night of travelling finding them making camp that morning on the edge of the small copse that had sprung in the shallow dip between two hills likely left there by some long melted glacier, Fritha more than ready to sleep the day away.

But even for their less direct route across Tethyr, they were making good progress. They had crossed the River Ith sometime last night and they would likely reach the mountains in the next few days, Ferdanil leading them unfailing towards the peaks that still lay beyond the southern horizon. Fritha actually thought any brigands in the area would be more likely to make camp in the forests of Mir, which curved around the foothills of the Marching Mountains' eastern peaks, but she could hardly see the point of suggesting such to the Captain, when he would ignore her anyway, the man's hatred of both her and Solaufein unchanged and quite habitual after so long.

She glanced to her friend, Solaufein still busy gathering the broad ferns. He had been watching her more closely of late, as though worried she would black out again at any moment –and to be fair, she could. Dismissed as mere vertigo before the elves, she had confided to him alone of the dream later on that same night in the sheltered darkness of their tent, though even now she still was not sure whether it had been real or not. The essence was seemingly suppressed again now her soul was returned, but how deep had it really gone? She certainly would not have put her subconscious past conjuring images of a repentant Sarevok to manipulate her, especially since what had happened when it had tried presenting Gorion the last time.

Fritha stooped again to cut a small sapling off at the base with but a touch of her hand, the girl knocking a few of the thin branches from it as though she wielded an unseen blade. Her magic was growing, her powers finding new outlets each day –another _gift_ of the essence? She was not sure.

'Do you imagine that's enough?' she asked, throwing the sapling onto the pile, though Solaufein did not answer and she turned back to find him straightened, the knife motionless in his hand as he watched the small brown bird that was perched high above them and singing out its heart to the dawn. He glanced back to catch her watching and they shared a smile.

'It takes such joy in the dawn. No creature in the Underdark would ever dare to be so loud.'

Fritha laughed, crouching again as she made to gather their harvest of bracken. 'You will soon wish it were the same here once they all start. It is a sparrow, I think,' she continued, peering up at the tiny creature, 'or perhaps a dunnock… I learnt all my birds from books, so I'd have to see it fly to be sure.'

Solaufein sighed and moved to help her. 'You know so much of the land around you; I doubt I will ever learn it all.'

'No, not really, this is just something any farmer or herdsman would know. Besides, I could be wrong. Jaheira could tell you from just its song. She'd tut and shake her head –_Really, Fritha, kindly do not disadvantage Solaufein with your ignorance. You are wrong on both counts; it is a seagull_.'

Solaufein laughed, the sound enough to startle their feathered troubadour, the man's eyes soft as he confirmed, 'You miss them.'

Fritha shrugged. They both knew it was so, her mind suddenly back in that leafy city, the guilt stirring in her stomach. 'They could have arrived in Suldanessellar by now… I hope they are not worried for me… But do _you_ miss them? And the other friends you made in Leidril and the Priestess Demin and the others?'

Solaufein gave a wry snort. '_Friends_ -you surfacers give that title out so readily, and with seemingly little to distinguish between those you would spend time with to those for whom you would die. Friendships are rare among the drow, though the concept is not completely strange to us -there were people you could trust, at least, to a certain extent -after all, it is hard to fight as a unit if the commander has to be as wary of his own men as the enemy they face. But it is a rare thing, and you would not expect to have more than one or two in a lifetime, before the inevitable betrayal.'

'Is that what you expect here, too: the inevitable betrayal?'

Solaufein frowned and shook his head. 'No… and they were all my friends in your sense of the word –in mine, there is just you.'

Fritha smiled weakly. 'Good, because when the others find out what I've done, I suspect you will be the only friend I have left.'

'They will understand,' he assured her. Fritha said nothing.

Their arms full, they returned to their huddled camp, the trees of the copse too dense to allow for their tents and they had pitched them on the edge where the roots finally gave way to soft earth, their pair and the few elves who had not already retired spending a moment to cover those canvas peaks in the brush they had collected.

Fritha sighed, dropping to sit about what would have been their firepit had they dared to light one, the couple, Jastren and Vazaela settling opposite ready to take the first watch as Solaufein took the space next to her, the man throwing his cloak about them both as she lay a companionable head upon his shoulder, Tandith, Bryn and Avilar settling about them, as well, clearly in no rush for their beds either.

'Come,' sighed the old priest, 'let us share a cup before we take our rest. Will you oblige us, child?'

He gestured to the pot of water young Bryn had fetched from a nearby brook, Fritha glancing to those about her, for a moment uncertain. All knew of her powers, indeed half the Wealdath had likely heard it when Ferdanil had bawled her stupid the first, and _last_, time she had dared to help and set their water boiling with her _fell magics_. Poor Bryn had been dispatched to fetch another pot which had not the _taint of darkness_, though he had confided to her later he did not mind, tradition of their city always had the youngest as the water-carrier, elves link to nature placing great importance on that life-giving liquid, and he took great honour from his duties.

But, back at their camp, Avilar was still smiling mildly and she saw no censure from the others. A blink and steam enriched the air between them in a warm wet cloud.

'There,' nodded Avilar, 'fetch out the leaves, Bryn -do you have the cups, Tandith?'

And so the tea was brewed and shared out with the last of the cheese she had bought from Remmstor, the woody tea and sharp cheese making for a pleasant breakfast, or dinner depending on how you looked at the thing, Tandith producing a Talis deck for a round of what the elves called _Forktongue_ and Fritha knew as _Cheat_, the cards all dealt and everyone vying to rid themselves of their hand, by both truth and falsehood. As ever, the youngest played the first, Bryn tossing two cards into the centre with a nervous smile.

'Two queens. So when will we arrive at the mountains?'

Tandith shrugged. 'Another five to seven days depending on our pace. Two threes.'

'Cheat,' said Solaufein, Tandith chuckling wryly as he gathered up the discarded cards and added them to his own.

'Well, we will have to return to civilisation before then,' offered Fritha, 'I doubt we will be able to find the encampment without help. Three fours.'

'Two eights,' said Solaufein.

'Two sevens,' said Vazaela.

'And then there is the journey back still to face,' said Bryn dejectedly.

'You sound homesick, young Bryn,' smiled Jastren, 'and I do not blame you, I miss the city too. Three sixes.'

'Cheat,' said Avilar, the group laughing as Jastren showed him the three sixes he had dropped and the old priest's hand increased considerably.

'Ah, let us see now -Four sixes, since I've enough of them.'

Bryn sighed. 'Two twos. I wonder if the vines in the open gardens are blooming yet.'

'And we will not be returned in time for the festival of the Star Fall,' added Tandith, 'three nines.'

'Two fours,' said Fritha, Solaufein letting his cards pat on top of hers, 'Two fives.'

'Do you miss the Underdark?' asked Bryn suddenly, the drow so caught out it took him a moment to answer.

'Yes, in a way. There is a deadly beauty there for those who can see through the darkness, the treasures of nature just as abundant as in your world for the ones who learnt how to find them.'

A reflective silence broken only by the pat of cards and murmured offerings, Avilar taking his own turn with a sigh.

'Two kings. And you, Fritha, do you miss… you were from Athkatla, were you not?'

'I had heard it was Baldur's Gate,' offered Bryn, 'Two fours.'

Tandith was frowning. 'Three Jacks -was it not Beregost?'

Fritha was laughing softly. 'No, no, I was raised in the library of Candlekeep, and yes, I miss it very much -all the more as time goes on. It was my home for a long while, though I have not been there in over a year now.'

'You could return though, could you not?' pressed Bryn eagerly, as though he hoped to lessen the melancholy of it, 'I heard if you had a book of enough value they allow you entrance. I am sure the Queen would gift you with one.'

Fritha smiled faintly, taking a sip of tea and finally her turn –the cup hiding that slight of hand. 'Perhaps, though I think the way things are now, I could pitch up with a Nether Scroll under my arm and still be turned away at the gate. Three sevens.'

'Three tens,' said Solaufein, Vazaela throwing down her own pair.

'Two aces.'

'Two sevens,' continued her husband glumly, 'Well, I- Where are you going, Fritha?'

The group looked up as she stood to dust off her trousers, eyes glancing from her empty hands to the now well-stacked pile between them and laughter erupted over their small band.

'Cheat!' cried Bryn, Avilar laughing.

'It's too late now, lad, we played on!'

Vazaela was searching through the hand she had discarded. 'She put them _all_ down? And we did not notice?'

'Three sevens,' laughed Jastren, 'there wasn't even _one_ in your hand.'

Fritha just smiled, turning to make for her tent. 'Sleep well, you lot.'

xxx

Imoen sighed, the bustle about her, which had once been so interesting, now just another mundane afternoon sat on the edge of the eastern quarters' market square, the three avenues of stalls all-ringed about the huge central fountain and its statue to Milil, people browsing and haggling with more energy than she could have mustered under that hot, glaring sun.

She herself was above the crowds, sat high on the wall where a fine stone terrace elevated houses and shops that boarded the city walls, the theatre opposite rising like a miniature amphitheatre, the bright canopies all drawn out to their fullest to shade the audience within, a few of the actors taking a break on the steps and shouting to people as they passed, trying to entice them inside for the next performance. Imoen gave up on her waiting, bored and hot as she sought the cool peace of the alley behind her, the girl watching as merchants and those wealthy enough to have a house up there sauntered past, all loose robes and parasols.

She was supposedly awaiting Minsc and Jaheira as the pair paid a visit to the local watch post to ask after Fritha, she and Valygar going to sit in their usual spot on the edge of the marketplace, though she did not know why they even bothered. Horrible though it was even to consider it, she had the burgeoning feeling that Fritha simply was not there.

Valygar was nowhere to be seen either, at the moment; the ranger had muttered something about leather oil and left her soon after the others. Imoen wrapped her arms about herself, almost cold in her thin tunic now she was in the shade, and she turned, moving down the alley and heading for the narrow avenue that had been left between the houses and the city walls, the girl planning to walk along to the steps up and watch for Valygar's return from an even loftier perch.

Two days they had been there in Saradush, speaking to priests, merchants and guards all in a vain search for the friend she had once been so _sure_ she would find within those walls, and Imoen had soon grown tired of that city where strangers were held in fear, or worse, utter contempt.

She felt her fingers reach up to play with the blue stone pendant Aerie had long ago gifted to her, letting her mind wander to the planes and what her friends could be doing right at that moment - Imoen felt she could bet that _whatever_ it was, they weren't having as rubbish a time as she.

'Well, what have we here?' drawled a cold voice and Imoen knew she could happily raise the stakes on that bet as she turned to see three men, unshaven and bearing the red dust of the slums quarter, crowded in the lane behind her, 'Why, lads, I think we might have found ourselves a Bhaalspawn.'

'Funny,' sneered the shortest one, 'she doesn't look so tough.'

Imoen snorted. 'Yeah? Well, you won't say that when I'm wearing your head as a hat –in fact, you won't be saying much at all.'

Their leader just laughed though. 'Big words for a little girl, but I wonder who the militia will side with, if this gets bloody –but give us that necklace and whatever else is in your purse and perhaps we can avoid any _unpleasantness_.'

'Ha, that started as soon as my eyes found your face!'

'You Bhaal-spawned _bitch!_'

Swords were drawn in an instant, magic crackling between her palms and then that voice behind her.

'Not one step closer.'

It was Valygar, Imoen risking a glance back to see him stood in the alley behind her, bow drawn back and arrow nocked. The men did not seem to favour these suddenly more balanced odds, the leader hastily sheathing his weapon as his friends fumbled to do the same.

'All right, friend, no harm done.'

'I am not your friend; leave here before I give you proof of it.'

Valygar did not lower his bow until their footsteps had faded, the man carefully releasing the tension and slipping the arrow back into the quiver at his hip, Imoen sending him a relieved half-smile.

'Thanks, but you didn't have to come to my rescue, you know; I could have handled them.'

The ranger snorted, already turned and heading back to the busy square. 'That is what I was afraid of -they are right, this city is on a knife's edge and the militia will need little excuse to imprison one of your reputation.'

Imoen sighed; everything he did seemed to be marred by some gruff remark that made it all mere _obligation_.

'Yeah, your sense of chivalry could use work, mate.'

'Chivalrous or not, his argument is sound and I would there were more who would act so for your kind.'

And the pair whirled to find a woman stood on the terrace behind them and flanked by two guards, one a man covered in tattoos, the other a stern looking half-orc. The woman herself was dressed in robes of blue and red, her face round and rosy, and Imoen placed her as nearing her thirtieth summer, auburn hair just visible at the temples of her dark blue wimple. Imoen frowned.

'And _you_ are?'

The woman smiled benignly. 'I am Melissan and you are Imoen, the pretty girl with the pink hair; Agwin told me you were looking for your companion, another of the Children you believe could have come here.'

'Yeah, definitely!' Imoen cried, all eagerness, 'Her name is Fritha, she's about so high, with all this ginger hair and brown eyes and-'

'I am sorry,' the woman cut in, 'but I have met no one like that. What made you believe she would be here?'

Imoen sighed heavily. 'Well, it's a bit of a long story, but basically, we went to this old elven ritual site looking for her and this woman, Illasera, pitched up, also looking for her, though she seemed happy enough to try and kill _us_ instead. Then when she died, the stones sort of woke up and talked about Saradush, and so here we are- to be honest with you, I'm not sure Fritha's here anymore.'

Melissan was frowning. 'This woman, Illasera, did she give you any reason for her attack?'

Valygar shook his head. 'No, she just said great things were afoot.'

'And then threw her life away,' added Imoen, 'why d'you ask?'

'I believe I have heard the name before,' offered the woman, 'and in none too pleasant tales. She is a Bhaalspawn herself and one who hunts others of her kind for her own ends, but-'

The deep bellow of a horn somewhere above them cut her off.

'What is that?' snapped Valygar, dark eyes scanning the walls where guards shouted and clamoured. A glance between them and Imoen was off, Valygar at her heels as they dashed back along the alley and down the narrow lane, Imoen taking the steps two at a time.

The guards were too busy to pay any mind to their arrival, Imoen's pace slowing as the closed to the battlements, her eyes fixed upon the dark sea that was moving steadily towards them.

'Is that-?'

'An army approaches!' bellowed a guard further down the wall, 'Send out runners!'

Another bray of the horn. Imoen could make out figures in the swarm now, the flash of shields and armour, broken here and there by the looming black of the siege towers and the lumbering forms of giants.

'But why are they coming here?' Imoen cried. It was Melissan who answered her, the woman's eyes never leaving the horizon.

'I believe I know, and if it is who I think it is… I must warn General Gromnir.'

And she was off, bounding down the steps, her guards racing after her, Imoen turning as she had to get a view of the entire eastern quarter, the market below frozen in a tableau of tense anticipation. Valygar's hand started her, heavy on her shoulder as he made to urge her before him.

'Come, we need to find the others; we can still get out of the city before they arrive.'

'What?' she cried, shaking him off, 'But what if Fritha's here?'

'You said yourself but a moment ago you do not believe she is!'

'Yeah, well maybe I want to be sure now she might be killed!'

But their argument ended moot. A final bellow of that horn and from across the city they heard that deep plangent clang; the city gates were shut.


	9. The Die is Cast

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Die is Cast**

Anomen straightened in his saddle, trying to stretch out his back. After another six days, he thought he would have again grown accustomed to the long days riding.

They were four abreast on that wide, straight road, Simon at his side and looking a little bored as he scanned the unbroken horizon. They had just passed the small town of Morpath, many of the local children coming to watch the procession pass, all bright banners and painted shields, some of the younger squires little older than them, the lads waving back and throwing out treats of the dried dates that were popular in those parts.

Now, the scenery was returned to the rolling plains, the hot sun beating down on them, tempered by a cool breeze and Anomen was glad he had applied a balm to his face that morning -he suspected any who hadn't would be tending a glowing sunburn by the evening. Next to him, tanned, tow-headed Simon sighed dramatically.

'Over a fortnight on the road now, and another five days before we reach the capital; I don't know that I will survive it.'

Anomen tried not to smile. 'Simon, you have been on campaigns much longer than this before.'

'Indeed, but life is different as a squire; there is always something to be done, the idea that even your small errands are helping keep the battalion moving. Now, come the evenings, I just sit in my tent and listen to Cadril boring me stupid about how many ladies he's won and how many battle honours he has received.' He glanced to him, 'At least _you_ have a nicer sort of company to shorten the days.'

'You are modest as ever, Simon.'

His friend snorted, his mordant laugh betrayed by the sparkle to his eyes. 'Ho ho, you know of whom I speak. It is usually Brieanna here in my place.'

Anomen shrugged; he had been wondering when this would raise its head again.

'And? We talk, that is all –would this be something of note were I behaving so with anyone else?'

'No, but she is not anyone else, she is-'

'It seems we are stopping,' Anomen interrupted, as the riders a few rows ahead of them pulled back on their reins, their pair following suit just as Erick rode into view, the man riding back from the head along their column, a fellow knight on the other side of the road and giving the same order.

'Halt, everyone, full halt.'

Simon raised himself in his saddle. 'Here, Erick, what is the delay?'

The paladin noticed them, slowing his horse from its trot to offer briskly, 'A messenger has arrived from the Silver Chalice- he's speaking with Sir Elquist now.'

Erick rode on, his voice and his orders fading away behind them, replaced by the low murmur of the men and slowly it filtered back through their ranks. They would not reach Darromar now. The Order of the Silver Chalice would meet them two days hence outside the walled city of Saradush- the City of a Hundred Spires was under siege.

xxx

Solaufein trudged along, the rain beating a constant rhythm against the drooping brim of his hat, the sky above so dark, he hardly would have bothered wearing it had it not been for the weather. It had been a fortnight now since they had left the Starspires, the way becoming warmer as they had travelled south, though that morning had dawned a cool grey, the storm breaking just as they had set out and, after an entire day, even the elves were looking a little tired of it.

Despite the weather, this journey had been bearable enough so far, though he did not much like the comments he received from some of his company, nor the looks he seemed to glean from all but Tandith and Avilar. Centuries of animosity bred a distrust that could not just be dismissed, how ever much some of the elves may have wanted to, and Solaufein had the suspicion he could expect much of the same from the majority of surfacers, though their recent travels in the wilds had afforded him no opportunity to confirm this.

His happiest times were those moments when he and Fritha would find themselves together, alone in some task or walking at the back of their group, distant enough from the others that he felt he could relax as she would tell him the of the trees and birds and even the differing types of cloud that hung above. The girl would sing, too, sometimes, just to herself, though it pleased him she felt comfortable enough to do so in his presence - even the silences were agreeable when they were shared, each day, or night, of walking drawing to a close to find them laid side by side in the cool of their tent, talking about the events of the day or anything else they pleased.

If only they had been travelling at night they may have avoided these rains, but the broad River Agis was in their path, the banks too wide to ford and Ferdanil had reluctantly led their band back to the roads to take the local ferry across, the map Fritha had bought in Remmstor well worth the coin she had paid. The girl herself was ahead of him now, looking weary beneath her sodden hood, stray hairs plastered at her temples in a delicate filigree.

They had disembarked the ferry half a league back, their group still travelling the road from the river, the wide packed-gravel path raised up from the floodplain, steep banks of long grass falling away on either side, the surrounding land a patchwork of fields, Ferdanil unwilling to draw any more attention to their presence by tramping through the locals' crops, the mountains that were now but a day or so away looming on the southern horizon, the smoking peaks adding to the boiling grey clouds above.

'Hold,' said Jastren suddenly, 'there is someone up ahead.'

There were two people, in fact, a good few yards down the road behind that veil of rain, one lain out on the path, while the other crouched over them, the elves about him drawing to a wary halt. In the Underdark, no one would even bother with such a ruse; any foolish enough to come to help merely marked themselves as an easy prey. But such was not the case there.

'What is it?' asked Bryn, pushing through to the front, 'Oh –should we not see if they require aid?'

Avilar sighed. 'Yes, child, we likely should.'

For a moment, no one moved

'I'll go,' offered Fritha, 'it's likely nothing.'

Solaufein tensed, wanting to offer to attend with her, though he knew his presence would likely only startle them were they injured, and he followed at a distance, relying on his hat and the veil of rain to raise doubt as to his race. The crouched man glanced up as she approached, straightening as he saw them.

'Ho there, please, my friend has been injured.'

Fritha quickened her pace, dropping to his side. 'What has happened?'

Her answer came in a knife's flash, the man stood at her back making to grab her. Fritha shrieked, dancing to the side with an agility that would have impressed any drow, the knife the man held knocked away by her forearm, his ally on the ground momentarily incapacitated as Fritha's foot caught him neatly in the groin.

Tandith had already let an arrow fly, the flight humming through the wet air to thud solidly into the man's back, Solaufein arriving at Fritha's side as the roar went up around them, men charging up from the grassy banks on either side. Ferdanil was barking orders in elven, the sound almost lost in the shouts of the enemy.

'_Disperse now! Tandith and Vestil, fall back and cover the group!'_

'Gerrat, take out the bowman! Franc and Jobe, get on the girl and that bloke in the hat!'

A scream from Vestil as Gerrat's arrow whipped up the bank to miss Tandith and strike the elf behind him in the stomach, the elves before them scattering as commanded and rushing up to meet their enemies, while Solaufein and Fritha were left to face but two men. A mistake really- Solaufein had already killed his opponent, Fritha leaving him to the second as she bounded down the bank to kill the archer still crouched there, the next arrow Gerrat had nocked lost to the sky as she piled into his side and ran him through.

The elves were pressing the fight in three trios, flowing forward in harmonious mêlée and quickly overwhelming the weaker opponents in an effort to even the numbers, though some of the heavily armoured men were proving more difficult to subdue. Jastren ducked an axe's sweep, Ferdanil cutting the man down as he moved to defend himself from young Bryn's blade, Jastren already turned to set to the next, and he faltered back a step as he was checked by the towering warrior who had appeared behind him.

Jastren moved to dodge past him, giving a moment for his allies to join the skirmish, when another merc arrived, pressing him in, and his wife watched helpless from her own battle as he was slashed across stomach, Jastren's scream a rally cry for the previously flailing humans. But the scream had rallied others, too, Bryn racing forward to catch the blow meant to finish the elf, Ferdanil but a pace behind and forcing the two mercs back to back as the warrior defended against the two elves.

Bryn was little match for the fight he was in though, the warrior he fought a head above him and well armed, raining blows from his heavy mace, and it was clearly taking all the lad's strength to deflect them, a particularly powerful sweep sending Bryn staggering back, the man pressing forward to finish the elf, his back finally exposed, Fritha tearing up the bank behind him to slip her blade under his cuirass.

Solaufein feinted left and brought his blade back in a hasty slash, cutting his own opponent down and not waiting to see him die and he leapt over his body and raced to join Ferdanil, Fritha and Bryn moving to the fight behind them, allowing Avilar and Vazaela to duck out and fetch Jastren's collapsed form.

Solaufein danced past the desperate sweep to his face; the warrior could sense his end upon him, the drow forcing the man to step back to avoid his own blade and straight into Ferdanil's swing, the elves regrouping warily as the last human fell dead. The drow sheathed his blade, heart rattling in that familiar rush of battle, though the scene about him felt strange, a sense of surrealism creeping in as he cast about them, the once empty path through the serene, rolling farmland now strewn with bodies, the gravel washed with a fine film of blood. He shook himself, pushing these disturbances away and closing to Fritha's side.

'Are you hurt?'

'No, just my arm, I think he only meant to take me captive- oh, Jastren,' she cried, the girl hurrying off to help Avilar tend the wounded, Solaufein's attentions whipping back to their one survivor, the man who had served as bait still laid on the path, groaning softly. Ferdanil was already standing over him, the drow stalking over to open negotiations with a boot to his ribs.

'Who are you? Why did you attack us?'

The man cried out, rolling on his side to groan, 'We're just mercs on our way to Saradush. We watched you crossing on the ferry –you looked well-heeled and we thought to part you from your gear.'

He shrieked as Ferdanil's foot struck him soundly in the back. 'Gold-hungry filth! For that you have injured two of our own!'

The man coughed up a mix of blood and rainwater. 'And you've killed my whole group, elf _bastard!_ I think we're even.'

Solaufein felt cold fingers close about his dagger's hilt. 'You are wrong.'

'Sol-'

But Fritha's cry came too late, the short spray of scarlet silencing both her and the man, Ferdanil wearing an expression as close to respect as the drow had ever seen directed at him. Fritha just looked sad.

'How are they?' asked Ferdanil. Avilar looked grim, glancing back to where Vazaela was bent over her husband's supine form, shielding him from the rain, Tandith winding a tight bandage about Vestil's stomach.

'Vestil is better than Jastren, but neither are good. I have tended them here as best I can, but I need light and shelter if I am to do more.'

'We should make camp?' fretted Bryn.

'Here?' snapped Orvel, 'What if others come?'

Fritha was struggling to refold her map in the rains 'According to this, there's a small town to the east: Sirra und Agis. Perhaps we can find somewhere there to stay the night.'

'Within a _human_ settlement?' cried Sephis, his disgust no less than if she had suggested they all bed down in a cesspit. '_They_ were the cause of these troubles!'

Ferdanil looked equally repulsed by the idea, though a groan from Jastren made the decision for him.

'Fine, we go. Orvel and Bryn, take the lead. Tandith-'

'But, Captain-'

'Be silent, Sephis, and fall in!'

It was an hour's walk to the town, though it took them almost two at their much reduced pace, Jastren carried between Avilar and Vazaela, Vestil leaning on the wood elf. Sirra was just a group of buildings huddled within a tall wooden paling, the two guards at the gate straightening at their approach, spears lowered warily and Solaufein hung back, surreptitiously removing his hat to draw up the hood of his cloak.

'Hold there, travellers, and speak your purpose.'

Ferdanil sent Fritha a scowl, the girl taking a step forward into her new position as the voice of their band.

'If you please, I am Fritha. My friends and I have been attacked on our journey and we need somewhere to stay the night.'

The guards shared a look, one shaking his head to offer, 'I am sorry, but the gates of Sirra are closed to all outsiders until this trouble passes.'

Fritha frowned. 'Forgive me, but we have been in the wilds for many days now -of what troubles do you speak?'

The men looked bewildered. 'You truly don't know? Saradush is under siege. Some army has attacked it, trying to get to the Bhaalspawn hiding within -the leader of the brigands is said to be a giant of that same cursed heritage.'

The so far silent guard was nodding in grave agreement. 'The Bhaalspawn within hunted by the Bhaalspawn without –a war between the Bhaalspawn, and we ain't opening the gates until it's all over one way or another.'

Solaufein could see the consternation on her face, Fritha another world away as she mouthed his words again.

'A _war_ between the Bhaalspawn…'

'Fritha?'

'Wait here,' she murmured, all at once back with them as she threw on a friendly smile for the guards.

'I understand your concerns, friends, but please hear me out,' she pressed, her hands held out at her sides and away from her weapon as she approached, drawing the pair off to one side and Solaufein was sure he saw a small purse pass in the handshake that concluded their talk. One of the men stepped forward to pound on the gate and suddenly it was being drawn back and their small group slipped through to find themselves on a wide gravel street that fell away to mud nearer the edges, the potholes now rippling puddles, that main avenue dividing off into many smaller lanes that looked to be rivers by now, the whole town a drab sprawl of stone and mud under the murky sky.

'There's an inn in the centre of town,' called one of the guards after them.

'This is no town, it is a hovel,' muttered Orvel, though he did in his own tongue and Fritha ignored him anyway as she called back her thanks and they set out.

Elves were clearly a rarity in those parts, though Fritha had the distinct impression that any party of well-armed mercenaries would likely treated with the same wary distrust, children and many people old enough to know better staring as they passed. Fritha tried to keep the friendly smile in place as they passed the barracks and she felt more than one pair of eyes rake up and down her cloaked form, and though the woman had not noticed it, Vazaela was getting the same looks.

'_Get back to the Wealdath, you dirt-eaters!_' shouted some brave fool from the smithy, though nothing else was thrown at them as they moved through the streets and they found the inn easily enough –indeed, it would have been hard to miss, the tall stone building on the corner of the empty market square and a storey higher than the surrounding houses.

They halted in the narrow lane next to it, Sephis already hissing his bile. 'The human filth; that they even dare speak to us!'

Fritha snorted tersely. 'I don't know what _you're_ getting so outraged about -you hate Solaufein because he is drow and me because I'm ginger.' She sighed, glad to be off the main street for all her bravado, 'Right, stay here, I will go and get us rooms.'

'Will they let us in?' asked Bryn, the young lad clearly unused to such hostility. Fritha sent him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

'Of course they will; don't worry, I won't be long.'

The tavern was quiet at that time of the afternoon, the few patrons watching her weave her way over to the long bar that was set along the back wall, the counter curving around to leave passage to the stairs, the floor strewed with rushes to soak up the rain water and split ale both. The innkeep was standing behind the bar, the thin and balding man greeting her with the first smile she had yet to pay for as the scattering of men went back to their drinks.

'Well, miss, I ain't seen you around Sirra before. I am Jebbet, the owner here, what can I do for you?'

'Well met, there, sir. My friends and I wish to spend the night here at your inn.'

'Well, of course,' he welcomed jovially, 'you got through the gates, so I have no worries there, where are they then?'

Fritha dipped her head in reluctant admission –you could take the girl from the theatre...

'That's the thing… we are a little unsure of our welcome. I'm part of an elven warband come down from the Wealdath.'

The man's face sagged. 'Ah, I see. Now, no offence, miss –I've nothing against your sort, or even mercs,' he assured her hastily and Fritha noticed the change in her own affiliation, 'but things have been tense here ever since we heard of the siege; the slightest thing is bound to put people over the edge and I do not need the trouble.'

But Fritha had been expecting this.

'Come, friend,' she pleaded, in that voice of gentle insistence that would usually get her own way back in the Keep, 'I could have lied to you and coin could have changed hands before I even mentioned this, but I tried to be fair by you. We don't want any trouble either, but some of our number have been wounded and we really need somewhere safe to spend the night and tend them. Here, I've skill enough with a lute, too,' she added cheerfully, 'I could play a few songs this evening, perhaps lighten some hearts and help you lighten some purses.'

The man was frowning, but Fritha could see the coin being weighed up behind his eyes and, at last, he nodded.

'Well… all right, I've the four rooms on the top floor empty. That should do for you, though some may have to take the floor.'

She proffered him a small, cold hand to shake. 'My thanks, sir.'

He nodded once, turning to shout for a maid, Fritha tripping quickly back to the door to beckon the others inside, Vazaela first with Avilar, the groaning Jastren still slung between them.

'Oh, blessed Corellon –it will not be long now, my love.'

'Indeed,' agreed Avilar, glancing back to check on the man leaning heavily on Tandith, 'and how is Vestil bearing up?'

'I- I am fine, Avilar,' he croaked weakly.

The patrons were back to gawping at them, the innkeep watching them warily from behind the bar, Fritha for once glad they were not deigning to speak common as Orvel's gaze travelled about him with an undisguised revulsion.

'It reeks like a fetid barn in here- I would not keep my horse in such a place.'

'Go and ask for a stable then, if you think you will be any better off,' snapped Tandith.

Fritha left them to their squabble, purse in hand and moving back to the bar before the innkeep changed his mind.

'Right, miss, that's fifteen,' Jebbet's eyes caught on something behind her, and Fritha's stomach dropped with his voice, 'What in the Nine Hells! You can't bring one of _them_ in here!'

'One of?' she repeated innocently, making a show of turning about to send a glance over to Solaufein, the man as far back into his cloak as he could be, one dark hand clasping it closed at the neck. 'What is wrong? You said the elves could stay; he's an elf.'

'He's a _drow,' _the man hissed as though scared even saying the word would cause Solaufein to throw back his cloak and come leaping over the bar to murder him. Fritha merely shrugged

'So? Drow, sun elf, wood elf. We shook on this,' she reminded firmly, her manner more placating as she continued, 'It will be fine, I promise. We just want a place to stay the night, then we'll be on our way.'

The innkeep just shook his head, laying the keys on the counter and sweeping her coin into his hand. 'Waukeen's Golden Hide, I must be every sort of fool.'

Back at the others, sun and wood were still at war.

'I cannot _believe_ we are to stay the night here.'

'You would rather stay outside the city with those rotten mercenaries wandering about?'

'Silence, both of you,' barked Ferdanil, his eyes snapping back to Fritha as she arrived behind them, 'Where are our rooms?'

'We've the top floor -here are the keys.'

'Keep one,' he ordered, very careful not to touch her as he took the three remaining ones, 'you share with the drow. Tandith distribute the rest –I want everyone upstairs now.'

Their room was small and, barring a rather persistent spider who had been weaving its webs all along the high rafters, quite clean, Solaufein taking the bed against the wall while she took the one nearer the door, the cheerful yellow quilts making the world beyond the rain-spattered glass look all the more miserable.

Fritha moved to the small, battered dresser, the spotted mirror showing a thin, sickly girl who looked about two days past due a good bath. And in a couple of hours, she would have everyone downstairs in the tavern looking at her thinking the same; Jebbet was not the only fool in that place. In the reflection, she watched Solaufein ease off his boots and lie back on his bed, eyes tracing along the cobweb festoons above.

'The innkeep did not wish to let a room to me, did he?'

Fritha shrugged, removing her hair pins to shake out the mane of damp curls. 'He did not want to let a room to any of us -but he did, and here we are. I hope Jastren and Vestil are going to be all right.'

'Avilar will see them healed. You should have him look at your arm before-

A knock at their door cut him off, Fritha opening it on a swarthy young maid, a cauldron hanging from one hand and a tray of bowls and bread resting against the opposite hip, the girl clearly trying to peer past her for a glimpse of the inn's more _infamous_ guest. Fritha smiled.

'Hello there.'

The girl's attention flicked reluctantly back to her. 'If you please, miss, Master Jebbet sent me up with the evening's meal –he thought you would wish to eat in your rooms.'

Fritha's smile broadened. 'Did he now? Well, that is very thoughtful of him. Here, let me take that,' she offered, lifting the heavy pot from her hand, the girl getting her wish as Solaufein came to take her tray. 'And a copper for your trouble, petal. Oh, and could you bring me a tall pitcher of water? I would wash my hair.'

The girl answered her request with a neat curtsey and was hurrying back down the stairs likely to share her gossip with her fellow maids. Fritha set the soup and breads down in the corridor, knocking on each door and the elves came out to serve themselves, some eating there together on the landing, Avilar coming out not long afterwards to announce both Jastren and Vestil were sleeping peacefully and should be well enough to travel by the morrow.

Fritha was as glad to hear this news as anyone, though she did not have the time to celebrate it with them, the girl leaving the elves to their talk as the maid arrived with her water and Solaufein stayed pointedly out of the room as she stepped behind the screen to strip and wash both hair and body as best she could leaned over the small washstand. She was seated at the dresser in her last clean tunic when he finally ventured back, the dark red linen giving her a slightly healthier colouring, Solaufein taking a seat upon his bed and watching with an undisguised curiosity as she put in her small pearl earrings and swept a soft sable powder brush over each cheek.

'You are going somewhere this evening?'

'Downstairs,' she sighed in tired confession, 'I promised Jebbet I would play in the tavern in exchange for his letting us stay –and by Milil I wish I hadn't had to! My last audience was a group of pirates, and the loss of your soul and about a quarter of rum does wonders for your courage –or at least your utter indifference.'

'Indifference: it is a feeling that is becoming more difficult to come by. This talk of war worries you, does it not?'

'Yes… A war of the Bhaalspawn. In my dream, Sarevok told me the time of the prophesies was coming to pass; I had hoped it would all take a bit longer to get rolling, but…' She trailed off, nothing more to say, and now was not the time for tears -she had just finished her kohl.

Solaufein watched her stoop to unpack her lute, the hollow silence between them hardly lifted as she checked the tuning, the girl finally letting it rest in her lap with a disconsolate sigh.

'I feel I should be doing something –something there at that city. I mean, it all seems a little pointless carrying on to the mountains when our quarry has clearly broken cover and struck elsewhere. Perhaps I should speak to Ferdanil –they may attack Suldanessellar.'

Solaufein felt a swell of unnamed panic and he was suddenly, desperately aware he would do anything to keep her from that doomed city.

'Consider though, Fritha, what can we few do against an army? And will not this country send its own soldiers to protect the city in time?'

The girl sighed again, the knot in his stomach loosening as she nodded.

'You are right, of course. Ah, I had better get this over with -you are coming down, as well?' she questioned as he bent to pull on his boots.

'Yes. This place is not a friendly one, the men look at you like-'

'The females used to look at you,' Fritha laughed. He nodded gravely, unable to share her amusement.

'Indeed, and I do not think that anywhere that can draw comparisons with my former home is a good place –I would not have you go down alone.'

'This place is all right –I've been in worse in my time.'

'That is hardly a reassurance. I will wear my cloak,' he offered, but she shook her head.

'No, don't, you'll only draw even more eyes if you do -but any trouble and I promised the innkeep we'd retire to our rooms.'

'I understand.'

The tavern was much busier than when they had last left it, a sickly fog of pipesmoke hanging over the crowded tables and mingling with the reek of stale beer, the gruff shouts and laughter assaulting his ears similarly, clumsy men and their shrill, florid wives all drowning the end of another day, Solaufein sobering as he suddenly realised that such was likely how Ferdanil saw them, too.

Fritha was talking to the innkeep and Solaufein lingered there at the bar in the shadow of the stairs, watching Jebbet nod to the far corner where a bread pallet and collection of boards made a makeshift stage. A certain lull seemed to descend as Fritha approached it, a murmur of snickering breaking the spell as the girl tripped over the uneven boards to stumble on to the stage, her face scarlet and set with a very fixed smile as she finally faced her audience.

'Right, well, good Master Jebbet has asked me to play for you all, but with only me and my lute, I might need some help.'

'We can see that, petal,' boomed a deep voice.

The room laughed, Fritha joining it though Solaufein fancied it looked forced, the noise dying as she opened with the first chord of a song he had heard her sing a few times when at her chores in camp, the lute's sprightly accompaniment lending the lyrics of a maid and her departing soldier a more cheerful air, though he felt he was perhaps in the minority of those appreciating it.

Solaufein turned away, going back to nursing the strong sour ale he had ordered, his eyes catching on the far side of the bar and a familiar blond head. He and Fritha were not the only ones of their company down there, it seemed; Ferdanil and Tandith sat at a table, a stocky, bearded human opposite them who wore his leather armour with the comfortable air of one who rarely removed it. The drow watched them a while, one song blending into another and then a third, with hardly a smattering of applause between, before a handshake confirmed the deal, though he noted it was only Tandith who offered his hand. The human returned to his ale as the two elves rose and headed back to the stairs, the wood elf noticing him there and giving a polite nod to his captain as he crossed to join him.

'Solaufein, cousin, you take great risk being down here –though I can perhaps understand it,' he added, with a glance to where Fritha was still struggling to win over her audience; Solaufein turned back to the bar before his displeasure could grow.

'You have found a guide.'

Tandith nodded. 'Yes, and not only does he know well these mountains, but he knows also of a strange temple up there, newly built and on a scale too great for any man.'

'A temple? Built by the giants, I assume, but to what purpose?'

'To the long dead Bhaal perhaps?' offered the elf with a shrug, 'I know there are many of his cult who would see him resurrected. Did not Fritha share with you some clue?'

'And why would she know of this?' Solaufein demanded hotly, 'She is not as they!'

'Peace, cousin,' Tandith soothed, 'I meant no offence, only that she may have some past knowledge of this that we do not –another piece to the puzzle, as it were.'

Solaufein felt the shame surface quickly –after a tenday of mistrust, he was beginning to anticipate it.

'I am… sorry, Tandith. And no, I have not asked her of this. Though Fritha speaks of acceptance, I believe her heritage distresses her –she was upset enough to hear of Saradush.'

The wood elf was nodding his sympathy. 'Understandable. As for this temple, we will know soon enough; the human, Ivic, has agreed to lead us there on the morrow.'

'This will please Fritha,' said Solaufein, feeling his own relief swell, too, 'she was worried that our journey to the mountains would prove fruitless now this siege has begun.'

Tandith smiled. 'Then I am glad to give you the news, cousin. Well, I leave you to your watch.'

He nodded once, standing to take his leave and Solaufein turned back to the room. It seemed Fritha's first few songs had been enough to convince her that her own tastes were not attuned to the crowds', the girl gamely opening up the floor to suggestions, her audience growing only bawdier as the ale flowed.

'Right there, any other requests?'

'Aye, lass, get 'em out!'

Fritha laughed along with the rest of the rabble –Solaufein could tell she was not remotely amused.

'I don't think I know that one, mate, hum the first few bars and I'll see if it comes to me. Any others?'

'Sing _My Fat Cockerel!'_

A tight smile, the first few notes being plucked by stiff fingers as Fritha drew a breath to begin that song of a stout bird that rose each morning and had visits from many a farmer's daughter, and Solaufein knew it was vulgar even if he could not understand how –the crowd were enjoying it, if nothing else.

The man felt a scowl furrow his brow, and he was not alone in his displeasure. Ferdanil and Tandith were not the only elves to have ventured down to the tavern, though their reasons likely differed from the two who were propping up the other side of the bar. Sephis and Orvel had clearly decided it was far more enjoyable and, not to say, easy picking fault with the humans whilst stood amongst them, the young men held rapt by the surrounding lewdness. Though their moral superiority seemed to have slipped a bit itself, the two clearly having a imbibed more of that strong ale that they should, Solaufein watching as they finally noticed him to share a smile that could only mean trouble, and move along the bar to join him.

'So you are here enjoying the _entertainment_ with the rest of this ilk,' Sephis sneered, 'This must be quite the novelty for you, seeing a woman debased instead of you _males_.'

Solaufein felt his lips curl back in a snarl. 'She does this for your bed, so be silent!'

'_Corellon_, this place is a pit,' scoffed Orvel, fine eyes scanning the ale-soaked rabble, 'I went outside to take some air and there was a man passing water in the street! The humans are no better than animals –in some cases, they are worse!'

'You seem to like their ale well enough.'

'These dregs? I thought it safer than drinking the water.'

His brother was nodding his agreement, his attention drifting to where Fritha was stood in the corner, singing as though she wanted nothing more, her voice barely audible over those bellowing along with her. Sephis snorted his contempt.

'At least you drow have a certain standard, and as for our half-human, she may have been playing at the manners and charm with us, but I see it did not take her long to revert to the ways of her own kind once she was back with them.'

In his chest, that coiled snake of anger was rearing back. 'You think she takes _pleasure_ in this?'

Sephis smiled. 'You tell us, drow, you would know better than we how she takes her _pleasure_.'

'I do not like your tone, _elf_.'

'No, I am not surprised, you obviously favour a harsher timbre; the barked orders of your Bhaal whore, for one.'

His shriek was lost in the applause, that sharp sneering face slammed instantly into the counter, Orvel too surprised to react, and he was not given the chance, Fritha suddenly behind them and looking furious.

'When I promised the innkeep no trouble I did not think I would have to watch for it within my _own group_. You two,' she snapped to the elves, Sephis glowering at her from above a bleeding lip, 'get upstairs before I get the Captain down here to fetch you! Solaufein-'

'Do not,' he forestalled dully, more annoyed at himself than he had been with any of the elves yet, 'I know what you will say.'

She sighed and shook her head. 'What made you finally lose temper with them?'

'Sephis called you a whore.'

Fritha looked more surprised than angry. 'What, really? That arse! Next time I'm on to cook, I'm going to spit in his food.'

'They believe we are lovers,' Solaufein added reluctantly, though _this_ insult was greeted with an unexpected amusement, the girl laughing behind her hand.

'_Really?_ We've certainly perfected the art of doing it quietly then, haven't we?'

Solaufein was bewildered. 'Does it not _anger_ you?'

'Not particularly,' she shrugged, 'though I suppose it is not quite the same compliment for you. Just, please, Solaufein, no more trouble.'

Jebbet was sending them a pointed frown from the other side of the counter and Fritha sighed.

'A deal is a deal – I had best get back to it. Honestly, Solaufein, this cannot be any fun for you. Just retire, I will be fine.'

'I am not-'

'Solaufein, please,' she pressed quietly, 'this is embarrassing enough. I don't want you here listening to me as I sing about farmer's fat, silly daughters and making _hilariously_ veiled references to copulation.'

He dipped his face, too tired to argue.

'As you wish it.'

Solaufein turned to go, the drunk who had been lurching towards the bar staggering into him.

'Here, watch it- you,' he slurred, blinking down at him through bleary eyes, 'you're that drow, ain't you? Yeah, I heard one of you was here, murderous _dog_. What are you looking at, huh? I bet you think we're all afraid of you, don't you? Well, _I _ain't, I'll cut you from chuff to chin.'

For one blistering instant, Solaufein could have murdered him where he stood. Fritha's smile hid a clenched jaw.

'Can I have a word with you?'

'Why, o'course. What ca-ah!' the man cried, as she locked a hand about his arm and pushed him deeper into the shadow of the stairs, words hissed through her teeth like an ynaith lizard.

'_Are you mad or just a fool? You think your sword will even leave the scabbard before you are screaming at his feet, sobbing into the bleeding stump where your hand had once been? No, so sit down and shut up!_'

She left the man there, staring rather dazed at her back as she returned to him.

'Solaufein, I'm sorry-'

'I should go,' he interrupted tersely, 'I am just causing trouble here.'

'Solaufein-'

He ignored her, the anger making it difficult to do anything other than march onward up those stairs, the roars and laughter drifting after him as Fritha once more took to the stage.

**…**

It was nearly two hours later when she finally returned to their room. Solaufein had been on the bed, lain fully clothed on top of it, an arm over his eyes though he had jerked upright at her entrance, the pair exchanging a wordless nod as Fritha slipped behind the screen to change.

She was in bed now, sat up and massaging oil into her stiff fingers, Solaufein stalking about the room as he changed as well, throwing off his gear with a directionless anger that somehow managed to penetrate her tiredness and the hollow, slightly shamed feeling an evening of lewd catcalls had left her with, to make her feel all the worse.

'No prayers tonight?' she murmured as the man pulled the curtain across the window, the moon already hidden similarly behind a veil of clouds.

'No,' he spat bitterly, hauling off his tunic to throw it at the foot of his bed, 'my heart is full of anger –I will not taint my worship with it.' He sank on to the sagging mattress with a terse sigh. 'I hate it here.'

'Well, it is just for the night.'

'And what will that matter?' he burst out suddenly, 'It will be the same everywhere I go! I left the Underdark to become a free man, liberated of the constraints that place put upon me, but how can I when I am just as trapped here by others' prejudice? At least among the drow, people will not challenge you without _some_ reason –here, they just look upon my face! Yes, there are places such as Remmstor, where they will judge as they find, but we both know that my acceptance there was due to you. And even your good-nature is lost in places such as this – towns built of stone and distrust, and filled with men who would murder me merely for the pride of saying they had! What am I to do, then? Find some remote village that will have me and settle down there? I am a warrior, not a farmer, and I wish only to live freely, but how can I here?'

Fritha dipped her face, feeling like she could cry had she had the energy for it. 'I know; I am sorry.'

'And that is _it?_' he cried, closing the gap between them in two strides to sit at her side, 'I do not desire your apology, Fritha, you have done nothing wrong, but how can you stand it? I see how you must act; you wear your charm as I do my cloak, every allowance we receive not given freely, but hard earned by you with smiles and bribes. Why this acceptance? The elves treat you like filth and the humans here are no better. Why are you not angry?'

Fritha drew a breath, feeling the misery and frustration she had been trying for so long to ignore rising to burst forth in a shrill cry.

'Because this is it for me, Solaufein! The Bhaalspawn are at war and I can't imagine it will be long before all the Children are dragged into it, and what the Sephis or Sirra or the whole of sodding Suldanessellar thinks of me is so far down the list of my current concerns, it's falling off the bottom!'

'It upsets you, does it not? Your heritage, what it means for you.'

'Of course, it does!' she cried desperately, the man's eyes suddenly alive.

'Then come with me… There are places in this world where they have not heard of drow or even Bhaal. We can go away, far from here until this war, this whole cursed place is long behind us.'

'Solaufein, I can't-'

'_Why?_ Do you want to accept your destiny, even if means your death? You would die for people who call you a whore and treat you no better. I know you feel that to try and forge a life here is but a pointless endeavour, that death will always stalk you, but I swear, join me and I will take you far enough that even your heritage will not catch you.'

She stared back at him, the eyes that refused to leave hers and in her heart she felt it spark, that last glimmer of hope.

'I must continue with the elves for now. Once we have discovered the threat to the Wealdath and Saradush both, then – then, I will think about it.'

He nodded once, patting her arm as he rose, and perhaps her promise calmed him enough, for she fell asleep to the quiet murmur of his prayers.


	10. Besieged

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Apologies for the sporadic posting of late; I'm going to blame Dragon Age –it's certainly been taking up most of my time, lol. In spite of that, chapter 10 is now ready and, for the most part, I am quite happy with it –a rarity for me- though I'd be very pleased to hear others' opinions. As ever, thanks to my betas and everyone who reviewed/pm-ed about the last few chapters; I hope to get chapter 11 published this Friday (or the following Friday, depending on the response) and then we should be back to some semblance of regularity._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Besieged**

Imoen hurried along, keeping pace with the slightly taller woman just before her, she and Jaheira stalking through the empty streets, the few people about them passing with a similar haste, the low rumble of the city broken only by the distant shouts from the walls and the groan of catapults, huge rocks, tarred and flaming, sometimes hurtling overhead to disappear and moments later would come the explosion and the chorus of screams. The air was acrid, heavy with smoke and an oppressive heat that seemed to cloy in her very lungs, as though the air itself was running out in that beset city.

The city bells would have just marked the fourth hour of the afternoon –had they still been being rung, and they were supposed to be meeting the men just over on the edge of the slums district, their own inn now commandeered as a temporary barracks in its proximity to the eastern walls. But the route they had hoped to take was blocked by a collapsed house, clerics dragging bodies from the rubble as members of the city watch tried to direct the labourers shoring up those buildings about it, and this had forced their detour.

Saradush had been under bombardment for three days now, and Imoen was no longer sure how the city would meet its end; either destroyed by the threat outside, or torn apart by the panic within. On that first day, the city had been wild with rumours of dragons and a whole army of djinn arrived from Calimshan. But, by now, the rest of the tales had faded leaving only one to prevail: the brigands were under the command of the giant, Yaga Shura, a Bhaalspawn who sought the death of every one of his brethren within Saradush, and hardly minded killing rest of population to achieve his goal. And with that in mind, the catapults had not stopped day or night, the walls standing firm for the time being, and Imoen was beginning to suspect it was more to demoralise those within, a good tenth of the city already homeless and finding shelter in the cellars, bathhouses and catacombs that wound beneath the city's streets.

As for supplies, they were not an issue yet, but Imoen knew the thought of it was there, lingering like a shadow in the back of people's minds, and the sense of helplessness was overwhelming as all waited for the city council to announce some affirmative action. But if a decision had been made, they had yet to tell the populace and the feeling of panic tangible, an underlying current that flowed the streets, just waiting to surge up and turn frightened citizens into a desperate mob. The city watch were stretched to breaking point trying to keep order, while still manning the walls, the shifts of mages and archers the city only means of retaliation. Their small group had volunteered, along with many others, to become auxiliary watchmembers on that first day, but had been gently rebuffed. The old guard captain appreciated their offer, but tensions were running high enough in own men, and he could not risk trouble in the ranks by adding a "Bhaalspawn and her gang" to the mix.

And so, with little else to do, they were still looking for Fritha, though Imoen felt the search held more the air of keeping them occupied now. After all, with the city under siege, she could not see the girl staying hidden, and she doubted there were any left among them who still believed Fritha was there.

Ahead of her, Jaheira rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt, Imoen following to find a large square so packed with people that even Jaheira's insistent elbows could not have made a path. The crowd were all talking and shifting relentlessly, a small group of men armed with poles, axes and seemingly whatever else they could find stood upon an empty cart in the centre, their thick-set leader bellowing over the throng.

'This is all their fault! They brought this doom to our city, them and their cursed blood! If we got rid of the Bhaalspawn, then this army would just leave the city alone!'

'Let's force 'em out!' yelled one enthusiastic supporter from the crowds, another raising voice to counter, 'And how, fool? We can't open the gates!'

'Send a message to the giants,' offered another, 'tell them we'll surrender the Bhaalspawn.'

'Fool!' laughed a stooped old woman, who was perhaps too advanced in her years to fear death any longer, 'Yaga Shura may only wish for the Children, but what do his army of brigands' seek? Open the gates and they will pillage this city and leave it aflame!'

The crowd was muttering furiously, Imoen sending the woman next to her a glance in the press and nodding back the way they had come –it was time to be leaving. But a great 'Ha!' stopped in her in her tracks. A tall, broad man who would have made a good match to Minsc had jumped up to stand on the edge of the nearby mounting block, his dark eyes surveying the crowd that was busy edging back from him and the small group of well-armed outsiders assembled at his feet.

'You might want to surrender us, but we aren't going! Your council agreed to let us stay and we won't be sent out as a sacrifice for that giant!'

'Yes!' cried a woman of his company, the young blond girl likely a mage by her robes, and Imoen felt a stab of sympathy at the fear to her face, 'Why must we be sent to die? We've done nothing wrong!'

Back at the cart, the men were quite unmoved. 'Well, now, if you won't go to the giant, them maybe we'll just deal with the problem for him!'

He was glancing to the crowd for some roar of agreement, but what he got was quite different, the rock catching him on the temple in a spray of blood, and the square exploded as weapons were drawn on both sides, the crack of magic tearing through the air as people screamed and fought to escape the sudden stampede.

Jaheira whipped to her, the pair of them ready to make a run for it, when the echo of marching feet halted them, the street they had travelled down now blocked by the steadily advancing battalion.

'Hold, citizens, for the city watch- all will be detained!'

The panic increased tenfold, everyone fleeing for the three remaining exits, Imoen almost knocked to the ground as people barged past her, Jaheira setting her staff before them both as they tried to press away from the advancing watch.

'Imoen!'

Imoen staggered, whirling at the voice, that familiar red head bobbing in the chaos.

'Agwin!' she cried, the lad fighting his way through to them, 'What are you doing here?'

'I've been sent to find you -come on!'

He grabbed her hand, a glance back confirming Jaheira was still with them as he pushed through the crowds and slipped into a narrow alleyway, the high wall at the end seemingly blocking any escape. Agwin, though, had other ideas, already before a small door that was set in the building to the right.

'Damn idiots,' he muttered crossly, fumbling through his lock picks, 'Melissan told them to stay inside.'

'It was her who sent you, wasn't it?' confirmed Imoen, a scream from the square behind making her wince, though she refrained shoving him out of the way and unlocking it herself; using another's picks just wasn't done.

He nodded, still struggling with the rusted lock as watchmen bawled orders over the crowds. 'Yes, she needs to speak with you urgently.'

'Fine,' agreed Jaheira briskly, 'but we must meet with Minsc and Valygar first.'

Agwin grinned as the lock finally turned with a satisfying click, the lad opening the door on a dingy warehouse and gallantly showing them inside. 'There is no need, ladies; they are already with us.'

The sounds of the riot still raging outside, they followed him through the warehouse and out a door on the opposite side, the trouble now streets away and growing only more distant as Agwin led them back to the eastern quarter where they had once made their lodgings, the boy taking one of the lanes off the thronging market square to bring them to a halt before one of the city water stations where were kept the pumps and mechanisms that brought the city's water up from where it flowed in the rocks far beneath.

'Here,' he murmured, checking the street about them before tapping lightly on the iron door. The sound of locks being drawn back, the shadowy figure within giving them a polite nod as they entered, the stone steps lit only by the light from the room they led down to, Agwin providing the explanation as he led the way.

'The council gave us use of this place when Melissan first arrived here at the city –they thought it best we be kept away from the _normal_ people.'

He had reached the doors, gently pushing the aging wood open on a long stone hall, the ceiling above low and vaulted, the ribs descending to rest on the plain stone pillars that ran in two rows along its length. Benches and long tables dominated the centre, the lanterns and candles burning upon them providing the only light, while to the edges were lain bedrolls and bags, blankets and rugs strung between the pillars to give some semblance of privacy. And everywhere were seated men and women in twos, threes or larger groups, some talking while others amused themselves with cards or other games, and Imoen was suddenly struck by the scale of the thing, _Bhaalspawn_ no longer a slur thrown at her, Fritha or a handful of others. It was a title, a name for the hundred or so people before her, brothers and sisters in their shared curse.

'It was actually an old blackpowder store,' continued Agwin cheerfully, 'disguised as a water station for the benefit of those living in the houses above; I suppose no one in the city liked the idea of a few hundred barrels of the stuff beneath them. Shame the last city council voted to send it all to Darromar –it would've certainly come in useful now, but at least it keeps us safe from the catapults, eh?'

Imoen cast a critical eye about them. Though that was certainly true, the entrance was small and there was only one way either in or out that she could see -easily defensible, but Imoen had always preferred having back way out.

The men were already there as Agwin had promised, sat at a table on the edge of the room and both on their feet as they noticed their approach.

'Thanks be, you are safe,' breathed Valygar, looking for a moment as though he would pull her to him in his relief, hands upon her shoulders, when he thought better of it and let them drop abruptly to his sides, the girl trying not to feel hurt as Minsc stepped in to provide the grateful embrace.

'Young Imoen and good Jaheira, how glad we are to see you – we heard of riots within the city.'

'We were fine, Minsc; Agwin came to find us.'

The lad smiled proudly at this recognition, the look becoming more pensive as Melissan arrived at their side.

'You have come, and I am grateful for it –Agwin, perhaps you could go and check on the others.'

'_Now_ will you tell us what this is about?' demanded Valygar, as the boy left them; the ranger clearly did not appreciate being kept waiting _or_ in the dark.

Melissan nodded, sinking onto the bench behind her, and all took the seats about the woman as she began.

'I am sorry, but I wished to tell the tale only once. First, I must begin outside this siege with the one who is its cause. Yaga Shura, as you have no doubt heard, is a Bhaalspawn and he wages war here in an effort to murder his brethren.'

'We know all this!' urged Imoen impatiently.

'Yes,' conceded Melissan, 'but what you do not know is that Yaga Shura is no ordinary Bhaalspawn- he is for want of a better word, invulnerable.'

'_What?'_

'That is impossible!'

'Please,' she hissed warily, casting about them, 'not so loud. And yes, it is possible. Arrows, blades, even the most powerful magics leave no permanent mark –he heals faster than he can be wounded. I know, however, he was not born with this immunity. He developed it somehow, and if that is the case it can likely be removed. I know the priests and mages of the city hold council even now, trying to discover a means to dispel it, but until then we need to make sure that Saradush does not fall.'

'Boo wonders, then, what you wish of us.'

'This news of Yaga Shura is not common knowledge –you can imagine easily the panic were it to get out, though I have shared it with the city council and General Gromnir.' Melissan shook her head wearily, 'Though I wonder now if _that_ was a mistake. The general refuses to rally his troops to face the army and has barricaded himself and his men in the upper reaches of the fortress. At first I thought, on hearing this news of the giant, his courage had deserted him, but lately I have heard more disturbing rumours of from the keep, of wild accusations and random executions, even within his own men -I fear he has gone mad.'

Jaheira was frowning. 'If this city falls then all will die -cannot the city council make him see sense?'

'No, the city council are men of commerce, not war, and Saradush was not prepared for such an attack. Without a force of their own to command, they are riddled with indecision as to the proper course to take -Gromnir refuses to even hold council with them, but _I_ might still be able to reason with him, if I could only force him to meet with me.'

'And that's where we come in,' said Imoen. Melissan nodded firmly.

'Indeed, I know of a means into the fortress as told to me by one of the city council, though I could never make the way alone. You defeated Illasera, a woman who struck terror into the hearts of many here, and I know if any in this city could help me, then it will be you.'

'So what do we do?' rumbled Valygar.

'There is a secret way into the fortress in the old city gaol, though the building was closed up decades ago, a more shameful aspect of this city's past. Much evil was done there under the command of the sadistic head gaoler. He was discovered and eventually hung, but many others had followed him and justice was not done in full, the Council preferring to cover up the horrors there and their own negligence, and the place was closed. But there is a passage hidden within that leads into the fortress's dungeons, and from there we can make our way up through the keep and finally reach the general and make him see sense.'

The air of misgiving over them was palpable, Minsc the only one to give voice to the feeling.

'Boo is not sure this will work.'

Melissan looked grim. 'No, but we must try – or Saradush will fall.'

xxx

It was late afternoon, the air close with heat from the sky and ground both as they made their slow ascent through the Marching Mountains. The arid landscape was all the same desolate brown, brittle gorse scrub sprouting wherever it could find purchase between the barren stones, sulphurous clouds rising from vents in the rock, drifting up from the magma that flowed and seethed far, far beneath.

They had been making their ascent since dawn yesterday, the temple apparently deep within the mountains and cut into the rock itself. Fritha paused, and reached for her flask, her tunic clinging unpleasantly to her back. Next to her, Solaufein half-turned at the delay, the sheen of sweat highlighting his dark cheeks, and she passed him the canteen with a wan smile –not even Avernus had been this hot.

Ahead of them, the ranger, Ivic, was leading the way, the man who had strode so confidently before them at the beginning of the morning now crouched and cautious, and Fritha could tell they were closing to their goal. She had been worried initially how he would deal with the elves' company; she could not see many taking Sephis and Orvel's obvious contempt with the same passive acceptance as she and Solaufein. But it seemed her worries were to be unfounded, the pair giving the man who stood a head higher than even the tallest of them a wide berth. In fact, all the elves seemed much subdued since Sirra. Their two wounded were doing well, Vestil fully healed and Jastren all but so, but Fritha felt the attack by the mercenaries and their reception in the town had injured something more than physical. She kept wishing the elves had been with them in Remmstor and had not missed the chance to know a different sort of human, and she had to remind herself that the majority of them had lived many years and had probably travelled to more human settlements than even she had. One town was unlikely to change their views, for good or bad.

As for their guide, Ivic was a taciturn but kind man of the dark Tethyran colouring, his black hair and beard streaked with grey. He had greeted her with the paternal mention that he had a daughter Fritha's age, though the girl herself was married now with baby of her own back in Sirra -something Fritha had greeted with a discomfited smile, the idea that she could have such a life by now so strange as to be comical. He had spoken, too, of her performance back at the tavern, though he had stated bluntly that he had preferred her first few songs to the later ones, an admission which had instantly earned him Solaufein's goodwill.

She glanced back to where the sun was descending on to the western peaks; it would not be long now. Solaufein had not told her of the temple until the morning after their night at the inn, the man explaining that his previous anger had driven it from his mind as they quickly dressed to meet the others on the landing. She was rather glad he had not; learning of the warring Bhaalspawn had been disturbing enough -the idea that temples to that far-sighted god were springing up just seemed to lend even more weight to His inevitable return. She was trying not the think about it, either what they would find there at that temple or where this path would finally lead them, the girl very aware of the promise she had made the man just before her in that small silent room.

And yet for all that it would creep in sometimes, in the quiet moments laid in their tent before sleep claimed her: the freedom of leaving that place and the curse upon her life to see the world she had imagined lay behind the fine ink lines of her old atlas. It hovered there now, the hope of it, and it felt as she had to do was reach out, to nod and say 'yes', and it would be hers.

At their head, Ivic had raised his hand, the man lingering on the edge of a wide ravine, checking the way before him before beckoning them forward. Fritha closed to his side, the shallow crevice swinging into view, a huge archway opening in the flat rock face at its end and decorated with skulls both carved upon the rock and harvested from enemies, the myriad of leering faces set in two macabre columns on either side of the entrance.

'And this is as far as I go,' said Ivic, 'I am a man of the woods, not the horrors likely held within.'

'Fair enough,' agreed Fritha; this was not his battle after all, 'and without knowing what we will face inside, perhaps it would be best if we did not go in as one. I could sneak in with another and report back before we decide the best course.'

'I will go with her,' offered Tandith. Ferdanil nodded once.

'Fine, you and Tandith-'

'I will go, too,' cut in Solaufein and in a tone that indicated it was not an offer.

A moment's internal struggled for their captain, as the desire of sending the drow into danger warred with the annoyance of having his orders questioned, though Ferdanil's dislike won out in end.

'Fine, you three will enter, perform reconnaissance and return here in a half hour.'

Tandith saluted, Fritha giving a nod to show she'd understood, and the three crept forward, out from the cover to approach that yawning opening.

The room it led to was even higher, that doorway opening onto a vast chamber of stone, the walls clad in smooth square panels, likely formed from the rock they had excavated, carved wooden pillars stretching up to a distant ceiling like ornate mine props. Light and blistering heat both were being provided by the large iron braziers that were set in each corner, the floor beneath open and barred with iron, built in vents to the volcano far below and the air reeked with sulphur. No one was about, in either that room or the long wide hallway beyond. The steady thunder of footsteps indicated they were not alone though, a snuck glance into one of the side rooms revealing a large basic kitchen, a few dark-skinned giants, their once vibrant orange hair now grey, busying themselves about towering tables, one raking the coals of the huge kiln oven. Perhaps they had been deemed too old to join the rest of the army in their siege, their small company equalled by a number of soldiers, both humans and orcs, who had presumably been left behind as a guard there. The men seemed more interested in preparing their meal at the moment, though, and their group moved on, avoiding the scant few patrols as they travelled deeper into the temple.

They had reached the end of that long hall now, their way blocked by a flight of enormous stone steps that would have proved a great difficulty for them had not the edge been bordered with a shallower flight; a concession to their smaller allies. At the top, a pair of huge brass doors towered before them, Solaufein and Tandith both required to push one ajar, and the three slipped though into what was likely the seat of Bhaal's worship. The vast stone room was opulently decorated, the wooden columns inlaid with brass and stones and in the centre upon a dais was placed not an altar, but a huge throne of gold, the rubies that glistened upon the end of each armrest the size of her head. Two doors were set in the walls either side of it, Tandith nodding to the rightmost one.

The corridor beyond was silent, their three moving along gloomy hallway between a few private rooms: a bedroom, bathhouse and armour room all of gigantic size and likely held by the high priest there, Fritha wanting to be sure they were truly alone before they began their search –only, they were not.

Solaufein had pushed ajar the door to the last room, the chamber they stepped into built on the same huge scale as all the others but with one marked difference, for its furnishings were of the usual dimensions, bed, chairs and coffers all huddled in the far corner and looking lost in the cavernous space. And there upon the bed she was sat, a swarthy young woman in silks and a dark indigo sari, who bore the long chain manacled at her wrist like a bracelet, her kohl-rimmed eyes going wide as she saw them.

'Who- who are you? New additions to his murderous flock? No, you have not the reek of this place upon you.'

Fritha stepped forward with a raised hand and reassuring smile. 'I am Fritha, this is Solaufein and Tandith; we are here with a company of elves investigating the giants' and their motives.'

'You are not allied to my captors?' the girl cried, suddenly on her feet with a rattle of chains, 'Then you must free me! Please, we must escape now before-!'

'We will; we will,' Fritha soothed, 'but what are you doing here?'

The girl sighed, slumping back onto the bed, her dark hair falling about her like a veil.

'I am Bahia, daughter to rich merchant of Ishidah, a town to the south. I was travelling with my entourage to visit my sister in Almraiven –she is studying at the magic school there- when we were best by brigands. They murdered all the guards and slaves and brought me here. Now Yaga Shura blackmails my father into supplying his army; he exhausts our fortune on it even now, as I must sit here and play consort to that jackal!'

'Yaga Shura?' repeated Solaufein, 'He is the leader of this band?'

'Yes, and god of this temple too.'

'_God?_' cried Fritha, thinking back to that huge throne, 'They worship him? I thought this was a temple to Bhaal.'

Bahia was shaking her head. 'No, no, not to Him -not directly, at least. Yaga Shura is, as he boasts to me often, invincible, and so has attracted many devotees and fanatics who believe him to be the next incarnation of Bhaal. They built this temple to him, but all but a few left some days ago to attack Saradush and murder the Bhaalspawn within.'

'But why?' asked Tandith.

'He believes he can harness the power of Bhaal himself and ascend if kills enough of them,' offered Fritha dully, 'He isn't the first.'

'It is so,' nodded Bahia, 'often he regales me with talk of how he will be a god first here and then among the divine themselves, though I never believed him- it would be a sorry day for all Toril were that witless brute admitted to the heavens! He calls me his concubine,' she added disgustedly, 'though the monster cannot bed me, thanks be! I believe he merely likes the idea of having the attentions of a woman -says I will be the queen of his harem.' She shuddered. 'His attentions repulse me, though he is too stupid to see it. But I was forced to show willingness- it is only his interest that keep me from the other men.' She sighed fitfully, giving the chain another desperate rattle, 'I just wish to go home!'

'And you shall,' soothed Fritha, 'but if he is truly invincible then Saradush and all who dwell within the city will be killed –is there anything you know, any clue as to how he can be stopped?'

'He cannot be stopped! He is invincible! Now please, let us flee!'

'There must be something, girl,' snapped Solaufein, his patience seemingly exhausted, 'he must have mentioned something- now think!'

Bahia snorted angrily. 'Even _he_ was not so foolish as to tell me anything…' She paused, her gazed suddenly far away, 'but- but he did mention a name once, a woman of his past: Nyalee she was called, an old crone who lives in the Mir Forest.'

'Nyalee?' repeated Fritha, 'The priestess at the ruined temple mentioned her.'

'And- and he is obsessed with stone chest keeps under his bed. There, that is all I know.'

Fritha nodded. 'Thank you, Bahia. Now, wait here while we fetch that chest and-'

'No, please,' the girl cried, franticly pulling at her chain, 'free me now! I can't bear it here! What if you don't return? What if you-'

'Hush now,' Fritha sighed, stepping forward to lay a hand at her wrist and the manacle gave a sound _click_. 'There, the lock is open and if we don't come back then try and flee yourself, but, _please_ wait for us; we will return.'

The girl nodded, wordlessly rubbing her wrist as she came to terms with her sudden freedom, their three moving back into the dark hallway.

'You are sure we should have freed her?' murmured Solaufein.

Fritha sighed. 'No, but I would have begged for the same.'

They had already visited Yaga Shura's bedchamber once, the room dominated by a large stone bed and piled with cushions made from enough material for your average ball gown, Fritha pausing to admire a bright turquoise one edged in amethyst beads. Just trappings of his power and wealth, more was like –she certainly could not imagine the giant surrounding himself with such treasures for any aesthetic reason. The bed was not so far off the floor that she could walk beneath it, even stooped, Tandith on watch at the door as she and Solaufein dropped to hands and knees and between then pushed and heaved out that large granite chest. It was a simple thing, about the size of a child's tomb and the treasure it held was just as grisly.

Two hearts: one the size of a melon and burning hot, the other shrivelled and cold, and both still beating.

With little else to do, Fritha gathered them into the cloak she had not worn for days now, and the smell of scorched wool followed them back along the corridor. Bahia was still in her room, the girl on her feet and more than eager to join them and they left that temple just as they had come: full of stealth and quite unnoticed.

Outside, the elves met their return with a general sense of relief and they retreated a good hour down through he mountains before it was deemed safe to halt and talk of what they'd found there. Bahia had wanted to keep moving, though she freely admitted the men would not bring her evening meal until after the sun had set and it was quickly agreed that Ivic would take her with him back to Sirra until her father could be contacted. As for the rest of them…

Fritha was sat on a low rock on the edge of that dusty trail, watching the rhythmic trembled of the two hearts lain out on her cloak under the sinking sun, Bahia's account of her capture and captors leaving their group in stunned silence.

'So,' began Sephis slowly, 'if this girl is to be believed, this giant leader is invincible? Impossible.'

'Nothing is impossible,' countered Tandith, 'He must have found some way, perhaps this old Bhaal priestess Nyalee helped him somehow –I don't know.'

Jastren looked puzzled. 'If they had the power to make one of the Children invincible, I wonder then why others of Bhaal's priesthood didn't do the same to the rest of them.'

'Why would they?' Fritha sighed, heaving herself to her feet once more, 'Our purpose is to die. This Nyalee must have her own reasons –if she did this at all.'

'But why attack Saradush?' questioned Bryn quietly, 'What made him think there were any more of the Children there than anywhere else?'

'But there are!' cried Bahia, 'Bhaalspawn have been gathering there for many tenday, seeking refuge in city. Yaga Shura was at first content to wait for more to arrive, but then he heard news that some northern mage was in the city and he could wait no longer.'

'Who,' asked Vazalea, 'Did he tell you the name?'

'Ah, perhaps,' Bahia sighed, brow furrowing in her vexation, 'all the northern names so sound strange to me. Imogen, no, Imowern-'

Fritha nearly choked on the words. 'Not _Imoen?_'

'Yes, that was it. He was very excited about her arrival- would talk and talk about how it was all falling into place and the Fates were with him.'

Fritha shook her head, an unbearable weight settling in her stomach; it wasn't supposed to be like this. 'The Fates are against us all. If Yaga Shura is invincible, then it is only a matter of time before Saradush falls and then-' she broke off, unable to think even on the possibility and filled with a sudden urgency as she whirled back to Bahia. 'We have to stop him! This woman –you said she lived in the forests of Mir, but whereabouts?'

'I don't know! He never said!'

'I know of a place,' offered Ivic grimly, 'an old temple ruins within the mangroves –she could be there. I will lead you to it, but-' he glanced to Bahia, 'the way will be hard.'

The girl raised her chin defiantly. 'I will keep up; I owe you this much.'

Solaufein turned to the elves about them. 'And what of you?'

'And what of us,' countered Sephis sharply.

Ivic was frowning. 'If this giant would be so bold as to attack Saradush, then why would he not strike at your own city?'

Sephis barked an unpleasant laugh. 'Hah, he would not attack Suldanessellar; we harbour no Bhaalspawn to tempt him.'

'No,' snapped Solaufein, 'you sent the only one from your city -even after she saved it!'

'Solaufein,' Fritha sighed –as though any of that mattered now, the girl turning back to the rest of them to announce, 'I am going to these ruins-'

'As am I!' added Tandith hotly, Avilar and Bryn looking ready to join him. Sephis, though, just looked astounded.

'You would disobey the captain?'

'Would you?' rejoined Tandith, 'He has made no order yet!'

And all eyes seemed to swivel to Ferdanil, the man's face unreadable as he stared at the girl opposite, the two hearts beating at her feet.

'Everyone form up –single file to hide out numbers- we head for the forest.'

And Ivic took the lead, Tandith after him, Bahia unwinding her sari and taking the trousers and tunic Vazeala had given to her, the pair slipping behind a tall bolder to quickly change as the rest of them formed their marching column. Fritha took up again her burden of hearts and joined the line. She could feel Solaufein's presence behind her, a calming counter to the nervous energy that twitched through her as they waited to depart.

Why? Even if she had left Suldanessellar, why, of all places, had Imoen gone to Saradush?

xxx

Dusk was closing in, the sky a dark burnt red, scorched by the fires that blazed both within and without the city. Imoen stood, a nervous energy humming through her as they assembled before a squat, unassuming building of plain grey stone a few streets from the fortress's walls. Minsc was slowly checking his armour, Jaheira beside him with her eyes closed and muttering a quick prayer to her god, Melissan on the Rashemi's other side and flicking hastily through her spellbook like an unprepared student in those last agonising moment before an exam, while Valygar's gaze was upon the sky, his face set.

Imoen left her own spellbook in her bag; she had glanced it over that morning and had no need to see it again. It felt good to be doing something useful, rather than searching that city for someone who had never been there- when she found Fritha, oh, the hell she'd give her for not leaving them some clue of her whereabouts! A sudden surge of emotion, the tears that had never been far from the surface bubbling up, and she had to fight them down –with Fritha gone and her trapped there, they may never meet again.

It was time, Jaheira stepping forwards, her prayers answered as she struck the sealed wooden door once with her stave, the rune which had been inscribed upon it glowing a vivid blue only to fade away completely. Minsc entered first, the druid just behind and followed by Valygar, Melissan wringing her sleeves looking both eager and nervous as she and Imoen brought up the back together.

Inside the air was stale, the smell of mildew strong as they surveyed that gloomy room, lit only by what light could penetrate the narrow, grime-caked windows. A few empty desks and chairs were set within, a scattering of papers indicating it had likely been an office when the gaol was still in use. Another doorway opposite looked to open into a similar room, but it was not there Minsc led them, the man crossing the silent room to the stout, grilled door in the far corner, Imoen pushing to their head with her lock picks ready, but her skills were not needed, the door swinging back under her hand.

Jaheira's werelight flared to life, Imoen and Melissan following suit, the narrow stairway bright in that constant, unflickering light and Imoen could see the ceiling above as they began their descent, a mess of cobwebs and stains. The good feeling was gone now, swallowed by the eerie memories of that first descent into the catacombs of Bodhi's lair.

At last, the lights opened the foot of the stairs, their group stepping down into a small room, three dark hallways leading from it, everything made from the same lifeless grey stone, the fragments of a broken chair rotting in the corner the only sign that anyone had ever been down there. They had grouped together before the steps, perhaps stood closer together than would usually, Valygar turning to send her a nod in the press and Imoen felt the shadows fall back a little.

'Well, we are here…' said Jaheira, glancing about them with a frown, 'Where now? I do not wish to wander about into the night.'

'The councillor told me it was to the north,' offered Melissan. Valygar spared a glance to his compass.

'This way.'

They took the rightmost hallway he'd pointed to, two rows iron barred doors open lining either side, the cells cold and damp, and Imoen could not imagine any worse punishment than being locked down there- at least the Asylum had had windows. Just before her, Valygar had the same thought.

'You spoke before of torture –was keeping them down here not enough?'

'I believe the current gaol is much-'

The distant clang of a slammed door cut her off. Everyone stopped dead, Imoen's heart suddenly rattling madly.

'Is someone there?' called Jaheira, her voice echoing about them, mocking her question over and over as it faded.

Melissan looked afraid. 'It- It was probably just the wind.'

Imoen shot her a look. 'Down _here?_'

'Come,' rumbled Minsc, his face set as he turned, 'Boo, says we must keep moving.'

They carried on, Melissan moving to their head and pointing the way at each turning, leaving Imoen to bring up the rear alone, Valygar's near-constant glances back to her, not the comfort they had once been. The air teemed with whispers that hung just on the edge of her hearing, just quiet enough that she was never sure it was not just her imagination, the fear making the magics rise and crackle within her as she struggled to keep it under control.

'Through here, I think,' came Melissan far ahead of her, their column turning to step through an open doorway into the next area of the prison, Imoen barely over the threshold when a rush of air caused her to whip round, her shriek lost in the boom as the stout wooden door slammed behind her.

Valygar closed to it in a stride, the man rattling the handle. 'Locked.'

'Well,' offered Imoen, trying to suppress the tremor to her voice, 'we didn't want to go back anyway. I mean…' she trailed off, not sure she liked the connotations of her own words.

'We know,' said Jaheira kindly, 'come, we need to keep moving.'

Along another dark hallway –Imoen had lost count by now, the place a dark maze –a maze filled with the ghost of long dead inmates, awakened by their thirst for blood and vengeance and-

_For goodness's sake, stop that!_ she scolded herself crossly, her heart rate decreasing at the admonishment –she was only making it worse after all. They had turned another corner up ahead, taking a route through an old guard room, Imoen's eyes travelling over the small table and few chairs still left as she passed, Melissan's voice echoing back to her.

'It's not far now, I believe. Just-'

Imoen shrieked as her werelight vanished, the sound of two doors slamming in the darkness, Valygar pounding on the one just before her and then that cold hand clamped at her shoulder. The room exploded in a burst of magic, the rotting furniture now little more than kindling, Imoen standing stock-still in the centre, Valygar finally wrenching the door open, the others piling in behind him as her werelight flickered back to life.

'What happened?' demanded Valygar, terseness betraying his concern, 'Are you hurt?'

Imoen shook her head, the sharp tang of her own singed hair tart in her nostrils. 'No, something grabbed me, and I just sort of-' she made an explosive gesture with her hands.

'And here is our stalker,' said Minsc, the man straightening from where he had been examining something in the corner and Imoen drew a sharp breath, as her eyes fell upon the slumped, charred form.

'A woman?'

The Rashemi looked grim. 'A vampire, though a young one –the scars from the bite are still there to see.'

'Was it alone here?' questioned Valygar. The distant ripple of laughter answered him.

'A nest then,' snapped Jaheira, 'We have not the time now to purge this place.'

Surprisingly it was Minsc who concurred with her first. 'Agreed; Boo says now is not the time for this battle. The local priests may be told of this evil when the city is saved.'

'Come then,' urged Melissan, 'the way into the fortress is just up ahead.'

And they followed her, the woman hurrying before them, her eagerness growing as they closed upon their goal. 'Here, this way, in the cell at the end of this passage.'

And there they were, all cramped, at last, in that small stone cell, Melissan's hands dancing over the bricks in the corner.

'Now, he said it was here somewhere- ah!'

The brick she touched moved, the woman easing it out and twisting the short iron handle hidden beneath, a whole panel the size of a small doorway suddenly clicking forward, Minsc easing fingers behind to heave it open on a dark narrow tunnel.

'It should just be at the other end,' whispered Melissan, skulking into the darkness, Imoen extinguishing her light to follow her; Valygar and Minsc having to duck as they made to follow. The woman was right, barely a dozen yards and they had reached another wooden wall, and Imoen suspected the outside was clad in the same brick façade as the room onto which it opened. A narrow chink between the wooden panels provided a view of the small stone cell beyond, the barred iron door open and allowing a yellow pane of light from the well-lit hallway to open a narrow section of the room, making the shadows on either side of it all the deeper.

In the darkness of the tunnel, Imoen's groping hand closed upon the lever she had been searching for, the girl sending a glance to those pressed in behind her.

'I'll go check it out.'

Minsc and Jaheira nodded, Valygar adding sternly, 'Be careful.'

The door swung forward without a sound, Melissan pulling it almost closed again behind her as Imoen slipped through. She crept forward, ears straining for the sound of approaching feet, through it was not that which halted her, the girl at the open cell door and about to move into the hall when beneath her foot she felt it; that slight wobble to the stone that was likely an uneven mortar base, but just could be something else. Slowly she eased her weight back, every muscle tensed and waiting. Nothing happened.

Relief flooded her, the girl stooping to examine the slab and finding just what she had hoped it was not, this new line of sight allowing her to see at least another two similarly raised tiles in the hall beyond, a long cord running along the edge of the high ceiling.

'What's going on?' hissed Melissan impatiently, as Imoen arrived back, 'You didn't even leave the cell!'

'Pressure trap,' provided Imoen, hurriedly pulling the door closed, 'they're all along the hall by the look of it.'

'Are they dangerous?' the woman questioned. Imoen just resisted rolling her eyes.

'No, but the guards they'll call likely will be –I think they're linked to an alarm.'

'Shush,' hissed Jaheira, sharp ears catching on something they'd missed, 'someone is coming.'

Back in the hall, two orc guards were walking, muttering to each other in their own harsh tongue, Imoen at the chink again and watching their feet neatly side step the trapped tile as they passed the doorway. A pause, the tunnel in silence as they waited for the noise of them to fade completely.

'Right,' whispered Imoen, hand at the handle once more, 'I'm going to disarm it –the halls could be riddled with them and we won't have time to creep along avoiding them all.'

'Wait,' hissed Valygar, Melissan squeaking as he pressed forward to join them at the door, 'I will follow you into the cell –Minsc can come, as well. If you run into difficulties, we should be on hand.'

Imoen nodded, the three leaving the tunnel, the two men taking up position in the shadows behind the door as she stepped over that raised tile and slipped along the hallway in the opposite direction to the guards, the small makeshift office they had left only a few paces away. Inside there, the floor was a smooth plaster and she relaxed at last, eyes scanning across the table, the two hands of the card game they had been playing lain face down upon the wood, the walls lined with a few cabinets, crates and-

Imoen felt herself smile as her gaze caught on a small wooden cabinet that was attached to the opposite wall, the thick cord she had seen running along the hall ceiling edging that room, too, to disappear into the top. Her long roll of picks spread out at her feet, it only took a moment to pin the cord just at the opening and hold the steady the tension that would trigger the alarm, her snips clipping neatly through the wire and it was done.

She tripped back to the door, a wave to the darkness she knew where Valygar was hidden showing him it was a success and she was just about to creep back along that hall when she heard it. Those clattering footsteps set a wave of panic through her, Imoen casting about to dive behind the nearest chest as the two orcs strode in.

The scrape of a chair and, for one awful moment, she thought they were about to sit and resume their game, though the truth was far worse, the men rattling cupboard doors and peering about crates, Imoen's stomach tight as it dawned on her; they were looking for something. And none too quietly either, one seemingly chiding the other as they searched, his companion grumbling as he riffled through the crate next to her, and Imoen crouched further into the darkness, wondering desperately why she had not hidden behind the door and summoming the words of the spell that would likely damage her as much as he.

He was just above her now, the porcine face slack as it looked down to find her there, Imoen ready to spring up when the wet thud halted her, the warm rain spattering her upturned face. She scrambled back, suddenly realising what it was as the creature slumped forward over the crates, an arrow sticking from its throat, Valygar in the doorway next to Minsc, the Rashemi stood over the dead body of the other.

'Are you all right?' asked Valygar, closing to offer her a hand up, though she did not take it, too busy using a sleeve to wipe the blood from her face.

'I'm fine,' she gasped, 'let's go.'

Up the coiled steps of the dungeons and they were out, avoiding patrols and racing along corridors as they made their way up through the fortress, the plain, serviceable design of the kitchens and storerooms changing as they ascended, the upper levels all marble floors and fine Calimshite rugs, the plastered walls painted in dark reds, blues and other expensive pigments.

One last flight of stairs, florid, gilt banisters supporting the polished mahogany rail, and they were in a small reception room, the two large windows opposite showing a view over the city and the siege camp that sprawled beyond, their torches sinister beacons in the deepening dusk. To the left, two thick marble columns marked where three steps led down into the next room, guttural voices drifting through the archway with the lamplight. Melissan led them forward, the thick rugs masking their entrance, and no one even looked up until they were there, assembled upon the top step before that beautiful bright room, a dais opposite, another two thick columns either side of it and coiled in curtains of deep blue velvet. A tall, muscular half-orc was seated on the gilded wooden throne between them, holding council with the scattering of orcs and half-orcs about him, though he was on his feet the instant he saw them.

'Melissan! What are you doing here?'

The woman took a step forward, the others following her descent though admittedly more warily, the surrounding troops watching them through narrowed eyes.

'The true question is what are _you_ doing, Gromnir?' countered Melissan, her tone both commanding and earnest in the same instance, 'what of your promise to the people of this city? To me? You must protect Saradush! Please, send troops to help on the wall and hold a meeting with the city council to decide on a strategy to end this siege!'

Gromnir snorted, lips curling back to reveal a set of oversized teeth in a sneer. 'Ah, such concern for this doomed city –you care nothing for these people, bitch!'

'What?' Melissan gasped, genuinely taken aback, 'Gromnir, how can you say so?'

'I know of your plans, Melissan; you must think me a fool.'

'I think you mad and paranoid! You think I know nothing of what you have been doing up here –Accusations! _Executions!_'

The half-orc barked a wild laugh –he seemed pretty mad in Imoen's opinion.

'Ha! I am no madman and I know the truth. You are here to kill me! You have been plotting against me, plotting against all the Children!'

'What madness it this?' cried Melissan, 'Have I not always aided you and all of the Children? I brought you here to protect you – and would have too, had you not broken your word!'

But Gromnir would hear none of it. 'No, no, no, I finally understand now how you lied. Well, I will not fight Yaga Shura and I will not send my men from this fortress to die in my stead!'

Imoen felt the last of her patience snap. 'Listen, mate, I don't care what you think Melissan's done, but you promised to help! Yaga Shura wants to kill all us Children, not just you, and this city is going to fall unless you help us!'

Gromnir was staring down at her, as though this was the first time he had even registered Melissan's companions and suddenly he was laughing unpleasantly, his eyes never leaving her and Imoen felt the magic begin to prickle.

'So you could not wait for Yaga Shura, eh, Melissan? You brought another Bhaalspawn to murder me? You would have Bhaalspawn kill Bhaalspawn until all are dead! Well, let us begin, let us begin with you!'

He leapt from the dais, twin axes aloft, perhaps deceived by the short sword at her hip and the burst of magic left Imoen's hands without a thought to strike him square in the chest and the room erupted. Orcs and their half-brethren were charging in from all sides, the air filled with roars and battle cries as their own group whirled to face them. Gromnir had struggled to his feet though he looked a little dazed still, Minsc seizing his chance before he could prove how he had earned the loyalty of that orc army.

One great hewing sweep of that blade and Gromnir lost the axe he had raised feebly to block it and half his head, Minsc withdrawing it with a grunt as the half-orc collapsed, dead before his throne. Though their numbers were greater, the remaining orcs were no match for their force, Melissan releasing an arc of white energy that danced through three of them, fire from Imoen engulfing another while Jaheira and Valygar ended others with blade and staff and just as quickly as it had exploded the room was silent once more.

Melissan was shaking, eyes wide above the hand she held trembling above her mouth as she surveyed the carnage.

'Oh, oh gods, what have we done, we have doomed this city!'

'He left us no choice!' cried Imoen, Jaheira nodding angrily.

'He was clearly quite mad, the way he ranted -did you know he was this far gone?'

Melissan shook her head. 'No, I mean, I knew the stress- No!' she snapped firmly at the druid's look.

'His troops,' rumbled Valygar, 'would they fight for the city regardless?'

'I doubt it –their loyalty was to Gromnir, not Saradush. They will likely barricade themselves here in the fortress and wait for Yaga Shura to kill the Bhaalspawn; they are not of the Children and have nothing to fear in him. Oh, merciful gods, this city, all these people and those I so strove to protect…'

It was seemingly all too much for the woman, Melissan slumping heavily to sit on the steps and weep into her hands, Jaheira shaking her head as she moved to the nearest window, Minsc finding more sympathy in his heart and crouching next to Melissan to murmur some words of comfort.

Imoen turned from them, weariness surging through her limbs as all the fight left her. The last chance for that city and _they_ had been the ones to ruin it. And suddenly the tears were falling, the girl turning to find refuge in the shadow of one of the curtain-swathed pillars, no more ashamed of her tears than she was ashamed to laugh, but likewise, she did not fancy anyone gawping at her while she did it, burdening them with the responsibility of offering her some platitudes. It seemed she had not been overlooked in any case though, that familiar presence suddenly at her back.

'Imoen?' came that deep, measured voice that always seemed to reassure her.

'Oh, Valygar, why is nothing easy?'

She turned, unmindful of her tears as she took a step closer, just aching to lean upon him, and lose herself in the comfort of another's contact, the sense of betrayal he danced back stabbing right to her heart.

'What- what is it?'

'Nothing,' the man muttered, looking anywhere but her tearstained face, 'I just don't believe this is the time-'

'Damn the time!' Imoen burst out, 'I just want to feel something other than this worry and this- this sick frustration! I mean, I thought you…' her voice died, his empty look stealing it from her throat.

'I am sorry, Imoen, I cannot give you what you want.'

'What do you mean?' she cried, almost pleading, 'The way you've been acting around me –I like you, Valygar, and I think you feel something for me, too.'

She watched him swallow dryly, dark eyes finally able to meet hers. 'I feel… responsible for you, though I see now I should have been more guarded. You are powerful, Imoen, and whether you believe it or not, the path to corruption begins with such and I would hate to see anything happen to you because of it.'

The words hit her like a slap, her breathing suddenly deep and ragged as Imoen gasped the words past the hot lump in her throat.

'Right, I see. Well, you needn't bother. Seriously, I can take care of myself, so go and find yourself another mage to save in place of your mother!'

'Imoen-'

'No, we're finished here,' she snapped, voice stronger by the moment as hurt turned to rage, the girl turning on her heel and marching for the stairs, Minsc and Melissan starting back as she clattered past them.

'Stop your puling and come on, we're not dead yet!'

**…**

Every head whipped to them as the doors were thrown open with force enough to rattle the hinges and collide back against the walls with a _boom_ as Imoen stalked through and into that low dim cellar, the others left to hurry after her. Agwin strode up to meet their approach, the other hundred or so faces turning to watch the meeting.

'Imoen, what's wrong? Where is General Gromnir?'

Melissan had gone from tearful to broken, her hoarse voice carrying well enough in that deathly silence. 'Gromnir is dead.'

The air filled with a panicked muttering, the news rippling across room like an ill-wind. Imoen ignored it all, the girl still striding down the main aisle to reach the room's centre, a leap from bench to table taking her above them all, the girl scooping up a plate and spoon with her ascent, the din echoing about that vaulted ceiling as she beat them together furiously.

'Oi, everyone -oi, listen to me! I know you're all scared and you're all dispirited, but that ends now! We are _Bhaalspawn_, the Children of the Curse and I know it isn't fair that we carry this burden, just -just these _vessels_ prophesied to die, but guess what? Life isn't fair and who gives a _damn_ what Alaundo said hundreds of years ago! I say, we're here now and _we_ are the ones who decide how we live and how we die, and I'll tell you how it isn't going to be for me- sat in this hall letting other people fight my battle for me until that army breaks through.'

The muttering had died at her words, the room seemingly transfixed by the girl above them, Melissan's bleating interjecting from somewhere around her knees.

'But what can they do? There is a whole army-'

'Oh, shut up, woman!' snapped Imoen, 'you're not helping –you're not even a Bhaalspawn. But _we_ are,' she continued, eyes back on that sea of faces, 'and we _all_ have a responsibility to try and haul ourselves through this mess. And maybe you're thinking: well, Bhaal didn't give me the power he gave to Yaga Shura, what can I do? You can fight, that's what! All the Children have a responsibility in this, not just the powerful ones. I was like you lot once -worse even! Just some scared little kid who'd have run away from a kobold, but I became strong because I was forced to fight, every step of the way. I could have just let others stand my battles for me, but I didn't. I didn't then and I'm not going to now, and if we fight together, maybe it will be that giant's blood that'll be bringing Bhaal one step closer to His return. Anyone who's with me, then come on!'

A resounding crash as she threw the plate to the stone tiles and jumped down after it, Melissan's face pale and slack in her surprise, and Imoen did not even care if not one person there had heeded her as she stalked past the woman. Jaheira and the others had halted before the doors, the druid nodding imperceptibly to her as she closed and, even in her anger, Imoen could have almost cried at the pride she saw there. And then it came, the shrill groans and scuffles as benches were pushed back and people made to their feet, a proud heat suffusing her face –they were coming.

**…**

Outside, the dusk was drawing in, the marketplace cleared of stalls and filled with people, men and woman lingering the in the space, their homes no longer safe when a catapult's load could bring them crashing down about their ears, the air of tension spilling over to a riot of panic as the crowds finally noticed them, people surging back as they poured into the square.

'Get- get away from here!'

'Yeah, we want no share in your curse!'

Someone threw a stone, two of the men behind her drawing their weapons, Imoen barging in front of them.

'No, stop! Stop it _now!_ We fight each other and we're just going to do that giant's work for him! Listen to me,' she shouted, her voice carrying as she tripped up the theatre steps next to her, 'This curse of the Children, it's not just our problem, it's everyone's, and _everyone_ needs to work together if we're going to stand a chance.'

A murmuring in the crowd, one voice brave enough to yell, 'Why should we? That giant don't want us, just you lot!'

Jaheira snorted, ascending to stand next to her. 'And do you believe he will be so discriminating once he as breached the walls?'

Minsc was shaking his head, stepping up at her other side. 'Foolish man! Young Imoen speaks the truth. Yaga Shura brought an army to Saradush and all of Saradush must fight if it is to survive! The Children will fight for your city –will you? Yes, they are an army, but if all who can take up a blade will do so, then none will stand before us!'

Silence, Imoen still too angry to care how they chose and then it came, echoing out from the walls above them.

'An army approaches –they bear banners… It's the Order of the Silver Chalice!'

A roar went up in the square before them, an explosion of hope that rang about the walls, and mirrored in all quarters of the city as the news spread. Only one dissenter remained, Melissan looking rattled.

'But they will not know that Yaga Shura is invincible –they will be slaughtered!'

Jaheira was nodding gravely. 'She is right -we need to get a message to them.'

Agwin stepped into the breach, and Imoen could not miss the glance to her as he thumped a fist firmly against his chest.

'I'll go.'

Jaheira nodded again, drawing him to the side with Melissan to detail to him what was to be said, their words lost in the joyous clamour of the crowds around them and Imoen let her gaze drift up to the sky and the first few stars that were peeking through the clouds, the two brightest catching her eye: the Hunter and the Wolf, locked forever in an endless pursuit as they chased each other across the night.

xxx

Anomen was seated before his tent, the lantern throwing a ring of light around him on that dark field, the city and its corresponding siege camp far down the hill, the torches bright in the darkness, as thought the valley itself had been filled with stars. He was on the second shift as the night's watch commander, in charge of the pairs of soldiers and squires sent to patrol the nearby palisade, the pale wooden stakes protecting their facing flank, though he had changed their point of report from the watch-tent to his own; such a night demanded familiarly. Anomen lay down the bracer and eased his heavy cuirass onto his lap. The camp about him was dark and quiet, not marked by the usual laughter and camaraderie, each man lost to his own thoughts, and Anomen was no different as he sat there, checking and rechecking his armour, anything to keep his buzzing mind occupied.

They had met the Order of the Silver Chalice as planned, arriving at the gentle slopes just northwest of the city only a few hours be they had, though it had been enough time for the two hundred mounted knights to set up a decent encampment. Sir Elquist had immediately gone with Sir Tavidad, Knight Commander of the Silver Chalice, and their various seconds into a war council to discuss the battle that the morrow would likely see, and they had not been seen since.

The light yet rhythmic whisper of grass crushed underfoot caught the edge of his hearing and he turned in time to see her round the tent. Brieanna was without her customary armour, her tunic clean, though her hair, like his own, bore the grease of a good few days without a wash, the woman wearing it drawn back in her customary braid and he could not help but be reminded of how Fritha had hated to leave her own hair so. Brieanna, though, seemed unconcerned, the woman sending him a nod in the gloom.

'Hello, Anomen.'

'Brieanna, I thought you had retired, my lady.'

She smiled wanly, settling on the grass next to him with a sigh. 'I could not sleep. I have never been in so large a battle before now –I never expected to feel so nervous.' Her smile took on an embarrassed edge, 'You must be an old hand at this.'

Anomen snorted slightly at the cool mettle she obviously attributed to him. 'I have served on a half dozen campaigns of varying scales, but it matters not; the disquiet before the battle never leaves you.'

'Which is why you are still shining a perfectly clean cuirass,' came that voice, marked by its typical insouciance, Simon stepping from the darkness. Anomen smiled as the man threw himself down next to Brieanna.

'You cannot sleep either?'

'Indeed, but not for that -Sir Cadril's in my tent and snoring like a drunk ogre.'

A round of quiet laughter, Brieanna looking much better for it, though others may have not been in agreement, Erick poking his tousled head from the tent next to them.

'Sir Erick, you're awake, as well?' offered Brieanna, as the man pulled a cloak about him and joined their circle.

'How could I be expected to sleep with Simon out here playing the fool?'

Simon grinned. 'Surely the question there would be: why would you _want_ to? Here, I've something that will calm our nerves,' he continued, pulling a small flask from his bag to pass it around, the spirits within sweet and bracing, Simon the last to take a nip, the man pushing it back into his bag and stretching out in the long grass to gaze up at the night's sky. 'There are so many stars; you never get to appreciate them in the city.'

'I thought you Lathandites preferred the sunshine,' quipped Erick.

'I certainly do, but it does not mean I cannot take pleasure in the starlight- I favour all fair things.'

Simon glanced pointedly to Brieanna, the woman's face contorting with a perturbed frown. Anomen smiled.

'Is that why you spend so much time before the mirror, Simon?'

They laughed, Simon the loudest of all of them, the noise halted abruptly by the approach of armoured footsteps, three men, two guards and another emerging from the darkness. All were instantly on their feet.

'Report,' barked Anomen.

The two men saluted, releasing their quarry, the lamplight falling on a freckled youth with a crop of dark russet hair and wearing a deep frown. One squire had already left, presumable to fetch the commander, Anomen nodding to the soldier still left.

'Sir Anomen, this man arrived at camp-'

'I told you,' the lad snapped, straightening out his coat with an angry glare, 'my name's Agwin; I'm a messenger from Saradush. I bring news from Melissan, Guardian of the Children.'

'As he _claims_, sir,' continued Squire Gadwed, 'though we found nothing upon him as proof he was even from the city. We thought he could be from the enemy to spy or disseminate false information.'

'By Tymora's Smile, I am _not!_' the lad cried, 'Jaheira said you knights would refuse to listen to sense.'

'Jaheira,' pressed Anomen, suddenly alarmed, 'the druid, Jaheira?'

Agwin blinked, frustrations gone in his bewilderment. 'Yes, you know her? She is with Melissan and the rest of us who are hoping to break the siege.'

Anomen could scarce believe it. Jaheira was _supposed_ to be back in Suldanessellar with the others –with Fritha!

'Who else? Who is with her?'

Agwin frowned. 'Just her companions: Imoen, Minsc and Valygar.'

'_All_ of them –what in Helm's name are they doing _here?_'

'Well, they came to find their friend and got trapped within like the rest of us.'

Anomen's stomach was suddenly so tight he thought he would be sick. 'Their friend… Not-'

'Fritha, her name was,' the lad offered casually, 'They thought she had perhaps come here with the rest of us Children.'

Anomen turned to gaze down at the distant torches, Simon's voice sounding just as far away.

'Then, the Lady Fritha is inside, as well?'

Anomen heard the lad shrug.

'I could not say. Your friends never found her.'

'What is going on here?' barked that strident voice; Sir Elquist had arrived, the man flanked by an entourage of squires and knights, the two commanders from Silver Chalice equally attended. 'I heard a spy had been caught.'

'No spy, sir,' offered Erick promptly, 'but a messenger from Saradush –his identity has been confirmed.'

Agwin nodded, eager as he finally felt he was nearing his purpose. 'Sir, I bring vital information. You cannot attack on the morrow, the leader of their army, the giant Yaga Shura, is invulnerable.'

'What nonsense is this?' the commander barked, those from the Silver Chalice looking little more convinced. Agwin was frowning once more.

'It is true; he has worked some magic upon himself that means he cannot be killed by mortal weapons. The Lady Melissan knows much of this and begs that you halt your attack until we can find some way to dispel it.'

'Such magics are impossible,' offered Sir Tavidad pompously, 'I have heard many rumours of such prowess attributed to men both great and small, and all in the end were split by a righteous blade.'

'Sir, this giant is no ordinary man; Melissan says he is one of the Children and that he has a power beyond any we have before seen.'

Tavidad raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'You have witnessed this?'

'Well, no,' Agwin faltered, 'the giant has not yet ventured from his own camp, but Melissan-'

The condescending sigh cut him off, Tavidad turning to enjoy better his fellows' agreement. 'See, it is all just rumour and hearsay.'

Agwin's face was growing pinker by the moment. 'It is _not!_ Melissan knows about this. He cannot be harmed and Saradush will not open the gates to be slaughtered. Until Yaga Shura's protections are countered, you will get no aid from the city.'

Sir Elquist snorted. 'You will find no _Bhaalspawn_ holds a power that with stand before those divinely blessed of Torm, Helm or any Gods of Light.'

'Sir,' offered Anomen, trying to ignore the slur, 'I feel we should perhaps listen to him.'

'He's right,' pressed Agwin urgently, 'You think we have no men of faith within the city? It will make no difference what gods you have with you. Have you no mages in your company? The few back in Saradush have had no luck, but perhaps-'

The Knight Commander did not let him finish. 'That will not be necessary. We will attack as planned and vanquish the tyrant -and let Saradush bear the name the City of Hundred _Cowards_, if it will not deign to aid our fight.'

Anomen felt his anger flare. 'But, Sir Elquist-'

'Sir Anomen, are you challenging my command?'

No, sir, merely your decision!'

Sir Elquist sent him a cool look. 'Your insolence is noted, sir, and will be mentioned to Sir Ryan upon our return. As for you, lad-'

'Agwin,' he interrupted pointedly. He was ignored.

'You will return with us to the war tent- I assume you were briefed of your city's defences and armaments before they sent you out here- we will discuss what help you _can_ lend us.'

Anomen watched them go, a weight settling heavy in his stomach. Brieanna looked worried, Simon expressing his own reservations in out a long, drawn sigh, Erick shaking his dark head.

'Well, it is decided then. Anomen, I know you did not agree with the commander, but you should not question him so before others. I have no doubt he will make good on his promise to report you to Sir Ryan, and you have your career to think on.'

Anomen snorted darkly. 'And what will that matter if we are dead?'

He turned back to the city, his thoughts consumed by those he now knew were within, and of Fritha… Why did she have to leave Suldanessellar? And where on Toril was she now?

xxx

Imoen pressed her body into the stone battlements, willing her eyes to penetrate the grainy darkness as they scanned for some movement –some sign, the knights' encampment a cluster of twinkling lights upon the northern hills. She waited, not daring to blink, her eyes and the shadows playing tricks on her as clouds moved across the moon. A shape in the darkness; her imagination, or –and then the moonlight fell across that familiar auburn head.

'He's coming! Get ready on the rope!'

But she was not the only one to have noticed him, Agwin tearing across the plain, weaving and stumbling as the arrows whipped past him, men spilling from one of the enemy siege posts to make their pursuit. The lad was directly beneath her now, out of range of the arrows as he scrambled for the rope.

'Quick, haul him up!' she cried, Minsc and Valygar setting their backs to the task.

'Peace, Imoen,' soothed Melissan practically, 'he is safe now- their archers will be kept back by our own.'

'And will they keep back _that?_' Imoen snapped, throwing a hand out to the post, the small palisade illuminated in burning gold as the mage before it summoned his magics.

'Clear the battlements!' bellowed Jaheira, 'Fire on the walls!'

The surrounding guards were scattering, Melissan racing for the steps, Minsc and Valygar still heaving on the rope.

'Come on, Imoen!' shouted Jaheira, the girl ignoring her, an arm straining down towards that struggling figure.

'Agwin, hurry!'

'Go,' urged Valygar, with another heave, 'we'll catch you.'

'Incoming!' someone screamed.

Imoen felt the power surge through her with the word. '_No!'_

The iridescent paling burst from her hands, shimmering oil-hued like a dragonfly's wing and spell met spell in an explosion of light, the shockwave of fire rippling outwards to dissipate into the night. For a moment there was silence, Imoen and the three men struggling to sit from where they had been sent sprawling, Valygar trying to extract himself from Minsc, Agwin panting as he gazed up at the serene, star-scattered sky.

'Whoa, Imoen, that was-'

'Never mind about that,' snapped Jaheira, dragging the lad to his feet, 'what did they say?'

Agwin snorted. 'A lot, but they didn't do much listening.'

'I knew it!'

'You told them about Yaga Shura?' pressed Melissan, 'That he cannot be killed.'

'Yes, but they didn't believe me,' Agwin shook his fiery head, the lights of the distant camp crowning him in amber. 'They're going to attack at dawn.'


	11. The Fates of War

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Fates of War**

Imoen stood at the battlements, though she no longer looked outwards -what was there to see but the lights of the two armies who would meet tomorrow in blood? And she had instead turned to gaze over the city that would still be left whatever the battle's outcome, silent and afraid under a turbid sky.

A few paces from her, Captain Errard was patrolling his group of archers, the man himself a sorcerer of no little skill, the other mage of their own company already gone, Melissan believing her time would be better spent back down in the hall calming the Children she had led so blindly into this doom. Errard glanced up to notice her watching and send her a friendly nod, Imoen smiling as she returned it, about to turn and walk back to the steps when she felt that familiar presence next to her, and her stomach filled with lead.

'Hey,' she murmured, not bothering to look round at him –that gravely handsome face was no longer the comfort it once had been.

'Imoen,' came the sigh, a pause signalling his unease as he continued, 'Could we talk please; I would not face tomorrow with this still lingering between us.'

'There isn't _anything_ between us -you made that quite plain.'

Another sigh. 'I hurt you before; I am sorry.'

Imoen shook her head. 'It's fine –I made a mistake, is all.'

'No, the fault in this is not yours; I should have been more guarded in how I presented my concerns.'

Imoen forced a gentle laugh, finally turning to face him, eyes sparkling and hard like cut peridot. 'Oh, no, I know you like me, Vals –I was just mistaken thinking you were strong enough to face your feelings, rather than hiding behind this fear of magic. But, really, it's fine, either way it is clear we aren't meant to be –don't worry, your rejection won't drive _me _over the edge.'

His face was set. 'You have quite the cruel streak.'

Imoen snorted, turning back to that darkened city. 'Yeah, well, so do you, and at least I don't hide mine behind a pretence that I hadn't realised I was going to hurt someone's feelings.'

'I did not mean to hurt you, Imoen.'

'No,' she sighed, his sincerity making it all the more painful, 'I know you didn't. But you knew I liked you and you could have done this a lot sooner if this was your plan. And yet you didn't, so you're either cruel or you're weak –take your pick.'

And there she left him, moving the few paces along the walls to where Jaheira was watching the furtive activity in the siege camp below with eyes that penetrated the darkness like hers never could.

'The catapults have stopped,' the druid offered in greeting. Imoen just shrugged.

'Maybe they've finally run out of things to throw at us.'

Jaheira had another theory. 'Respite leaves a peace in which the mind can contemplate its fears- I suspect Yaga Shura hopes that when he defeats the knights tomorrow, this last show of his prowess will frighten Saradush enough to send out what he seeks.'

Imoen sighed deeply, too weary even for her previous frustration. '_Why_ wouldn't they listen?'

'Men do not like things they do not understand.'

Imoen shook her head, eyes drawn to the lights upon the distant hills.

'I can't believe Anomen is out there, as well.'

'That the Order marshalled its forces is not so unusual, though it does seem fate is drawing us back together -it is a pity it seems set on keeping _others_ apart.'

The druid glanced pointedly behind her, and Imoen just stopped herself from pillowing her arms on the battlements to hide her face in her embarrassment.

'Oh, don't; I can't even think about that right now.'

A hand upon her shoulder.

'I am sorry, Imoen, there is never a good time for such things -but now could certainly be considered one of the worst. He lost someone not long ago; I suppose it hangs upon him still.'

'Someone?' repeated Imoen sharply, 'Who? He never mentioned anyone to me.'

'Well, perhaps I should have followed his example then,' the woman demurred. Imoen sighed and suddenly decided she didn't care anyway.

'Well, whoever it is, or _was_, it doesn't matter much in the end. He can't get over this fear of magic, and I'm damned if I'm playing catch up to a ghost. It just wasn't meant to be.'

Jaheira smiled; she looked rather proud. 'You know, for all your silliness, you are a commendably sensible girl.'

'That's right; kick me when I'm down,' Imoen laughed, raising a hand to the man who had just ascended the steps behind them, 'Hey, Minsc, I thought you'd retired with Melissan.'

The Rashemi shook his great bald head. 'That hall is too quiet, the air echoing with fears unspoken, and the night before a battle, warriors should be with their comrades.'

'I hope I count then.'

And Imoen turned to see that freckled face, his eyes bright in the darkness.

'Agwin, I thought you were in the hall.'

'Nah, couldn't sleep. I'm a bit nervous about tomorrow actually,' he admitted with his usual grin. Minsc's hearty slap nearly floored the lad.

'All will be well, young Agwin.'

'Ha, easy for you to say; if I saw you and that sword coming at me, I'd turn and run the other way, giant or not!'

Minsc's laughter boomed over the battlements, Agwin smiling as he turned his attention to the lights beyond the walls.

'What are they doing out there?'

'Fortifying their camp in preparation for the knights' attack tomorrow,' provided Jaheira briskly, 'You can see them?'

The lad shrugged. 'The light from their auras, at least -they are nervous, but less so than the people in here.'

Behind them, Captain Errard called Jaheira to his side and Minsc left with her, Imoen watching the young man next to her watch the darkness, wondering suddenly how he saw the world.

'What do they look like?'

Agwin glanced back to her, shrugging as he dropped to sit on the narrow walkway, his back to the battlements and tugging at her sleeve to encourage her to the same.

'The auras? Well, it's just a halo, isn't it, around your body. In here and out there, they're mostly yellow, nervous, twitchy. Not your friends though,' he smiled, nodding further along the battlements, 'Minsc is red, vibrant, powerful- in fact, I've never seen him different. Jaheira's is blue, calm, calculating –she's too busy thinking to get nervous. And your Valygar's, well, he's usually the same, though not tonight.'

Imoen glanced back to where the man was talking with Minsc and abruptly turned away.

'He's not my Valygar, and I don't want to know what colour he is.'

'Fair enough…'

'Could you always see them,' she continued quietly, 'the auras, I mean?'

Agwin shook his head. 'No, not always, it came in around my thirteenth winter, when I was thankfully old enough to know that being different isn't necessarily something you shout about.' He laughed wryly, admitting with more than a little embarrassment, 'I honestly thought I was some sort of sorcerer at first -I couldn't wait until my other powers kicked in, and then goodbye toiling in the fields! Didn't quite work out like that though, and by the time I'd accepted my place was there in Pirash, I was being chased to the pale by an angry mob.' He sent a wistful look to the inky sky, 'All oranges and reds -very pretty.'

Imoen just shook her head; she knew she had suffered a similar loss when she had left Candlekeep, but had never felt the same, not when Fritha had been there with her.

'What did you do?'

He shrugged carelessly. 'Just gathered up my belongings –thanks be, young Hariva had seen fit to warn me they were coming- and walked to the nearest town. Jernsford sprawled on both sides of the river and got most of its wealth from there, too. I spent a couple of years living on the streets with a gang of similar youths, creaming a livelihood from the visiting traders, though we never did much more than feed ourselves, and the local thieves' guild didn't bother with us, either to recruit our skills or _otherwise_. It was all right, but you can't take much pride in a life lived on what you've filched from your betters. It wasn't until Melissan arrived that I really found a purpose.' Imoen watched him smile warmly, 'I would help her find others of our kind that we could spread her message and offer them protection. And I could read the people around us, too, sort those who might help from those who maybe planned to betray us later.'

'And that's how you'll continue after all this?'

'Well, it will depend on Melissan. If we all get out of this alive, I imagine she'll want to find somewhere else to hide us Children, and I'll be right there with her.' Agwin turned to her, suddenly eager, 'You know, you should come, too -we can look for your friend and help the other Children as we go. Melissan will always need people like you -the way you convinced the Children and the people here to fight together!' He smiled, something about his gaze darkening, 'There's something about you, Imoen, a magnetism.'

Imoen could feel the wry grin pulling at her mouth. 'Oh, aye?'

He nodded, dark red hair falling across his brow as he leaned in. 'Yes, I for one feel myself drawn to you most powerfully.'

Imoen burst into wild laughter. 'Oh yeah, next you'll be telling me this could be,' she raised her voice a dramatic octave, '_our last night together_.'

Agwin tried to look indignant, something very difficult to do when laughing.

'Ah, give me a bit of credit, at least. Come on,' he grinned, 'let's go and find a space down in the hall and you can show me some more of those card tricks.'

And Imoen let him haul her up, the girl following him down the steps, Valygar's eyes on them as they went.

'Boo tells me they are just friends.'

Valygar started back to find the Rashemi watching him gravely.

'Sorry?'

'Young Imoen and young Agwin, they are but friends.'

'Such is no concern of mine, Minsc,' he muttered gruffly, sincerely wishing he had not turned, that he had just ignored the laughter and pressed on with the discussion of tactics that had held their pair. Minsc was sending him a measured look.

'I see… and does young Imoen know the same?'

'She does, and I would rather not discuss this with you further, Minsc.'

The Rashemi sighed. 'Boo understood it that you were trying to distance yourself from the distrusts of your past, good Valygar.'

'And I believed _you_ were resolved to return and face judgement in Rashemen,' he snapped, the apology leaving his lips in the next breath. 'I am sorry, Minsc, that was-'

But the man cut off his regret with a wave of a large, scarred hand.

'No, no, it is true. I have yet to return and I wonder now if ever I will… Difficult it is, to want something and yet fear it, too. And so much of it is all uncertainty, for we know that what we fear may not even come to pass, but it is enough to stay our hands. Perhaps, one day, I will find the love of my homeland will outweigh any punishment my return will place upon me. But Rashemen will always be there when my decision is made…' His eyes held a remarkable lucidity in the starlight. 'Can it be the same for you, good Valygar?'

xxx

Above the dark canopy, a glary grey sky hung, the hazy dawn light still too weak to reach the forest floor and it was left to their many werelights to open that dark forest, trunks slick with algae, while wide rivers of black water slowly meandered their course through the mangroves. The air was damp and chill, the squelching tramp of their feet through the rushes stirring up the rich scent of decay and clouds of insects both, their droning mixed with the hissed curses of the drow behind her -the surface wasn't all majestic forests and rolling meadows.

They had walked through the night, all following their guide without complaint -even the clearly fatigued Bahia, and though Fritha felt for the girl, wearily trudging along between Vazaela and her husband, she just could not bring herself to halt their march, thoughts of Imoen caught in that foreign war driving her past exhaustion, past compassion, onward through that endless swamp.

And, at last, as a watery dawn was edging over that distant, unseen horizon, Ivic brought them to a halt.

'There,' he pointed, and Fritha could just see the first line of worn cobbles to that brown stone path, 'through the trees, there lie the ruins.'

She let her eyes linger upon it, that weight of hearts still slung and smoking over her shoulder, the girl filled with the uneasy sensation that some great secret was about to be revealed. Fritha glanced back to the others.

'I sense something here, something…' she trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words, 'I would go on alone, if I may.'

Ferdanil said nothing, just nodded once and Fritha started forward, Solaufein at her side; perhaps he had not felt her request applied to him. Perhaps it hadn't, she considered as his teeth flashed white in that reassuring smile.

The path led only a little way through the trees before they, too, fell back to leave a small clearing of mossy ground. And there it was before them, a wide building of brown stone, tall wooden doors hanging rotten on their hinges, its single dome still intact, in frame at least, most of the tiles missing from the western side.

Inside, the temple was in a similar state of disrepair, the space gloomy and stale and deathly silent. A shallow circle marked out the main floor of worship, the raised platform opposite them once the focus of the room, now just another disregarded corner in that decaying temple, rotten wooden stairs curving up from either side to the balcony above, though one flight had long ago collapsed and Fritha would not have liked to test the sagging second. Two winged demons were looming upon the dais between, their once terrifying visage now rather forlorn. One was in a very sorry state with a wing lost at the joint and two broken horns, his partner far worse off and missing his head, the pair perched in silent guard either side of that dark grey altar. The ceiling above was still mostly intact, no opening to allow the rain to wash it of its sins; the solid stone block still stained by countless sacrifices.

Fritha glanced down, the tiles beneath etched with a knot pattern, the lines brought out by her werelight. They were the same style throughout the temple and she could feel her small fingers tracing along the smooth, looping knot. And then she was being called; it was time and she was back in that main hall, the brown stone golden in the glow of the torches, the priestesses gathered on the edge of that circle, a wall of black robes, those same tiles feeling strange under her bare feet as she moved forward, up to the altar that towered above her and the woman that stood before it in scarlet robes that matched her own, a bone dagger held poised above as she kneeled and raised her hands as she had been instructed, smiling in welcome to the blow she knew would not come –_yet_, and all through her that sense of being special, of being loved, so loved by everyone –more than even Gorion had been able.

'Fritha?'

The voice started her back to that ruin, Solaufein staring at her, smooth face lit with worry, and she realised she was crying, the girl hastily brushing away the tears.

'It's nothing, I just-'

An anguished creak saved her from inventing an excuse, one of the hanging wooden doors hidden beneath the shadow of the balcony slowly easing back, the figure that slipped through little more than a shadow herself. Solaufein's sword was already drawn; after last time he plainly wasn't taking any chances, though Fritha wondered what threat she could possibly pose. Her coffee-skin was wrinkled like a walnut shell, near skeletal form wrapped in rags and her own long matted hair, trinkets of bone and teeth looped about neck, wrists and ankles, and rattling with every step, and Fritha fancied she had never seen anyone so old before without having first opened their sarcophagus, that ancient woman leaning heavily upon a stout wooden staff as she limped into the light.

'Hello? Who comes here?'

**…**

Anomen lowered his arms, the weight of his cuirass familiar and reassuring over his chest. He twisted slightly to check the straps were tight enough, before giving the nervous-looking squire a nod of approval, the lad hurrying back to his own knight as Anomen stooped to fasten his greaves.

Dawn had broken over the plains of Saradush, a gold suffused mist lingering in the east though, in truth, Anomen had been awake long ago; he had faced such battles many times before, the risk of death holding no fear when the cause was true, but this was the first time he had felt such reservations.

About him, men were performing similar tasks, squires helping their knights and each other to don armour, the common foot soldiers keeping mostly to themselves, though always ready to provide an experienced hand when needed, while other priests and paladins had gathered for small services. Anomen could see through the avenues of tents Simon's golden head dipped in prayer with others of his faith before an old cleric. Erick and the other Helmites were likely somewhere in the camp doing the same, though Anomen did not seek them out, just kneeling there before his own tent to makes his prayers, his fingers lingering on his prayer book and the picture hidden within. That she wasn't within the city was a blessing of sorts, but Anomen was still left with the worry of where Fritha actually _was_.

A horn over the camp and he rose, buckling his mace to his hip and swinging his shield across his back, to move with the other knights, all assembling before Sir Elquist's tall pavilion. A nod from Erick in the gathering, Simon sending him a grin that looked more nervous that his usual nonchalance allowed, Anomen trying to offer him a reassuring smile in return, though he doubted he managed it, all eyes suddenly in front as the tent flap before them slapped back and Elquist appeared, already resplendent in finely etched armour, a commanding smile upon his stern face.

'Right, I have liaised with Sir Tavidad of the Silver Chalice and the deployment will run as follows.'

Anomen let the list of names and companies wash over him, his attention pricked by his own.

'And finally, Sir Anomen: you will lead the seventh mounted company in a striking force behind Sir Flavel's foot troops. Now, I understand that there are some fire giants within the enemy forces, including their leader. I am sure you will have heard the rumours of his apparent invulnerability, though I would like to think that any man of reason will have already dismissed these claims as falsehoods designed to strike fear into the hearts of those foolish enough to believe it. As to the fact that they are giantkin, tactics for these remain the same as for any large humanoid. As previously mentioned, companies four and five are to ally with your corresponding companies within the Silver Chalice to focus upon these particular targets, though if any should face them, keep moving -your agility here will be your advantage- and once you have struck do not be reluctant to retreat, regroup and in the case of the lancers, rearm. Understood?'

The dull chorus was deafening.

'Yes, sir!'

**…**

Imoen stood at the battlements, Melissan and Jaheira on either side of her, Agwin, Minsc and Valygar just behind as they watched the knights' battalion form up at the foot of the north-western slopes with the sort of unblinking dread that would not allow them to turn away.

Yaga Shura's army had used the night to their gain. There would be no clear battle on the plains, where even the outnumbered knights would have the advantage, the brigands instead spending their efforts fortifying the siege camp, staking out palisades and digging trenches with hopes to hamper their horses and narrow their avenues of attack.

Imoen watched the two armies gathering; the knights, a gleaming mosaic of silver, streaked by coloured banners, half their troops on foot, the others mounted, their enemies forming looser bands behind their defences and siege towers, something which seemed to hold little concern for the score or so of giants who were gathered upon the field. They each stood at twice Minsc's height, or likely more –everything looked smaller from up there- the dark men striking each other's shoulders and bellowing incomprehensibly into the sky as they frenzied themselves for the battle to come.

Imoen tore her gaze away, looking instead upon those below her, gathered and ready, the third and final army in that conflict: the two hundred strong force of Saradush, citizens and Bhaalspawn alike all assembled in the large square before the gates that would not open until Yaga Shura's invincibility was proved fable, archers and those who could turn their skills to magic lining the western walls, and Imoen recognised the young mage she had seen in the square the previous day, her face and sleeves twisted in her nerves.

The distant bellow of a horn whipped her attention back to the plains. The knights were advancing, their formation close and fast, the brigands' archers barely able to get off two rounds before the knights hit the camp in that first charge, the thunderous clash of arms echoing about the walls, two large battalions hanging back and fanning out behind them.

'What are they doing?' asked Imoen of the man behind her.

'Staying back as reinforcements, young Imoen. The knights will have to advance slowly and take care they are not overrun.'

At Minsc's side, Valygar nodded, keen eyes sweeping across the field. 'They cannot risk getting surrounded. With only three hundred head of knights, the brigands outnumber them two to one.'

Imoen's face must have shown her dismay at this news, Jaheira noticing to add reassuringly, 'Do not fret; with disciplined troops those odds are not so poor.'

'It will not matter once Yaga Shura decides to join the fight,' offered Melissan. Imoen snorted.

'Well, he hasn't bothered to make an appearance yet, has he? Maybe he's not invincible after all.'

The mage drew herself up to her full height, her face set. 'I pray you do not see me proved right.'

But back at the battle, things seemed to be going in the knight's favour despite the traps that had been laid with trenches and pits, the foot soldiers and squires clearing a path for the horses as they swept quickly through the camp, the remaining battalions flanking either side to prevent the brigands from encircling them.

Imoen and Melissan were pressed against the walls now, sending spells down into those foolish enough to stray too close in their effort to escape, Valygar never stopping as he found target after target -and then Imoen saw him, rising from the troops at the far end of the camp. He was at least a head taller than even his fellow giants, his ugly boulder of a face thatched in a crop of thick orange hair, a huge double-headed axe held proudly aloft as he waded forward, Melissan's eyes fixed upon him with an expectant horror: Yaga Shura.

**…**

Anomen ducked the spell as it roared over them, though more by luck than judgment, his mount twitching under him as he smashed away the brigand's spear and caved in his temple with the backswing. The air about him was choked with smoke from the burning palisades, stinging his eyes and throat as he tried to shout orders over the battle around him.

'Keep together! Press forward!'

But it was an order which was hard to follow, the brigands crowding in about them, bows abandoned for spears as the fighting got closer, and he had seen more than one horse fall beneath its rider, the knights about him joining the squires and soldiers on foot as they pressed ever forward. And they were doing well, their forces slowly advancing through the camp, trampling all before them and leaving an open field for the lancers behind.

Anomen felled another brigand with a spine-shattering blow, the squire he had been fighting turning instantly to aid his friend in his own battle, a deafening roar before him pulling Anomen's attention back to the front line before he could help them, and in the distance he saw it bobbing head and shoulders about the surrounding troops. A giant he could only assume was Yaga Shura was wading through the brigands' ranks, an eager smile upon his face as he closed to their lines.

And this, it seemed, was the moment for which Sir Elquist and the commanders of the Silver Chalice had been waiting, the way before them clearing almost instinctively as they lowered their lances for a full charge. The four men seemed to strike all at once, the giant not even attempting to avoid the blows as four lances pierced him soundly through the chest. For an instant, the whole field seemed to stop and then it came: that booming laughter.

Yaga Shura did not even pause, men's shouts mixing with the scream of horses, one sliced in two with its rider as his axe swung down in with mighty sweep, and Anomen could not see what happened next, the world erupting about him, the brigands surging forward, as invincible as their leader in this triumph, Anomen trying to keep his company together in the surrounding terror.

'Stay together! Slow retreat back to the-'

His voice was lost in the blast and the shriek of his horse both, the terrified creature rearing back as the spell exploded before it, and a moment of near weightlessness came to an abrupt end as Anomen hit the churned ground beneath.

**…**

'You are Sister Nyalee, aren't you?'

The woman shrugged in answer to her question, Fritha watching as she cast a wistful gaze across the ruins about them.

'Once, perhaps, but I am sister no longer –I betrayed my family long ago.' The woman turned back to them, black eyes keen. 'I knew you would come –I read it in the bones, of the fiery maid and the dark one, and I know what you want of me.' Nyalee drew a deep, disconsolate sigh, her gaze back on the altar once more. 'Even back then I was old, too old, and as they began to bloom with Bhaal's blessing, I was left barren, a mere husk. Resentment grew in place of that babe, and it found for me a different path.'

'Yaga Shura,' confirmed Solaufein. The old woman turned back to them with a stern nod, her eyes suddenly hard.

'Yes, _that_ worthless ingrate! The sisters kept a herd of goats upon the mountains, and it was as I was performing my duties as shepherd and searching for one of the wandering beasts, that I found a greater prize. Born to a giant tribe who made their home in the distant hills, I saw the mark of Bhaal upon the boy even as he lay in the crib, and it was from there I stole him. I abandoned my sisters and escaped into the forests to raise him as my own, taught to him the old ways of the old gods as my mother had long ago taught to me. Then, when this temple fell to some holy rabble, I returned here with my son to our home.' Nyalee's face twisted in her anger, 'I wished to raise in him a new Lord of Murder, but he betrayed me, tempted away by coin and false worship!'

'They say he is invincible now,' offered Fritha quietly, 'you know of that, don't you?'

The old woman nodded eagerly. 'Yes, yes, for it was _I_ who showed him the old ways: how to take out a heart and yet live three lifetimes; how to keep it bathed in magics and be as a god!' She snorted, contemptuous of her own past trust. 'But this was my undoing. Once he had the power, he realised I was the only one who could strip him of it; he stole my own heart and left me here to rot!'

The woman shook her head, anger faded once more to leave only her misery as she looked again upon that rotting hall. 'I should have believed in my sisters –they knew, they knew all along who would be the one.'

Fritha and Solaufein shared a glance –if they were going to achieve this peacefully then the time had come. The drow voiced their request.

'If you had Yaga Shura's heart would you remove the enchantment that preserves him?'

Nyalee laughed bitterly. 'That I would, and many nights since he left I have imagined the glorious horror of his realising it! But I cannot, not without my own…'

She trailed off, watching as Fritha removed the cloak from her shoulder and laid the treasures at her feet. Nyalee's wizened face lit from within, her age suddenly reduced by decades in her genuine joy, though her eyes were not on the hearts, Fritha feeling Solaufein shift warily behind her as the old woman's gaze locked enraptured upon her.

'Of course,' she breathed, still smiling, 'of course…'

And then she had snatched up both trembling hearts under one arm and was limping over to the altar, the smaller of the pair slipped back into the bladder pouch that was slung at her hip, the other set carefully upon that smooth stone surface. A mutter under her breath, gnarled fingers held over that tirelessly thudding muscle, and the bright florid mass slowly darkened.

'There,' Nyalee sighed, gazing down at the still beating heart, the old woman small and tired with the air of one who had lived too long, 'it is done; I am whole and the boy's heart is now as cold as his mother's. A simple thing to end so great a power…' She glanced back to them, lined face etched with a sudden dismay, 'Now you will hurt him, won't you… No, I must stop you! I must warn him! My precious Yaga Shura!'

The old woman lunged for Fritha, one hand aglow with a sick green light, the other striking out with her staff, clumsy and desperate, Fritha torn between defending her herself and stepping in to catch the toppling woman. Solaufein had not her hesitation, his blade quick and quite without mercy and that altar tasted a spatter from its final sacrifice, Nyalee collapsed and dying before it, her lips sighing the last words they would ever make.

'_They knew, they always knew…'_

**…**

Anomen was sprawled on his back, very aware of the dull heartbeat in his winded chest, the chaotic thunder of hooves and feet about him somehow slowed and distant. His head felt light, dazed from the fall, and in the unfocused meeting of sky and frenetic silhouettes above, his eye caught on a rich blot of colour. A discarded banner, the lance that bore it planted in the dry ground. Anomen watched it ripple in the slight breeze; a winged deva upon an azure field, her sword held out before her, urging, insistent, while behind streamed a luxuriant mane of flaming red hair.

And in a blink, he was back on that field, shield swung round in time to catch the blade poised above, the brigand about to finish him suddenly swept from his feet with a mace swing, another caving in his head an instant after and Anomen was up, the battle raging about him ignored as his eyes fell upon that giant. Yaga Shura was wading proudly across the field, driving all before him as he laughed and reaped his harvest of blood, and Anomen felt it quiver through him, the man suddenly alive with a thirst that defied all reason and fear, and all at once, he had caught up that lance, the rage only building as he charged through the battle towards that monster.

The creature was glorying too much in his own power to notice him, and Anomen did not even pause to align the tip as he thrust the lance up under his cuirass to impale the yielding flesh beneath. The giant whirled, face split in an ugly rictus as he found Anomen there and panting, the man still clutching the bloody lance and trembling in his anger.

'Ha! Another knightling eager to die! Meet my-'

Yaga Shura staggered forward a step, the axe he held aloft lowered as he watched with slack-jawed disbelief the blood that was still pouring unchecked from his side, Anomen hardly able to believe it either, and the battlefield itself seem to shake under the monster's roar.

'_NO!_'

And Anomen was turned and barging back to his own lines as the axe came sweeping down.

**…**

Imoen could not have shouted louder if she'd been on fire. 'Yaga Shura's hurt! He's hurt! They've dispelled the enchantment!'

'_What?_' shrieked the woman next to her, Melissan nearly knocking Valygar off his shot as she threw herself at the battlements for a better look at the bloodied giant that was swinging wildly at friend and foe alike in his outrage. Imoen ignored her, screaming the orders with all the breath she could draw.

'Yaga Shura's wounded! Open the gates!'

The guards about them had already taken up the cry, the news sweeping around the walls and Imoen knew it would not be long before it reached the gatehouse, the chaos about them somehow muted as she turned to see the three assembled gravely behind her, Valygar at last lowering his bow to turn, as well. It was Minsc who gave voice to the inevitable.

'We must go now, young Imoen.'

She nodded, trying to ignore that gnawing worry that always came with such farewells. 'I know, Minsc. You lot be careful,' she glanced pointedly to Agwin, 'all of you.'

A round of nods, Minsc and Valygar clapping each other's shoulders as Jaheira brought her close in a brief embrace, and the three were gone, clattering off down the steps to disappear into the city. Imoen turned back to the battlements, Melissan still watching the fight rage, her mouth agape. Imoen threw a grin to the man next to her and pushed up her sleeves, suddenly filled with a fierce hope.

'Just you and me now, Vals -I'll show you how dangerous magic really is.'

**…**

Anomen blocked the brigand's blow with his shield, the soldier at his side running him through in a spray of blood, his half-orc ally brought down by a squire's lance from somewhere behind them, Anomen's own battle reduced to holding that line before the panicking hordes; the banner planted at his back, flicking fitfully like a bloodied tongue, a rallying point for the surrounding men as he yelled hoarse orders above the turmoil.

'Geth, not too far ahead; let them come to you. Sedis, hold the- I SAID HOLD THE LINE!'

Yaga Shura was far back in the press now, the monster's initial anger turned to fear, though his retreat was being hampered by a group of paladins and mounted priests, their stout warhorses hemming the giant in, the clerics holding above a divine paling to deflect the desperate axe blows as the knights hacked at his legs and stomach. Anomen ducked a wild sword swing, the young brigand behind it barely nineteen winters and would not be seeing his twentieth as mace collided with jaw; just another corpse in the wake of that giant. Anomen did not think about it, just squared his shield and readied himself for the next.

'Hassin, watch the flank! Raik step up there; keep in line!'

**…**

Jaheira rolled her shoulders, adjusting and readjusting the grip on her staff in that tense press of people, Bhaalspawn and citizens both, taking up arms and ready to fight for their city, the druid recognising more than a few from the hall _and_ the riot the day before, the tall warrior who had been so strident just ahead of them in the press, a hand gripped tightly about the hilt of the bastard sword at his hip.

She pulled her attention to her own company, Minsc stood at her side, though he was clearly far away from there and unusually focused as he waited in grim silence, while on her other side was Agwin, looking bright-eyed and painfully young in the leather armour he had borrowed. He noticed her watching to flash her a grin and Jaheira turned away; his eyes would never again hold that youthful spark after this, the hush over the square broken suddenly as a horn bellowed over the city and the gates before them, at last, ground slowly open.

_**…**_

Anomen risked a glance back at the baying from the city walls, the man unsure as to what it could mean when a jubilant roar made all clear, the distant flash of iron in the early sunlight their herald as the city gates swung back and the people of Saradush joined the fight. But the giant's army was not defeated yet, Yaga Shura flanked by two giant captains as they fought desperately to save their leader, the brigands regrouping behind the narrow palisades, archers and mages retreating to the siege towers to fire into the enemies beneath.

This was no real protection, though, and Anomen thought of Imoen as a spell roared overhead from the city walls to explode into the nearest tower in a hail of fire, the men atop trapped by the knights waiting below as flames licked up the wooden frame. The battle was on the turn, and Anomen could see the army of Saradush drawing ever closer in the press as the enemies between them fell. And then it came, that anguished bellow, a knell for those few brigands still hoping to see the battle won that day. Yaga Shura was staggering forward, scattering horses and men alike as they hastened from his path, his body a bloody mess from the chest down as he dragged his mighty axe after him, his other hand gone, the bleeding stump raining blood all around him as, at last, the giant fell.

**…**

Fritha stood staring down at the body before her, so frail she would not have been surprised to see it crumble to dust. One moment the priestess had been alive, and now there she was dead –just like all the others. Solaufein had stooped and was cleaning his blade on a corner of her rags, his look worried as he straightened to press a hand about her shoulder.

'I am sorry, but you made no move and her intent was plain. Come, Fritha, at least that city will have a chance now; Tandith tells me Saradush is not far, we can make it in-'

He had turned to lead them out, Fritha taking a step to follow when she felt her knees begin to buckle, his voice fading as the world fell away and suddenly she was on the edge of the Wealdath, her simple cotton smock catching on the sage brush as she played with the other children, their shrieks and laughter unbroken as a voice called out her name and Fritha turned to see her stood in the doorway of that grand temple, the woman swathed in a mane of long red hair.

A flash and the walls of the main chapel was towering about her, men and woman running this way and that, their screams echoing over the roar of spells that surged above and the clash of steel, flames licking up the beautiful banners that had once adorned the walls. The red-haired woman was before the altar, shrieking for her to come, but this time the words were lost in a scream as the spell engulfed her, thrown by a bearded man in ash grey robes. And then Fritha was up, her ribs aching from the tight grip of the arm scooped around her and shaking with his pace, the room retreating as the man fled, the fire raging across the rafters.

And then she was cold; always cold in that place of grey stone and grey skies and grey people, where everyone looked down at her with unfriendly frowns. The bearded man was smiling, trying to press into her hand a small felt lion, but she didn't want it –she wanted her friends and her mother; she wanted to go home.

And then Fritha blinked and it was all gone, and she was back on that desolate plane of grey chequered tiles, the great, aged warrior smiling broadly at her arrival.

'Well met again, my sister.'

Fritha nodded, making attempts to secure her hair in the howling winds, the world about her moving too quickly for her even to attempt to stop and make any sense of it.

'Hello, Sarevok.'

'So, you are returned here,' the man continued, glancing pointedly about the wasteland they stood in, 'what did you do?'

'Not a lot -just extinguished the magical fire about a particular Bhaalspawn's heart, rendering him mortal once more.'

The warrior pondered this a moment, but seemingly knew no more than she. 'Hmm, an act of apparent insignificance to us, but perhaps the essence knows different, yes?'

Perhaps so, and Fritha was fast losing patience for its games.

'Well, since it refuses to share, what do _you_ know?'

Sarevok snorted. 'If you believe I look from high upon your travels, sister, you are gravely mistaken. I can lend you no insights unless you first give me some question.'

'Oh, stuff your insights!' she snapped, whirling to roar up at that boiling green sky, 'I don't have time for this, you hear? Imoen is in danger! Just- just send me back!'

Sarevok laughed tiredly. 'It will not heed you, sister, it has other plans. Do not waste your time with worries of your rivals-'

'She is my _friend!_' Fritha cut in fiercely. Sarevok remained firm.

'We are _all_ rivals in the end, sister. Just hope she can be as of much use to you as I, after you've impaled _her_ upon a blade.'

Fritha felt the outrage surge at his words, but just as suddenly it died. His view of the future was tainted by his own black character; certainty for him was impossibility for her, and Fritha knew she would never harm Imoen -she did not need to convince that murderer of it.

'You know nothing of this, Sarevok.'

Broad shoulders bobbed in a not quite conceding shrug. 'Perhaps, but I _have_ much knowledge of the prophecies, so do not be a fool and avail yourself of it while you may.'

Fritha drew a breath and nodded –he was right.

'There are the ruins of two temples in Tethyr, do you know of them?'

The lined face was smiling again, wise and knowing. 'Ah, the twin temples; two sisterhoods hidden in the forests of Mir and the Wealdath; they called them the Groves of Bhaal –grove being-'

'The old Netherese for _testicle_,' she snapped impatiently, 'yes, I get the pun – you know of them then?'

'Yes, I know of them, sister, the Mir from study and the other… the other we both know far more _intimately_.'

He was staring down at her, pale grey eyes boring unblinking into hers even as the wind whipped hair across his face.

'We were raised there, weren't we?' she confirmed. The cold smile broadened.

'Are the old memories returning, sister? Yes, we were born there in the Wealdath to the priestesses as were many others of the Children, though you and I hardly met often; I was older than you by a few years – five winters seems little difference now we are grown, but it is a world away when you are young.'

'The temples are both ruins now -what happened?'

Sarevok snorted in slight contempt. 'The same that happens to all who strive for power outside the _honest_ methods of coin or birth: righteous men with righteous tempers came and destroyed them. The temple in the Mir fell first to the Champions Vigilant, men of _honour_ slaughtering the women and children to the last. The second temple was, as you know, discovered and destroyed by the Harpers a few years later.'

'To prevent the sacrifices, yes, I know,' pressed Fritha, 'but to what end? Now the Children are all grown up and killing each other just as Bhaal intended-'

'No, sister,' Sarevok interrupted gravely, '_not_ as He intended. These scattering of Bhaalspawn you see about you now were but a failsafe, a misdirection to His true intentions. It was in these hidden temples where Bhaal's return was to be hatched. As the texts had it, a child from one of these temples was chosen and it was in him that the god would arise again. The other Bhaalspawn there were but vessels to be sacrificed over the years, transferring the power to that one child as he grew older.'

Sarevok smiled, his eyes alive as he no doubt imagined it. 'The one Bhaalspawn chosen to reach adulthood; the most powerful of his kind, who would manipulate armies and shed blood of the Children and mortals alike until Bhaal Himself could arise from the ashes!' He sighed and the look was gone. 'But the plan did not come to fruition –the child was either killed in the Mir or lost when the Harpers attacked our temple. In the chaos, I escaped to Saradush and there met Rieltar and the other men who would later found the Iron Throne. Rieltar saw on me the mark of Bhaal and took me as his own. You, I saw being carried off by the mage, Gorion. Later, it was all I had to go on when I began my own plans to slaughter our kin -I found Gorion in the end, and with him I found you.'

Fritha swallowed dryly, disregarding this offhand mention of her father's murder as she asked, 'So who was the chosen one?'

Sarevok shrugged again. 'Who can say? I thought it was me once.' He smiled grimly. 'It was not. But with both temples destroyed and the Children scattered, many things are left uncertain. I suppose the game is still anyone's -the true knowledge of it died with the sisters. We children were never told; perhaps they felt those of us fated to survive for long enough to question their role as sacrifice may try to escape or rebel.'

'No,' agreed she quietly, 'they told us nothing.'

And Fritha turned from him, the girl wrapping her arms about herself against the howling winds, their chill nothing compared to the sudden coldness within, because she knew now whom it had been.

Her.


	12. In the Ruins

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. I don't want them. Because of them, I have wasted many years of my life. I am going to sue Wizards of the Coast. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

**In the Ruins**

A sharp gasp, and Fritha opened her eyes on dark canvas, the tent's roof instantly obscured by that striking face as Solaufein appeared unfocused above her, hands on her shoulders and pressing her back into the soft bedding as he soothed, 'Please, Fritha, do not move too suddenly.'

She relaxed at his request, the dull pain throbbing all through her skull, her throat parched and sore. 'What happened?'

'I could not catch you this time and you hit your head. Avilar examined the contusion, but you have been unconscious since. Does it pain you?'

'No,' she lied, 'I'm just a bit dizzy. What did I miss?'

The drow sat back on his haunches with a sigh. 'Nothing, in all honesty. I brought you from the temple and the others agreed that we should head straight for Saradush to aid the city as we can, though this was not the path that Ivic and Bahia wished to walk. They left us a few leagues back, they two heading west back to Sirra, while we continued north-east. We are camped now on the Mir's edge.'

Fritha was mortified, forgetting her thirst and even the pain as her face burned. 'You- you carried me for the rest of the _day_?'

Solaufein seemed amused by her horror. 'You were no burden. Tandith and Bryn took our packs between them, and we walked well past the dusk. Our camp here places us at the edge of the Mir, about a league from the main road to the city. With an early start, we should arrive late tomorrow afternoon- _if_ you can walk.'

She could hear his smile in the darkness, the warmth of it helping her own.

'I can walk.'

An amused sigh, Fritha listening to him rummage on the other side of the tent before turning back to her, his flask in hand, the drow slipping an arm under her shoulders as he helped her take a drink, all his focus seemingly on returning it to his pack as he continued, 'Did you have another dream?'

'Yes.'

'And?' he pressed, voice muffled as he hauled off his tunic.

Fritha sighed and shifted in her blankets, feeling the slight judder through the bedding as he lay down next to her.

'And I don't think my mother was a lady from Ashabenford anymore.'

'You were acting strangely in the temple, as though you could see things I could not –visions?'

'Memories,' she admitted, 'I think I was born here.'

'Here in the Mir?'

'No, at the temple in the Wealdath –though I think I came here once for a ritual of some sort. When I spoke to Sarevok again in my dream he told me -he told me that there was a Bhaalspawn born here in Tethyr, one chosen by Bhaal to survive to adulthood and bring about his return.' She glanced to him, 'I think it was supposed to have been me.'

Solaufein was instantly propped upon an elbow, white hair falling about his bared shoulders, his concerned frown demanding the answer from her - he always looked somehow wilder when his hair was loose.

'And what does such mean for you?'

Fritha shrugged. 'I don't know… nothing really, I suppose. I mean, they're dead now, aren't they, the priestesses who did the choosing. It was probably my mother who decided it was to be me -she was the high priestess and I don't suppose you get to be the head of Bhaal's temple through charm and diplomacy. Even Sarevok believes it is all still open to chance.'

The drow shook his head, lying back once more. 'There is that word again- Fate stalks you like a prey.'

'And not just me…' Fritha sighed despairingly, 'Oh, why is Imoen in Saradush of all places? And Jaheira, too, for I can't believe she'd let her go alone.'

'Well, the obvious reason would be they left Suldanessellar to look for you.'

'But I asked Ellesime to send them to Candlekeep –what brought them south?'

Under the blankets, a hand reached over to cover hers.

'You will know soon enough, Fritha.'

'If the city has not yet fallen…' she murmured reluctantly. Solaufein refused to share her fears.

'Even if it has, they will have survived it. They are strong and resourceful – they have lived through far worse. You will see tomorrow.'

'And then?' she questioned, suddenly desperate to hear him repeat the words. He did not disappoint.

'And then, we can leave here and never look back.'

Fritha lay still, listening as his breathing eventually softened and sleep claimed him, wishing she could have his confidence in the thing -because she was no longer sure the Fates were going to let her go so easily.

xxx

'Praise and glory be to the Gods who saw fit to grant us victory yesterday, the _invincible_ Yaga Shura unable to withstand the righteous blade of our combined might! Let this triumph stand as a lasting testament to the eternal brotherhood that exists between our two great orders and as proof absolute that when our forces are marshalled in righteous cause, none shall stand before us!'

The surrounding men cheered, though Anomen sensed an air of obligation to it, Sir Elquist nodding and raising his hand at the applause, and Anomen felt a surge of intense dislike as he stared up at that smug, self-satisfied face.

He left as soon as he could, the assembled knights disbanding about him as Sir Elquist retired to his tent. Anomen shook his head; he could not believe Elquist and the commanders of the Silver Chalice had been right, but what other explanation could be offered? Anomen had told no one about how it had been he who had struck Yaga Shura that first wounding blow; had _he_ somehow removed the enchantment? He did not think so; his heart had been filled with fury, not a divine judgement. Even after the giant had fallen, yesterday's battle had raged for another hour or so, a bitter, bloody fight, the armies of Saradush and the Orders pinning the brigands in their camp to slaughter all who could not find an escape.

Anomen had managed to get through the conflict relatively unscathed. Brieanna had taken an arrow to the shoulder early on, not that it had seemed to slow her any from the reports he had heard- the woman a steadfast rock amid the chaos on that great warhorse of hers. Even Erick had seen fit to compliment her when they had met later in the infirmary tent, the clerics tending his wounded leg, Simon at his side and laughing wincingly as he had lifted his tunic to show him the dark crescent bruises that covered his chest from where his horse had thrown and then trodden on him. But they were most definitely the fortunate ones.

He looked away as he passed the narrow wagon where men were laying gently the shrouded bodies of those who had not been so lucky, the remains being taken back to their families. Together, both Orders had lost almost a hundred men overall, thirty-four of them from their own company, and though such fatalities were _acceptable _to mimic the clerks' phrasing, they weighed on him still.

At least _they_ would get a decent burial; down on the plains, the previous day had been spent sorting the dead on that bloody battlefield, the green broken by the corpses of men and horses alike, and everywhere were lost weapons, broken banners and other detritus of war. Great throngs had come from Saradush to walk the carnage, some to identify and claim their own, returning with them to the city for private ceremonies, while others were on a less noble task, craven looters picking like crows through the remains of the far braver people who had died to save them, the brigands and those who none had claimed being burnt as one upon great pyres outside the city, air tainted with smoke and the foul reek of charred flesh that even the Kelemvorites' incense could not mask.

Imoen had lingered a while at Agwin's pyre, the girl very quiet for the rest of that day as they had helped to tend wounded at the camp infirmaries and temples in the city both, those without any skill to heal kept busy tearing sheets into dressings and running back and forth with endless supplies of hot water. Anomen had met Melissan but briefly during a visit to the Ilmaterans temple for supplies. The self-proclaimed guardian of the Children had apparently been awestruck for the remainder of the battle, unable to believe Yaga Shura had actually fallen, but she was soon brought around by the work that followed, the woman using her skills to aid the injured –though some things were seemingly beyond repair.

That morning had seen a great exodus of Bhaalspawn from the city, along with many of the caravans who had been trapped by the siege. Melissan had apparently pleaded with many to stay, but those that had survived the siege had seemed to have lost faith in the woman, quickly leaving city for their own destinations.

Anomen pulled his mind away from such things, back in that camp once more. He was to be watch commander for the first shift that night, the watch tent his own to use until he was relieved by Sir Cadril at moonrise, and the others had waited there for him, three sat and one curled on the simple folding chairs within, quiet and reflective, Imoen glancing up as he entered.

'Hey, Anomen,' she sighed, going back to glumly pulling at a loose thread on the knee of her trousers.

'How were the speeches?' asked Jaheira coolly.

Anomen could hear her disapproval of such self-congratulatory bluster when the slaughter was but a day past, though Anomen did not voice his own; dislike the man, though he did, Sir Elquist was his commander and Anomen would not be so disloyal as to criticise him before others. The druid snorted at his silence; nothing seemed to tell her all she wished to know anyway, Minsc wisely stepping in before any other comment could be made.

'We were just speaking, young Anomen, of what our plans are to be now.'

Anomen sank into the last chair with a sigh, taking up again the greave and cloth which had occupied him before he had been called away, the rich scent of polish calming his nerves.

'You are sure, then, Fritha was not in the city.'

'Very,' affirmed Jaheira, 'Not only in that we looked for many days, but once trouble came, she would have made herself apparent even if she had been previously avoiding contact.'

'And why would she do _that?_' demanded Imoen, 'She wasn't there, Anomen, she never was. We just have to work out where she is now.'

'Boo says maybe Candlekeep?' offered Minsc. Valygar was frowning.

'Forgive me, but Fritha is perfectly capable, and I have no desire to wander from guess to guess looking for her.'

'No one is asking you to,' Imoen rejoined sharply, 'perhaps we could use some sort of spell to divine her location. Does anyone have anything of hers? Anomen? A letter, a lock of hair, a used hanky? I don't know- she _was_ your sweetheart.'

Anomen dipped his face, feeling suddenly empty. 'I have nothing, my lady.'

Jaheira rose with a sigh, back and chair both giving an unwilling _creak_. 'Melissan wished to speak with us about something this afternoon –she said she would meet us at the city gates.'

Valygar and Minsc stood, too, the druid glancing to the still seated Imoen.

'You are not coming?'

The girl just shook her head, Jaheira gently ruffling her hair as she passed her, Valygar looking tempted to offer some reassurance of his own, though he paused for only a beat before thinking better of it and followed Minsc and Jaheira out. Anomen dropped his attention back to his greave, feeling it the instant Imoen's gaze shifted to him.

'I don't know how you can even be bothered with that.'

Anomen sighed. 'It still needs to be done, whether Fritha is here or not.'

'You don't even care _where_ she is!' the girl accused hotly, 'You're just going to leave with the Order and go back to Athkatla like nothing's wrong!'

'Imoen-'

She did not let him finish. 'No, no, I'm sorry, Anomen. It's easy for me; my only real tie in this world is to her. But I shouldn't worry,' Imoen sighed, clearly trying to cheer herself as she straightened in her seat, 'Wherever she is, Solaufein is going to be with her –he would not let anything happen to her.'

Anomen returned to his work with a renewed briskness. 'No, my lady, I suppose not.'

A commotion outside the tent forestalled his brooding though, Anomen throwing the flap back as the young squire reached up to rap upon the pole.

'Squire, what is going on?'

The lad saluted, words tumbling out in a rush. 'Sir, some elves have arrived at the western gateway asking to speak to the general, but we were unsure about allowing them entrance; they have a drow in their number.'

Imoen whipped to him, her expression wavering between fear and hope. 'Solaufein!'

And she was gone, Anomen yelling orders back to the baffled squire as he leapt after her.

The group were assembled just before the opening, a loose gathering of elven scouts, Solaufein conspicuous by his very nature, dark skin and long white hair merely accentuated by his pale grey cloak. And there by his side she was standing, much thinner than he had recalled, her long travelling robe worn over her clothes and blue woven shawl looped about her neck even though the day was mild. But the weary look was still the same, the girl leaning into the drow briefly and looking almost as though she would faint with relief as Imoen barrelled from the gates.

'Fritha!' And Fritha had not even the breath to voice her name as Imoen caught her in a furious embrace, the elves retreating to a polite distance as the tearful scolding began, 'Oh, Fritha, I could bloody strangle you, I was so worried!'

'I'm sorry, Imoen –is Jaheira here with you? Is she all right? When I saw the field down there-'

'She's fine,' Imoen assured her kindly, still mopping at her face, 'we're all fine –Minsc and Valygar are here, too.'

'They are? Why?'

'Looking for you, of course!' Imoen laughed wetly, the girl turning her beaming smile on the man next to her. 'Hey, Solaufein, you kept her safe for me then?' she laughed, his confused expression softening slightly as she pulled him into a friendly hug, 'Gods, it's good to see you both alive after everything.'

Fritha just nodded, the relief she felt was making her light-headed, the days spent at a forced march all catching up with her at once, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the grass and sleep beneath the sky, Fritha about to gesture to the gateway and suggest they go inside when her eyes finally found him.

'Anomen?_'_

Imoen turned, too, the man hanging back all that while as they had enjoyed their reunion. There had been a time when he would have behaved as Imoen, but it was seemingly past now, his face unreadable as he made a measured approach.

'Yeah, I forgot to say, the Order are here as well. I was surprised, too; I thought it was just Silver Chalice out here at first.' A quick glance between their pair, and Imoen had scooped an arm about the drow's elbow and was pulling him after her, 'So, Solaufein, how've you been?'

Anomen watched them go, and it seemed to take a great effort for him to turn again and look at her, his smile slight and nowhere to be seen in his eyes.

'Fritha, you are well, I trust?'

Fritha could not help a laugh, the statement so far from the truth it seemed farcical. 'Yes, yes, as ever. And yourself?'

'I am quite well…' He paused, some hint of the old emotion creeping in as he continued, 'I was going to ask for leave to visit Suldanessellar after this campaign. I'm glad to find out you had left before I did –not that it would have been an inconvenience for me,' he added hastily, 'Only that I would have been concerned, if you had not-'

'Fritha!'

They both whipped back at the shout, Simon marching through the gateway, Erick and a tall, dark-haired lady she did not know following him, the young paladin stalking over to sweep her into a warm embrace.

'Oh, Fritha, you had Anomen and the rest of us worried sick!'

'I'm sorry, Simon. Hello Erick and-'

Erick stepped forward to make the introductions. 'Fritha, this is the Lady Brieanna.'

'Please,' the woman smiled, something of the nervous about her as she flashed her a smile, 'Brieanna is enough -well met, my lady.'

Fritha reached forward to clasp briefly the hand she offered. 'Fritha, please, I am glad to meet you, Brieanna -you are here with the Silver Chalice?'

'Ah, no, I joined the Radiant Heart but a month or so past with hopes for the honour of being knighted.'

'You are in good company then,' Fritha continued, glancing to the man next to her, her first genuine smile pulling at her lips, 'perhaps _Sir_ Simon can give you a few pointers. Congratulations, Simon.'

The Lathandite laughed even as he flushed, throwing an arm about her shoulders for another friendly squeeze. Erick's expression remained decidedly neutral.

'Indeed, though it is our own Anomen who has spent most time with the lady from when we departed Athkatla.'

'And I have heard you praised in many tales since then,' Brieanna added quickly. Fritha smiled.

'All lies, I assure you.'

The woman looked mildly perturbed. 'I cannot believe that –Sir Anomen is quite beyond any falsehood.'

'Indeed…' agreed Fritha slowly, a glance behind confirming Imoen and Solaufein were back and standing with the elves, Imoen already causing a bit of a stir, Sephis and Orvel looking scandalised by her mere presence as the girl laughed loudly. 'Well, perhaps we should meet with your commander; I know Captain Ferdanil is eager to complete our respective tales and judge the danger to his own city.'

Sir Elquist had heard of the elves' appearance by the time they had arrived, benches enough for them all assembled within his tent as Imoen joined Fritha, Solaufein and the elves, the knight's frustrations evident as Anomen was told to await them outside, Imoen soothing his anger with a request to tell the others of their errant leader's return.

The meeting was formally borne and mercifully brief, the knight commander rather reluctant to believe that it had be _their_ actions many leagues to the south that had dispelled Yaga Shura's protections, Fritha ending the rapidly escalating disagreement between he and Ferdanil, by bluntly stating he could tell the Prelate and the rest of the Order whatever he liked, she had only come there to see her friends were unharmed, Imoen snickering appreciatively at her arm. One thing they did all seem to agree on was their mirrored desires to return to their respective homelands as soon as was possible, both Ferdanil and Elquist confessing plans to leave the very next day, and it was on this cordial hope the groups parted.

Fritha stepped from the stuffy tent, the air within warmed with too much pointless blustering and she was glad to feel the breeze again, the elves around her all talking about where they would make the night's camp, Tandith extracting promises from she and Solaufein to come and take dinner with them one last time.

Anomen was waiting just where they had left him, the woman, Brieanna, keeping him company in his vigil, and the pair lingered on the edge on the group. Anomen was watching their parting with a curious frown and Fritha realised suddenly she had been speaking the elves' lilting tongue the whole time –they had travelled together so long it came as habit to her now, the girl switching back to her own Chondathan as the elves finally departed and their two approached.

'Anomen -and Brieanna, too- thank you for waiting.'

The man nodded, a frown sent to the tent behind her. 'Sir Elquist was satisfied with your report then?'

Fritha smiled. 'Yes –no doubt you will hear it all soon enough,' she added at Imoen's eager look.

'Yeah, Anomen, you're never going to _believe_ what these two have been doing!'

Anomen's expression said it all, Imoen snorting wildly into her hand and slapping Fritha's shoulder at the unfortunate moment she had just reached up to check her ever-dishevelled twist of curls, Fritha hissing as she caught the livid lump that was still hidden beneath. Anomen glanced to her.

'Are you well?'

'Fine, just tired –I pulled my own hair.'

Imoen laughed kindly at her friend's clumsiness. 'Ah, you'll be better for a sleep.'

'Here, take some water,' said Solaufein, passing her his flask.

'I will have one of the squires bring you something more, if you wish,' offered Anomen, 'some tea or perhaps-'

Fritha forestalled the inevitable menu with a smile. 'Water will be fine, Anomen.'

'Come on,' cried Imoen, blithely linking an arm through hers, 'now that's all out of the way, we need to sort out what we're going to do next.'

'I meant to say,' added Anomen quickly, 'I managed to catch the others before they departed and had a squire sent down to the gates in their stead; Melissan will meet you all just outside southern palisade -I believe the others are there now.'

'Melissan?' repeated Solaufein.

'Yep,' chirruped Imoen, 'she's the one who brought all the Children to Saradush -supposed to know _loads_ about the prophesy. She's all right -a bit wet in a crisis, though. Come on, you can meet her yourself.'

They moved barely a pace though, all turned back and looking at the woman they had inadvertently left behind.

'My lady, are you not coming?'

Brieanna's eyes flicked from Fritha to Anomen. 'Well, this really isn't a matter for the Order, and I promised Veren I would help him with the cooking this evening.'

The knight was frowning. 'He can surely enlist one of the other squires to help him if he needs it –you are quite welcome to join us.'

Brieanna glanced again to her, Fritha's friendly nod showing her agreement.

'Yes, certainly, we will speak of nothing so private you cannot come –and it will be good to have an outsider's insight.'

But the woman would not be persuaded. 'Thank you, but I should be getting back to the others. I will no doubt see you tomorrow, Anomen.'

A smile and she was gone, Imoen not so concerned enough to let it delay them an instant longer, the girl leading them down to the gateway and the small fire the others had coaxed to life just beyond the encampment's walls, the group glancing up at their arrival.

'Fritha!' cried Jaheira, stalking over to clasp her in a fierce embrace, 'You are alive, thank Silvanus! Surely, you could have waited to see us before going to speak with the knights?'

Fritha blinked –it had never even occurred to her. 'I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be worried once Anomen had told you I was here.'

The druid just tutted, Minsc stepping up to lay two firm hands upon her shoulders. 'It matters not; you are back with us now, Boo says this is all that is important.'

'Yes,' Fritha sighed, surveying them all with a weight to her heart, 'back together… again… So, what now?' she continued, slumping to sit on the grass as the others sank down about her, 'Do you plan to return to Suldanessellar?'

Imoen's snort was all the answer she needed, though the girl saw fit to elaborate anyway.

'Not likely! I wouldn't go back there on a bet, though to be fair I don't think we could even if we wanted to. We heard about all this,' she waved a hand in the direction of the city down the hill, 'at Nalia's wedding, and we came straight back to Suldanessellar to find you gone! At first, we'd thought you'd eloped-'

A frown from Solaufein- he clearly did not know that word yet; Fritha would have to explain later.

'-but the gate guards said you and Solaufein had already left and said nothing where you'd gone.'

Fritha frowned. 'Didn't you speak to Ellesime?'

'We could not,' said Jaheira, 'They would not let us enter the city, said the gates were closed to all but Suldanessellar's citizens until this trouble here had passed.'

At her side, Solaufein snarled something in his own tongue, Fritha's anger too muted by her utter disbelief.

'They wouldn't let you _inside?_ But- but Ellesime promised me -she _swore_ that if I left peaceably she would let you stay there!'

Imoen's outrage was predictably venomous. 'That lying _cow!_ So, she did force you out then – I knew it! She must have planned this all from the beginning! But why didn't you let us know where you were going?'

Fritha just shrugged- it had all been hopeless from the very start.

'Why else, Imoen? To spare you from this…'

'Oh, young Fritha,' sighed Minsc, Jaheira shaking her head, while next to her Imoen quirked a wan smile. 'Didn't work, did it?'

'No… So why did you all come here? Yes, I know to look for me, but why Saradush?'

Valygar glanced briefly to Imoen, as he took up the tale. 'When Imoen insisted we returned to Suldanessellar and we found their gates now barred, a group of young hunters saw us outside the city. They knew of you-'

'Hunters? I don't know any hunters.'

Solaufein was frowning. 'Three boys? Two fair, one dark? I met them once,' he explained at her bemused look, 'they seemed to have seen you before – one looked upon you with favour.'

'Of course,' Fritha laughed wearily; all her fine plans ruined by a lovesick adolescent, 'Of course, why not?'

On the other side of the fire, Valygar nodded. 'As Solaufein says, they knew of you and your recent wanderings in the forest, directing us to the ritual grove.'

'I went there a couple of times to look at the carvings, so?'

'_So_, someone else was there looking for you, too, this time,' offered Imoen grimly. 'Illasera the Quick she called herself, and she wasn't there to make friends. After she died, the stones sort of woke up and told us about Saradush.'

Jaheira nodded. 'We thought the stones might have spoken similarly to you, and so with little else to go on…'

The druid trailed off; they all knew the rest, but Fritha was hardly listening anyway, a sudden frisson of dread travelling her spine.

'What day was that? What time?'

A wary glance was shared about her, Imoen offering finally, 'Er, afternoon on the second day of Mirtul.'

'And this battle, the giant, Yaga Shura, fell when?'

Anomen frowned. 'About mid-morning, why?'

Fritha glanced to Solaufein and shook her head. 'Nothing.'

'Don't give me nothing!' snapped Imoen, 'Something's wrong!'

'Something's always wrong, Imoen – that's just how it is now.'

The girl folded her arms with a disgruntled snort. 'Gods, I wish you had eloped, at least then you'd be a bit more cheerful.'

Fritha ignored her. 'So you came here to look for me, and got trapped in the siege.'

'Yes,' confirmed Jaheira, 'but where have _you_ been?'

'Where hasn't she!' laughed Imoen, good spirits instantly restored as she related to them the tale of their long and providential trip to the heart of Yaga Shura's power.

Anomen was appalled. 'Then- then Sir Elquist did nothing! Had it not been for _your_ actions he would have led our entire battalion to their deaths!'

'Yep,' agreed Imoen, 'we tried to tell you not to. Agwin-' the girl stopped suddenly, her look empty.

'So, we were all working as one, even when we did not know it,' offered Minsc slowly to the silence she had left.

'Something like that,' Fritha sighed, 'But what happens now? I don't know what plans you may have, but Solaufein and I-'

'Ah, are we all here?' cut in a friendly voice above them, and Fritha turned with the others to see a tall, robed woman arrive on the edge of their group, her face made all the rounder by the dark blue wimple that encircled it. Imoen was quick with the introductions.

'Fritha, this is Melissan. She is the one who brought the Children here to Saradush.'

'Oh, hello.'

The woman nodded her greeting, kneeling to take her place in the circle.

'So, the infamous Fritha, we finally meet - your friends came a long way to find you.'

'Yes, I noticed.'

Melissan smiled, ignoring the coolness to her tone. 'I must admit to having heard your name before this day, and even before Imoen asked if I knew of your whereabouts. You are Fritha of Candlekeep, are you not? The powerful Bhaalspawn from the Western Heartlands, who ignores the lure of her blood to fight for goodness.'

Imoen laughed. 'Calm down, love, she's not Drizzt Do'Urden.'

Melissan let narrow, blue eyes travel their circle. 'I have heard of you, Fritha, and I can only believe that it is destiny that has brought you all here together now. It is in Tethyr where the prophesies hold the fate of the Children shall be decided, and there are many players in this saga all wanting to turn the portents to their cause, some for good, and others for their own evil ends. My recent discoveries have led me to a cult which has arisen here, a small group of evil Bhaalspawn called the Five.'

Fritha sighed deeply; she knew what came next. 'Very original – can I guess there are but three left now?'

'Yes, three,' the woman nodded, seemingly bemused by her foresight, 'you know of Yaga Shura's end...'

'And this woman they killed in the elven grove was one too, wasn't she?'

'Yes, yes she was -how did you know that?'

Fritha laughed resignedly. 'Just a good guess.'

'Well, a guess or not, it is the case. These Five are some of the most powerful of your kind, and in their desire to resurrect Bhaal and become demigods themselves, they have banded together to murder all the lesser Bhaalspawn.'

Fritha could not keep the bitterness from her voice, though to be fair she did not particularly try.

'And as we have seen, such desires are inconveniencing enough for the locals, but when these three decide they no longer want to share such power, then Tethyr have a real war on its hands -_and_ the Sword Coast shall be drowned in blood and Bhaal will rise once more, so sayeth the ever-helpful Alaundo.'

Melissan was nodding her sympathy. 'I can hear your weariness, Fritha, and after so long another battle is likely the last thing you wish to see, but you _must_ act or the prophesy we all dread will come to pass and Bhaal will rise again! These remaining members of the Five are powerful; together they would be more than a match for you all, but if you strike at them separately… Fritha, you must face them; only _you_ have a chance to end this horror before it can truly begin!'

'And what about the rest of us?' snapped Imoen crossly, 'A lot of people died to save Saradush –many of those _you'd_ sworn to protect! Fritha didn't just defeat Yaga Shura alone.'

Melissan raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'I did not know you defeated Yaga Shura _at all_.'

Fritha just shrugged. 'We didn't; Solaufein and I just removed his invulnerability.'

'That was _you?' _the woman gasped, a sudden gravity to her eyes. 'Then, I see now… With destiny so intent upon your group, that you were allies without even knowing it… Yes, I am more sure than ever that you are fated to this task.'

'So who are the remaining three?' pressed Jaheira.

'I'm afraid I know of only one, a woman named Sendai.'

'Sendai?' repeated Solaufein, 'That is a drow name.'

'Well,' smiled Melissan, 'it seems you have more clue than I as to her identity, though I do know of one who might know more. His name is Balthazar; he is head of monastic order and, like myself, he has taken an interest in bringing a peaceful ending to this bloody saga. His monastery is located to the south of here, in the desert village of Amkethran.'

'Are you going to come with us?' asked Imoen.

The woman dipped her face in apology, making to rise.

'No, I fear I have work still to do down in Saradush. But here is a letter to present at the monastery. That should grant you an audience.'

'And _where_ did you learn all this?'

Melissan turned back at Fritha's voice, the rest of the circle suddenly staring up at her.

'Sorry?'

'About Sendai and the Five. You've been trapped in a besieged city -did you know all this before?'

The pink was rising in Melissan's cheeks. 'Well, there have been rumours for a while now.'

'And you did not think to mention any of this to _us?_' asked Jaheira sharply.

'Well, it takes time to piece the information together!' The woman snapped, her mellow smile somewhat tighter, 'and it did not seem important when we were all trapped within Saradush fighting for our lives!'

Fritha nodded slowly. 'Well, when you get any more information, even something that seems immaterial, _do_ be sure to let us know.'

Melissan stared down at her, and Fritha fancied she saw some hidden anger lingering behind her eyes, when she briskly broke contact to brush down her skirts. 'Indeed, well, there are still many wounded within the city who require my aid; I shall perhaps see you in Amkethran in time.'

'I do not trust her,' said Solaufein bluntly, as the woman's back retreated down the hill. Fritha sighed.

'Everyone has their own agendas in this, but the information she is so happy to impart seems sound enough. So, am I right in thinking we are all going to Amkethran?'

A round of the expected nods and affirmations.

'Of course -you are not so old yet as to be without a guardian.'

'Minsc and Boo are always ready to fight at your side!'

Imoen's hand gave her own a warm squeeze. 'You don't have to worry about us, Fritha; we're _all_ in this together, right to then end.'

Oh, what a choice of words! Fritha just nodded, looking round at those people, her hopes of that snatched escaped mocked in their reassuring smiles.

'I suppose that is settled then –we can all set out tomorrow, well, all bar Anomen, of course,' she added with a nod to the knight. 'Sir Elquist mentioned the Order are to depart tomorrow; you will be back in Athkatla by the summer solstice.' Her heart fluttered at his broken look.

'Tomorrow -truly? I knew the commander was eager to get away –well, yes, I suppose we will be then.'

'Right,' Fritha sighed, heaving herself to her feet –that was quite enough misery for one day, 'I had best get back to the elves; I promised I would break bread with them one last time. I will see you all tomorrow though, bright and early.'

Imoen was frowning, her eyes holding the injured look Fritha had so many times imagined for her. 'But, Fritha, we've barely seen you.'

'I'm sorry, Imoen, but I did promise. The elves will leave tomorrow, and you will see _more_ than enough of me in the days to come.'

'Well, I s'ppose.'

Fritha summoned a smile – gods, she hoped that would get easier with practise.

'Come now, Imoen, why don't you walk Solaufein and I back?'

The girl sprang up between them. 'Yeah, all right then; come on, Solaufein, you can tell me _all_ the gossip.'

xxx

The elves had made camp on the edge of the palisade, a pool of quiet in that jubilant night. Fritha stood at the paling of wooden stakes, her eyes drawn to the lights of the city far below her, where tonight celebration and wake together filled the streets with life.

'Fritha?'

She turned, Solaufein standing behind her in the darkness. 'Avilar is about to serve the meal.'

'I will be along soon.'

Solaufein was frowning. 'Are you well?'

Fritha sighed tiredly, resisting the urge to slump down onto the grass just where she stood.

'Yes, no, maybe. Ah, not really, if I'm honest. The others have found me and renewed their insistences that they want _nothing_ more than to die in my company –and I could have done without that. And Anomen looks to have a new lady, even if _he_ hasn't noticed it yet – as I once said to young Davith, there is nothing worse than getting what you want. But it is better this way, much better than it could have been.'

'Because he will return with his Order?' confirmed Solaufein. Fritha smiled wanly.

'Yes.'

The man's frown deepened. 'And _we_ will all troop south to Amkethran.'

Fritha felt the guilt squirm in her stomach; this Melissan and her Five had not just ruined _her_ plans.

'You do not have to come, you know?' she offered quietly, 'you could return to Athkatla with the Order –Anomen would see you right.'

'My place is with you,' the drow stated firmly, his face twisting with a sudden sneer, 'That the queen lied to you so cruelly – the surface elves speak of such nobility, but they are closer to their dark cousins then they would be pleased to admit.'

Fritha just shrugged. 'She acted for her city – I have told similar lies in the past. A part of me wonders now if my plan to leave my friends behind wasn't doomed from the start- Imoen is one of the Children, too. This chance meeting with those hunters, the visit to the grove, the way we all seemed to end up here –how many coincidences must fall so neatly together before we admit there is a greater force at play?'

Solaufein took a step closer, a hand encircling her arm. 'That the Fates pull at you is one thing, but you do not have to heed them! You do not have to go to this monastery; we can still leave here, if you will it. We can find another place where none of this can reach you.'

'And then what? This burden must be carried. Who will be left to stop the Five if I leave?' She answered for him. 'Imoen –she doesn't deserve that.'

'And you do?'

Fritha sighed 'No, but I am ready for it. These last few months… I am ready for what must come. And it's fine, I have accepted it now.' She swallowed past the lump in her throat, breaking contact with him to catch the tears before they fell, 'I mean, it's sad, because it was so lovely, those couple of days just imagining escaping it all, but…'

Fritha shook her head, her voice wavering away to nothing as two hands were suddenly clasped at her shoulders, the drow's look almost wild.

'But why must it be _you?_ You said yourself that this prophesy means _nothing_ any more; the priestesses that chose you are long dead!'

She threw his hands off with a frustrated cry. 'But _I_ have chosen me… I can see something needs to be done and I have the power to change it and, yes, I suppose there are many who could be here instead of me with the ability to do the same, but when it comes to it, _I_ am here, and _I _am the one who must make the choice, and I have chosen to stay and fight…

'And _die?_' he challenged brutally. Fritha dipped her face in a measure nod.

'If that is what it must come to, then yes. I don't want to, but with this Five wandering about trying to ascend or resurrect Bhaal, or whatever hundred variations on trouble they are planning, you just know that many innocent people are going to suffer even for their trying. And I know they don't _seem_ very innocent,' she conceded at his scowl, 'when they're picking fights with you and calling me names, but people are like that: silly, afraid, and unpleasant when in a mob. But for every Sirra there is a Remmstor and it is _those_ people I will work to save.' She smiled faintly, 'Oh Solaufein, it would not have worked. I have tried to get away before, after all that business in the Gate and then after Irenicus –something always pulls me back. My place and my fate are here, and it is time I faced it.' She glanced to him, his face a frowning mask in the half-light, Fritha willing him to understand -because at least then one of them would. 'I told you I was on my way out, Solaufein.'

He did not try to hide his anger. 'And the others: are you going to tell _them _of this?'

Fritha snorted. 'What do you think?'

He glowered at her: wilful, defiant. 'And are you not going to forbid _me_ to say anything?'

Fritha barked a weary laugh. 'We are on the surface now, Solaufein, I'm afraid it is your principles that give the orders here.'

The man exhaled furiously and turned away –he would not betray her.

'Besides,' she pressed with an optimism she, for one, certainly no longer believed, 'it's as you said: nothing is guaranteed; perhaps I can still get through this all in one piece.'

Solaufein could not look at her. 'Perhaps.'

She felt a sudden surge of desperate laughter –what else could she do?- the girl clapping him heartily on the back.

'What can I say, Solaufein? It's a bugger.'

A cough behind them, the pair turning to see Ferdanil watching them with a frown.

'If you plan to eat this meal, drow, then I suggest you return now.'

Solaufein glanced to her, Fritha's reassuring smile there waiting for him.

'It's fine, you go; I'll be along in a moment.'

But Ferdanil did not leave with the drow, the man moving to stand next to her at the fence, his eyes on the city below them.

'So you plan to travel south with your companions.'

'Yes, and you will return to Suldanessellar,' she offered serenely, 'your mission is completed, after all; I am far from your city and unlikely to live long enough to return.'

The elf nodded once. 'Indeed, I had no qualms about my task; the Queen works for the good of her people, and you and your companions are not included among them.'

Fritha shrugged; recalling that room of light and life, and Ellesime's earnest promise to her, that her friends would be kept safe –had she known then it was a lie, or had such deceit crept in afterwards?

'I expected more from her at the time, though recent revelations have come as no real surprise to me.' Fritha turned to gaze at the sharp profile next to her, 'The only thing I do not understand was why she sent you. You clearly hate me –could she find no one more willing for the task?'

Ferdanil smiled faintly and Fritha wondered if she had ever seen him do so before in her presence.

'The Queen understands that not all of Bhaal's progeny were gifted equally by the blood. Some have strength, others an affinity for the Weave and for some…' He turned to her. 'You, along with many of the more powerful Bhaalspawn have these traits, but you also have something more, a _draw_ if you will –put quite simply, people are willing to die for you.'

'What? I mean, they fight for the same cause, but…'

Fritha trailed off, her mind drawn back to Sarevok and the countless men who had stood in their long path to him, who had spent their lives trying to protect him –they could not _all_ have been compelled to die just for the power promised in his wake.

'Your friends travelled leagues just to find you,' the elf continued mildly.

'Now they were encouraged in _that_,' reminded Fritha. Ferdanil shook his head.

'They would have followed regardless eventually. Look then at the people of _my_ troop, if you wish for more evidence. For over a decade Tandith served me loyally -barely a month in your company and he is willing to go against my wisdom and follow you.'

'Because he believed what he was doing was right!'

'Perhaps…' the elf conceded, 'but that is why the Queen chose me; she was worried that were anyone sympathetic to your kind given this mission, she would not see any of us again, Suldanessellar robbed of troops it could ill afford to lose to your cause.'

Fritha nodded, smiling to herself; Ellesime really had thought of everything.

'But that isn't a problem with you, is it?'

'No,' Ferdanil agreed, without shame or apology, 'the Bhaalspawn are an unnatural plague upon this land, and I can only hope that you all wipe each other out quickly and with the least damage to your surroundings.' He paused, looking for the first time of their acquaintance straight at her face, and Fritha could see the stern resolve there even as he offered, 'But for all that, I am sorry that the person you are is tainted by the blood you carry. When your end comes, I pray it is swift and without pain.'

'Thank you.'

He nodded once and turned to leave her alone once more.

xxx

Anomen drew another mouthful of ale, letting the shouts and laughter outside the tent drift about him unheeded –with news of tomorrow's departure, spirits were high, at least for some. An hour; that was all the gods had seen fit to afford him before she and him were to be parted once more –and every instant of it with the others pressed about her, the drow always at her elbow in silent camaraderie.

The knight shook his head, wishing he could feel more jealous, rather than this empty melancholy. Perhaps it was a sign that what had once been between them was now gone. But then he would picture her there, sat in that circle as the woman, Melissan, spoke, the realisation dawning on her that there was something more she needed to do -that there would _always_ be something more, until there was nothing of her left, and Anomen just could not let it go.

They had returned to Sir Elquist after the girls and Solaufein had left, Jaheira informing the man of this Five and their plans, though it was merely out of courtesy. The druid did not expect any help and, for his part, Sir Elquist had no desire nor indeed premise to keep the Order in Tethyr any longer; they were, after all, foreign troops and outstaying their service could be seen as an act of invasion by those who wished it. And so their groups would part again on the morrow, the others leaving to make camp as he returned to the watch tent to finish his shift as he likely should have done straight away, Sir Cadril arriving with the moon to relieve him, and he had been _there_ ever since.

'Ah, Anomen,' came a voice before him, Erick pushing aside the canvas to find him sat upon the trampled down grass in amongst the long tables and stacked benches of the mess tent, the glow of his werelight bright at his feet, 'here you are; Brieanna is looking for you.'

'Erick, have you found him?' came another; Simon's young face appearing next to his friend's and already married with a frown as he stepped inside. 'Anomen, it pains me to see you like this –if you want to change anything between you two, then you must go over there and say something to Fritha now, before it is too late.'

'And what exactly?' Anomen sighed, throwing the ale dregs across the grass and making to stand, 'They travel south tomorrow, as we go north.'

'He is correct, Simon,' nodded Erick gravely. Simon snorted.

'No, he is not; the Order go north tomorrow, Anomen, it does not stand you must be with them.'

Erick was astounded. 'You would have him _desert?_'

'I would have him follow his heart,' countered the Lathandite, 'Anomen, ask Sir Elquist to give you leave- if the cause is good, he will not deny it.'

'You would advise your friend to risk his career as a knight for this?'

'_Career?_' repeated Simon incredulously, 'Why did we join this Order, if not to do good wherever it is needed?'

'Indeed,' agreed Erick, 'but a desire to act in righteousness is not the only or even the _main_ reason Anomen wishes to leave with them tomorrow.'

Simon looked as close to losing his temper as Anomen had ever seen him. 'Look, it's obvious you don't like Fritha, Erick –why don't you let Anomen make his own decision?'

'Why don't you? You said yourself, you favour her; can you not see that just because one may feel something for someone, that it will not necessarily lead him on the correct path.'

'If he loves her then what more need there be?'

'You are so naïve, Simon.'

'No, you are too willing to use your duty as an excuse-'

Anomen could not let him finish. 'Stop it, both of you! The decision is mine and I will make it!'

And before another word could be spoken, Anomen had marched out into the bustling camp.

**…**

Their group was quiet compared to the revelry the rest of the encampment was enjoying, just a dozen or so figures gathered about a small fire, the occasional laugh rippling out from the low murmur of their talk. Anomen stood in the shadows, trying to find her in the firelight that gave them all a coppery-hue.

'You lost there, lad?'

Anomen whipped back, the elf behind him smiling kindly, his blond hair golden in his werelight, what looked to be a carafe of wine in his other hand.

'Ah, well, I was looking for-'

'Avilar, do you need-' came that voice and he turned to find her arrived behind him, her face opening in surprise, before the serene smile was back, 'Oh, hello, Anomen, you aren't celebrating with your friends?'

'Fritha, could we talk, please?'

She nodded mildly as though she had expected nothing else, the girl sending a friendly smile to the elf as they passed him, Anomen leading them over to the shadow of the tall palisade, the tents about them distant enough to lend some privacy. Beyond the walls, the lights of Saradush were bright below them, the city's glow catching on the trembling gold and amber droplets of her earrings as she finally pulled her gaze away to face him.

'So, Anomen,' the girl sighed, no hint of the discomfort he felt to her tone, 'what brings you away from the celebrations then?'

'Nothing, merely that we did not really get a chance to talk before.' He swallowed, 'You are well, then?'

She laughed gently. 'Anomen, we've done this bit; I am well and so are you.'

Anomen was glad for the darkness, his face suddenly burning as he cleared his throat to continue, 'Yes, quite… So you will head out to Amkethran tomorrow – you'll forgive me, but it seemed as though you had other plans before Melissan arrived.'

Fritha nodded, eyes drifting back to the city. 'That I did, but there was always going to be something, wasn't there?' She turned to him again with that all too-cheerful smile, 'But, the others will be along to keep an eye on me this time –it will be fine. What plans have you for your return to Athkatla? I understand that Brieanna seeks to be knighted in the Midsummer ceremonies –she is fortunate to have a friend such as you to help her on her path.'

Anomen smiled faintly. 'I will aid her all I can, though I do not think she will need it. She was glad to finally meet with you; after so many tales from Simon and Irlana, she had hoped to see you at Nalia's wedding.'

'Yes, it was a shame I had to miss that -what was it like?'

Anomen paused to consider the question; would she hear of the dress? The banquet? The dancing afterwards?

'A pleasant occasion – Nalia and Lundav seem very much in love.'

This had clearly been the news she had sought, Fritha's face beaming and lit with a glow to rival Saradush. 'Good, I am so pleased for them; I would wish them nothing less. I would I could have been there myself, but I got tired so easily back then. It nearly killed me those first few days travelling with the elves,' she laughed. 'I'm surprised poor Solaufein didn't have to carry me - but I'm not so bad now.'

Anomen felt his stomach tighten at this mention of the drow, his heart still struggling with what it did and did _not_ want to know as he offered, 'Solaufein seems very loyal to you.'

Something about her face darkened, the girl casting a glance back to the small camp she had left. 'He is. They all are, for all the good it will do them. But, I am so cynical nowadays; I'm not surprised they ignore me.'

She laughed again; it held a brittle quality. Anomen swallowed again, the words sticking in his throat as emotion finally got the better of reason.

'I missed you.'

Her face wore a painfully wistful smile. 'I miss me, too; I was lovely back then. I think on what I did, how I was and I cannot help but smile –it is like remembering a good friend who you lost long ago. But, such is life, and I do not bear its burdens alone. It must be so frustrating for you all; you and they saved this city as much as Solaufein and I did, and then this Melissan turns up and makes out I'm carrying the _whole_ of Toril on my back. Do not falter, young Fritha, or Faerûn shall surely crumble!' She snorted; half-laugh, half-sigh. 'What will come, will come.'

'You sound like Simon.'

'Good,' she announced firmly, 'for he plays a very sensible fool.'

Anomen nodded to himself, his friend's words drifting back to him. 'Yes, he does.'

xxx

Anomen stood, dew from the long grass already creeping up his boots to soak into his trousers as he waited before that great canvas pavilion, the camp about him all bustle as squires dismantled tents and saddled horses, some knights lending a hand. His eyes were drawn involuntarily to Sir Cadril and two other men stood talking over their tea as a group of squires packed up the tent at their back. And some, it seemed, were not.

'Enter.'

Anomen swallowed a cough, his throat already dry and his discomfort only grew as he stepped inside and found Sir Elquist sat behind his desk, two squires hurriedly packing the maps, collapsible cot and rest of his belongings into two large chests.

'Ah, Sir Anomen, what brings you to me this morning? You are all packed and ready to depart, I hope.'

'Sir, it was that I wished to speak of to you. As I believe you know, my old company are to travel south to Amkethran today, to investigate further this threat posed by the Five, and I should like to ask for leave to travel with them.'

Sir Elquist was already frowning. 'I had hoped you would see sense and talk _yourself_ around in this, but-' the man sighed, and sternly shook his head, 'You cannot just go gallivanting off on your own causes whenever the whim takes you, Anomen. You made an oath when you were knighted to serve your brothers and your god within our number, and yet you have hardly spent a month within our company since you were given the honour. The Prelate is a lenient man, perhaps too much so, but others in the Order do not see this dereliction in so indulgent a light –your _own_ knight included.'

And for a moment, Anomen could see the man behind his eyes, Sir Ryan's austere frown upon him just as it seemed to be with increasing regularity of late. It made little difference.

'But, sir, the threat these Bhaalspawn could pose –just one nearly brought Saradush to ruin!'

'Yes,' dismissed Elquist firmly, 'and I have assurances that the Order of the Silver Chalice are to head straight to the temple your companions mentioned, and ensure that none of their number will be left to bring such trouble to these lands again.'

'But what of the others, sir? If Melissan has it right, then three still remain and I feel it is my duty is help end this threat.'

'Your duty is to this Order!' Elquist shouted. Anomen felt a reckless surge of defiance.

'I would be acting for good!'

'But would it be the best you could be doing? Who are you to say where the Order should marshal its forces?' The old knight sent him a stern look, 'I cannot stop you, Sir Anomen, but I warn you now, there will be serious ramifications should you choose to abandon your brothers once more. Dismissed.'

Anomen was for an instant frozen, struggling with an anger that wanted nothing more than to over turn that table and ask him if he had ever loved anything outside of rules and power and the sound of his own self-righteous voice –what did he know of good? He who would have led them all to their deaths for his own pride! The arm raised, but only in sharp salute, Anomen turning on his heel to march out.

Outside, the camp was still bustling about him, oblivious to his frustration and anger both, as he stood before the tent drawing deep cool breaths.

'Ah, Anomen, there you are.'

And he whipped back to see Sir Cadril calling across to him.

'Squire Hassin is looking for you; your companions are at the gates about to depart.'

His friends were assembled before the palisade, the elves grouped next to them just as they had been the day before. Fritha and Solaufein were bidding a final farewell to their company, the girl sharing embraces with Tandith, Avilar and the scarlet-faced Bryn, the boy stepping aside and suddenly she was before the aloof Captain Ferdanil, the elf looking as though he was struggling with himself as he finally conceded to shake the hand she had offered.

'Please tell Ellesime I understand.'

'Yeah, that she's a _two-faced COW!'_ Imoen bawled from the other group, Jaheira trying and failing to shush her when the girl noticed him. 'Here, Anomen, you came.'

Anomen smiled, closing to their company. 'Of course, my lady, you are all ready to depart?'

'As ready as we'll ever be.' Imoen trilled, 'We've places as guards on a caravan that is heading west to Zassepur –should pay enough to keep us in ale, right Minsc?'

'Indeed,' the Rashemi nodded sternly, 'Boo says we will _all_ make the way together.'

Anomen turned from the judgement that seemed to linger behind his words, the man glad to see more sympathy to the face of the woman next to him. 'Have a safe journey, my lady.'

Jaheira smiled and patted his arm, her voice low and lost in the surrounding commotion.

'Take heart, Anomen, I have made too many _final _farewells over the years to put much faith in them; if chance brought us together this time, then why not again?'

Anomen could not say much to that –he wished he had her faith.

'Well, Anomen,' came that deep, mellow voice, Valygar nodding as he turned to face him, 'the Order will be returning straight to Athkatla?'

'Yes, we should arrive in a fortnight -have you any message for your estate?'

'No, they have managed longer than this without me before.'

'I'm sure they'd be glad to know you're alive all the same,' offered Imoen casually. Valygar made no audible reply as back at the elves the last of the goodbyes were concluded, Fritha and Solaufein stood watching as the elves turned and moved off down the hill, heading west to make the most direct route back to the Wealdath. A moment to watch them go and the pair rejoined their company, the rest of the group seeming to retreat further from the palisade as Fritha closed to him, a bright, false smile on that pale face.

'Well, Anomen, we are off, then –and it looks as though you won't be here much longer, either,' she added with a nod to the activity behind him.

'No,' he murmured hoarsely, not knowing what else to say, 'the commander would have us leave within the hour.'

She smiled and nodded. 'I was glad to see you again this time, Anomen, I…' Fritha trailed off, but the finality to her tone said all that was needed –they would not meet again and suddenly her arms were about his neck, her voice at his ear almost breathless, strained by the force of her embrace. 'I wish you the best in everything.' She moved to draw back and, for a moment, he resisted, his arms refusing to release her, but he let them drop and she stepped away, still smiling that empty, benign smile, 'Goodbye, Anomen.'

She turned to walk back to the others and they were gone, his own company setting out not long afterwards and for the next hour, he watched their silhouettes retreat south across that rippling plain, fading as they became more distant, to be at last lost from view.


	13. A Single Step

**Disclaimer:** I do own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' and all the characters therein. Wizards of the Coast sold it to me for three magic beans. Lucky them. I also own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**A Single Step**

It was their first day on the road, on a journey that would take them across almost the entire length of Tethyr, the desert village of Amkethran nestled on the westernmost edge of the Marching Mountains, between the arid foothills and the scorching barren dunes of the Calim Desert. But they were not there yet.

Imoen smiled, face tilted to the deep blue sky, the plains about them rippling under the warm breeze and her body felt light as it pulled at her tunic, at last free of the cloak and pack that had burdened every day of walking since they had left Suldanessellar. This was how journeys should be made, the girl listening to the jovial shouts of the merchants and rumble of carts about her as they travelled the main road west, their small group joining the long caravan of wagons and travellers who had been prompt to leave Saradush that morning, as well.

She sent a nod to the tall warrior she now knew as Athic, who was walking abreast of her a few paces to their left, the young mage she recognised from the walls of Saradush, Eruna, sending her a smile through the jostle -she and Fritha were not the only Bhaalspawn in that company. In fact, many of the Children had joined and even been welcomed on to the caravan just as they had been, the extra guards a necessary deterrent against the few brigands who had managed to escape the slaughter at Saradush.

Imoen pulled her gaze to the girl walking at her side, Fritha there in customary scarf and robe despite the fine weather, both as blue as the sky above them, Solaufein on her other side. His appearance had garnered more than a few looks on their arrival at the caravan this morning though nothing had been said and the drow himself seemed relaxed enough in their company, though she noticed his eyes were forever scanning the plains, constantly on watch for some potential danger.

Imoen was not so concerned, merely glad to take pleasure in the day as they marched ever onward.

'A whole fortnight of walking,' she sighed, the breeze flicking playfully at her short hair, 'I hope every day's like this.'

'Jaheira said to expect rain in the next couple,' said Fritha. Imoen refused to be swayed from her good humour.

'Hasn't happened yet. Gods, Fritha, aren't you warm with your robe on?'

'Yes, but I can't be bothered to carry it.'

'I will take it for you,' came Solaufein promptly, eliciting Fritha's smile as she demurred, 'No, no it's fine.'

'You should ask Mistress Harjeev or one of the other wagon drivers if you can put your stuff in their cart,' offered Imoen more practically –Gods, how she rued the day _she_ had become the sensible one. 'That's what I did.'

Imoen flung her arms wide to illustrate this glorious freedom, but Fritha just frowned.

'Perhaps my robe… I don't feel comfortable without my bag.'

'Why? As long as you've your weapon- what is it?' Imoen snapped as she noticed her friend's gaze catch on the distant hills.

'There are birds circling on the horizon.'

Imoen whipped back, her eyes straining as she just made out the specks that wheeled and looped, and she exhaled the breath she didn't realised she'd held.

'Gods, you're a bit edgy, it's probably just some farmer ploughing ready for his winter barley.' She glanced to the man along from her, his eyes narrowed with a wince beneath his hat's brim as he watched them too. 'Does the light still bother you, Solaufein?'

'No, not particularly; the fires of the evening and the glare of noon still cause me some discomfort, but it is nothing I cannot bear.'

Fritha was smiling. 'Another month or so and I warrant you will see the best of us all.'

'What is it Imoen says? It has not happened yet.'

And the drow smiled as she and Fritha warmed the air with a laugh.

'Good Solaufein?'

Their three turned back at the call, Minsc walking a few paces behind with Jaheira and Valygar, the Rashemi beckoning to them and Solaufein made his excuses, dropping back at the request. Imoen instantly slipped a conspiratorial arm about her friend's elbow.

'_So_, you and Solaufein then.'

'Me and Solaufein, what?'

'Fritha,' Imoen laughed, hardly able to believe she was trying to play the innocent in this, 'I've barely been able to get between you all day, word or _otherwise_.'

But Fritha merely shrugged. 'I suppose we're just used to each other's company now. But what about you and our reticent ranger?' she continued with a glance back to where he was walking with Minsc, Jaheira and Solaufein, the man a silent observer to their friendly talk. 'You don't seem as enchanted with his company as you once did.'

'Yeah, well, we sort of talked about it, but it didn't work out.' Imoen smiled, neatly glossing over just _what_ had been said. She was trying to be mature and gracious about the whole thing, though parts of her hadn't quite caught up to that concept yet; her mind still had a tendency to chant '_git git git_' every time his name was mentioned. Fritha pressed her elbow to her hip, Imoen's arm caught in a gentle squeeze.

'I'm sorry… perhaps that's for the best, though. This life isn't particularly conducive to relationships.'

'It's fine; after what's happened lately, it doesn't seem that important anymore. Uh, listen to us,' Imoen cried, laughing at her own melancholy, 'I'm supposed to be cheering you up.'

'I don't need cheering, do I?'

'You tell me. You seem a bit, I don't know, quiet.'

'I don't think I am -perhaps you are just noticing it more now you are quiet too. Jaheira told me, about the boy you met in Saradush.'

Imoen heaved a sigh, the megrims refusing to be banished. 'Yeah, the lovely Agwin. He was really nice, not much older than me –and now he's gone.'

'Yes… Jaheira also told me that when the time came, it was _you_ who took up the standard.'

Imoen laughed again –it was starting to sound strained. 'Yeah, I did, didn't I? Funny thing is, I look back now and it hardly feels like me.'

'You did well,' Fritha pressed. Imoen bobbed a shrug.

'Nothing you wouldn't have done, were you there.'

'Yes, but I wasn't.'

'No, you were off doing the other half of the plan. It was neat, wasn't it, how we were all working together without even realising it.'

Fritha's face was blank. 'Yes…'

A flicker of irritation. 'Fritha, what's wrong with you?'

'Nothing.'

'Look,' Imoen snapped, tired of feeling as though she was trying to pull them both from that mire, '_you're _the one who left and came down here -we were worried sick about you! None of this would have happened if you'd just gone to Athkatla like I wanted!'

'Then Saradush would be in ruins and its people would be dead.'

'You don't know that,' muttered Imoen sullenly. Fritha sighed.

'No, but would either of us take that risk? Toril turns on people like you and I, people who do the right thing, its axis greased with our blood.'

'Ooo, you're so morbid –I'm blaming Solaufein,' she announced as the drow himself arrived back, Imoen continuing with a determined cheer, 'Now, Solaufein, what did you do, mate? I left her all happy, and now she's moping about with a face on her like an acolyte of Shar.'

Contrary to this description, Fritha was giggling, the man blinking owlishly as he glanced between them.

'I did nothing. We spent our days in idle talk: the self-destructive nature of society, fate and pre-destination, the pointlessness of existence.'

The girls laughed, Fritha continuing, 'It is a pity Haer'Dalis left, you sound to have made a fine Doomguard.'

'I wonder what they are both doing now,' asked Imoen of the sky. Fritha snorted.

'Haer'Dalis will be revelling in the _glory of the planes_, and Aerie will be making sure they reach the next inn and remember to stock up on supplies and don't end up chasing through the Abyss.'

**...**

It was three hours later when the caravan finally ground to a halt with the dusk, their group finding a space towards the western edge of the encampment as the wagons huddled together for the night, the guards starting their patrols on the perimeters. He, Minsc and Jaheira were all due a shift from their group, but not until later that night, Valygar letting the chatter of the others drift over him as he quickly pitched his tent and settled before it to fletch the two score of arrows he had bought in Saradush, the ones he had brought from Suldanessellar and many more now peppering the plains before that smoking city.

These arrows were hardly the quality he was used to, but all the better supplies had been used by the city's archers during the siege. There was little he could do for the most part, though the vanes could be changed for better, Valygar spending the two nights at the Order's camp cutting some new fletchings and now it was just a case of swapping old for new. His hunting knife cleanly stripped off the old flights, the linen threat taut over his fingers as he wound it carefully between the barbs and about the shaft, his eyes often distracted from their task by the camp about him. Minsc and Solaufein were pitching the last of the tents between them, the three women left to the cooking, Jaheira stirring the pot of simmering water to add some muslin-wrapped bundle of herbs, Imoen fascinated as she watched Fritha roughly chop a carrot with only her hand.

Valygar turned away from this blatant sorcery with an inward sigh. Ever since his argument with Imoen it had felt like it had in the beginning, he an outsider in a group who had long ago formed their bonds, though such he knew was little excuse – even the drow seemed more a part of things than he. Such would never have bothered him before, he was well used to standing alone in things -he wondered now why it did. So much for his words to Minsc; perhaps he should have returned north with the Order, gone back to that estate and started anew his old promise to return that house to its former glory. But then the others had spoken of Amkethran and he had known he would go with them, and not only for Tethyr or the people it could save, but because he just did not want to leave that company.

The last vane secured, and he rose, fetching up his bow to slip from their clearing. He wanted to test these new fletchings before a fight gave a sense of exigency to the thing, a few paces from the camp bringing him to that darkening plain, the amber sky already fading to indigo in the east. He had no target on the rolling grassland, no tree or bush to aim for, but at least he could see how they flew and grouped, the movement of the bow a familiar anchor in that eddying world.

'Hey Vals,' came her voice. The arrow missed the others by a good few yards.

'Oops, sorry, did I put you off?' Imoen laughed as he whirled to find her behind him, her feet seemingly noiseless on the ever-whispering grass. 'Jaheira wants to know if you are going to eat with us or whether you'd _sated your appetite with brooding_ –her words, not mine,' she added at his frown.

'I will join you all shortly.'

'Well, I'll let her know.' She paused, bottom lip nipped by concerned teeth as she continued, 'Are you all right though, you've been quiet all day, even for you.'

'I am fine.'

The girl sighed, turning to go. 'Ah, suit yourself, mate.'

Her name halted her.

'Imoen.'

Valygar swallowed dryly, finally forcing the words past his discomfort, 'I am sorry for before, if I hurt you.'

'What?' she frowned, though seemingly more from bemusement than anything else, before that, too, was dismissed with a shake of her head, the girl smiling once more, 'Oh, well, don't worry. And I'm sorry too, you know, if anything I did upset you. It wasn't your fault –sometimes these things just happen.'

'We can remain as friends then?'

Imoen laughed. 'Course! Now are you coming, or what?'

'I shall collect my arrows and join you.'

'Good, I'll see you there, then.'

There had been a time she would have waited for him, but no longer and he watched her skip back to the camp, pink hair bright against that molten sky.

xxx

Neither the crackling fire before him nor the glowing sky above, sweeping brushstrokes of gold in the sunset, the drifting clouds daubes of pink and orange painted there by some careless hand, could lift the darkness over his small corner of the camp. Anomen sat at the mouth of his tent, hunger ignored in his stomach, the man still holding the prayer book he had meant to read and found he could not bear to open, a sliver of that bleached parchment square just visible between the thin pages.

He should get rid of it. There seemed little point in keeping a picture when he had held the true article in his arms and then just as easily let her go. Simon had asked him nothing of it as they had fallen into rank beside each other and the Order had finally set out that morning, and Anomen suspected he and Erick had agreed between them to leave him to his decision and let him stand by it. And he was. He had chosen the Order and his duty, and now he was miserable –just as he had known he would be.

'Anomen?'

He started, glancing up to find Brieanna still seated opposite and sewing in the firelight, the woman resolved to keep him company even when Simon and Erick had grown tired enough to leave him to his brooding.

'You did not hear a word, did you?'

'Forgive me, my lady, I-'

She forestalled his excuses with a serene smile, her face golden in the fire's glow.

'No matter. You have been very quiet all day… you miss them, do you not? Your friends -and the young lady; I can see in your eyes the regret.' She sent him a measured look across the licking flames. 'I could see it in hers, too.'

Anomen snorted, pushing the prayer book back into his bag just for something to do. 'They only thing in Fritha's eyes are the ghosts of too many dead, but I thank you for trying to pretend otherwise.'

Brieanna breathed a gentle sigh. 'It is clear to me you would be with her, so why did not go with them?'

'As _Sir_ Elquist was eager to remind me, I have a duty to the Order.'

'Anomen,' she cried, almost pleading, 'you have a duty to yourself, as well! I have met the Prelate and I do not believe he is the sort of man who would punish another for doing what they believe to be right.'

'And _that _is what I am doing, not just for myself and the Order, but for her, too! Fritha left Suldanessellar to try and spare us from this. The others refuse to see it, but I know it makes it harder for her having them along, knowing her heritage might bring their end.'

Brieanna was shaking her head. 'They do see it, Anomen, but they also know that they must go with her, because she cannot do this alone, and Fritha recognises that, too.'

'And before I would have been the same!' he cried, 'Before when I stood by while she broke countless laws, when I aided her in acts that risked the disfavour of the Order and my Church both, and she hated it! The guilt she would feel if I was expelled for following her now.'

Brieanna was staring back at him, an unreadable cast to her eyes as she no doubt considered these 'crimes', when to his surprise a sudden smile quirked her lips, the lady almost laughing in her bewilderment.

'I do not understand, Anomen- you were willing to risk everything for her before, and yet now you will not chance it, even when there is _far_ more than mere affection to compel you to her cause.'

'She will not want me there,' he pressed stubbornly. Brieanna would hear none of it.

'Anomen, Fritha sees her duty in this far more clearly than you, I fear. Yes, she may not like it, but you are at least a strong ally, and _that_ will be what she needs most in the coming days. Come on,' she barked, suddenly on her feet and gesturing for him to do the same, 'get up; we can make the nearest village by nightfall.'

'My lady, what –what are you doing?'

'What should be done, for the good of Tethyr and yourself both. As Sir Morgad once told me, there comes a time in your life when you must put aside all reasoning and follow your heart, as I now plan to follow mine. Come, we are heading south.'

xxx

Imoen returned to camp with a cheerful bounce to her gait, Valygar rejoining them soon afterwards as she had promised he would, and their group settled down to dinner together within their small encampment of tents, all full of the talk and laughter Fritha was not used to after so long, and it was only a short while before she rose from her place, muttering something about walking out before she retired. Solaufein had already been on his feet with an offer to join her, something that had got more than a couple of raised eyebrows –two from Imoen- though Fritha did not care, and a quarter hour's stroll out into the surrounding plains found them where they were now, lain side by side in the grass, the twilight drawing in to open a whole heaven of stars above, the fires of the caravan just points of light on the horizon.

Fritha gazed up at the sky, so clear and vast it could be all there was, the girl feeling small and wonderfully insignificant for one usually so burdened with importance. Next to her Solaufein breathed a wistful sigh.

'I love the night.'

Fritha smiled, sitting to take in the plains about them, an ocean of rippling silver under the moon as the warm breeze soughed through the long grasses and her mind was drawn unexpectedly back to Anomen, wondering if he was sat somewhere similar enjoying the same, though she pushed the thought away –it would do no one any good thinking about it. They had both made their decisions in this and both were the best that could be reached for the people they were and the lives they had chosen to lead. Next to her Solaufein shifted upright as well, arms gathered loosely about his knees.

'I wonder if the elves will be taking pleasure in it, too,' he pondered to the inky sky, 'they may well be using the night to cover their passage back to the Wealdath.'

'Quite so…' Fritha glanced to him, 'Do you think Ferdanil is missing us?'

Solaufein barked a loud laugh. 'Yes, I think he is sat within his tent weeping that he has no one to abuse now.'

Fritha giggled. 'Oh, poor Ferdanil, I wish you had not said that; I feel sorry for him in spite of myself.'

The drow snorted. 'Save your pity for one who truly deserves it.'

'Such as Valygar? He's been in a worse mood than me today,' she laughed. Solaufein was still smiling, though his eyes were grave.

'Such as yourself.'

'Ah, I have nothing to feel sorry about, not really. I am alive now and I can sit here and watch the stars with my good friend -there have been many lately who will never again have the chance for the same.'

Solaufein nodded grimly. 'I imagine that will become an unfortunately more common occurrence in the coming days for those caught in the maelstrom of this war between your kin. What do you see for us, walking in the eye of this tempest as we are?'

'Well,' Fritha sighed, taking a moment to consider it, 'I imagine we will arrive at Amkethran. Find Sendai. Fight. Find last two members of this Five. Fight. Then Bhaal will come back anyway, because we overlooked the fact that _Ferdanil_ was actually the most powerful Bhaalspawn of us all. We fight, we die –or live –or ascend -or get trapped with Him in some Hell dimension for all eternity, sparing Faerûn His coming but ultimately sacrificing ourselves in the process.' She laughed weakly, 'There are as many possibilities as there are stars, Solaufein. Ah, I should not be so bleak. The nature of existence tells me that anything could happen, I don't know, a great army of wizards could come from Calimshan to fight the Five for us, or all the Bhaalspawn could just call a truce and try to carry on with their lives, or Ao Himself could twist the heavens and just remove the essence from us all. It's just experience tells me that He likely won't.'

'The possibility is still there…' Solaufein reminded quietly.

'Yes… Tell you what,' she announced, giving his knee a cheerful slap, 'if we survive all this, afterwards I'll take you to see Candlekeep and Ashabenford and all the other places I've wanted to see or wanted to see again.'

'I look forward to it.'

Fritha laughed. 'Good then! As long as you don't count on it.'

Solaufein said nothing, just watched her a moment longer, his face unreadable when suddenly he was rooting through his bag.

'Here, I have a present for you.'

'A present?'

And he place in her hand a fold of parchment and small jar of dark russet powder.

'I bought it from one of the merchants; it is henna,' he answered at her look, 'He told me the ladies of the south use it to stain designs on to their bodies.'

She gazed down at it, feeling a sudden vain thrill as her mind fluttered back to the archives and those books of Calimshite prints filled with exotic women, lissom bodies decorated in silks and paints.

'Can you use it?'

He smiled. 'I am no artist, but my hand is steady and I have an eye for pattern.'

Fritha grinned and suddenly she was hauling off her tunic, her back to him as she slipped the straps of her camisole from her shoulders and let the thin cotton drop down to bunch about her waist, a hand clasped over each breast as Solaufein busied himself behind her, using water from his flask to mix the henna into a thick paste, the parchment rolled into a cone, ready to pipe the mixture he had made.

He started on her back, working over her shoulders and the tops of her arms and it did not feel awkward even when he knelt before her, the man approaching his work with a detached artistry as he traced his design right down to the hand-cupped swell of her breasts.

'There,' he sighed, finally sitting back on his haunches with an unmistakable air of satisfaction, 'and we are finished.'

Fritha was still grinning. 'I daren't move to look until it's dry–what did you draw?'

'I confess I took inspiration from the temple frieze at the elven ruins outside Suldanessellar.'

'I'm covered in scenes of elves fighting drow?'

He chuckled fondly. 'Not quite. Here-' She felt him lightly touch the small of her back, 'there is a rising sun, the rays bursting out to curl into the chrysanthemum flowers you left in Suldanessellar. From there, sweep up the branches of the Tree of Life, a prayer song to Rillifane entwined about the leaves, while along your spine the phases of my Eilistraee's moon, for she has blessed me in you. Over your shoulders the leafy branches stretch, to be crowned by clouds and stars that rest upon the heavens of your breast.'

Fritha laughed. 'Such imagery -I feel like an altar.'

The drow just shrugged. 'There is much in you to worship. They say we will reach then next town in a few days, you may see it properly in the mirror then.'

'Ah, I can't wait! How long before it's dry?'

'Another hour –are you cold?'

'No,' she sighed, carefully leaning forward to pillow her arms upon her bent knees, her chest hidden behind them, 'I am fine.'

Solaufein smiled, reclining back in the grass once more, his eyes closed, and Fritha did not overlook the gesture.

'You can continue you star-gazing, Solaufein; I'm not embarrassed.'

'Do not worry, I can see them still.'

xxx

The second day had dawned cloudy, Jaheira's predicted rains not long away it seemed, though Fritha imagined they would be quite welcome when they did come, the air close and muggy with a heat that only increased as the sun peaked, suffusing the heavy clouds above with an intense glary light that fell in shafts across the grasslands, a bridge of gold for some celestial herald.

They were still on the plains, though the road had dipped south to skirt the northern edge of the Mir Forest. Fritha tried to focus more on the dappled greens of the swaying trees next to her, rather than the murky swamp she knew was at its heart, the dark waters of the mangroves deep with secrets. According to her map, there was a small river running almost parallel to the road a few hundred yards within, one of the tributaries to the Ith they would soon be crossing, many a hand from the caravan leaving their wagons, skins and pots with them as they nipped into the forest to stock up on their supplies of water while they could, the caravan rumbling slowly onward.

Fritha tried not to let the dawdling pace bother her. She had awoken that morning with a _very_ determined cheer in her heart. Yesterday had been hard, setting out from Saradush, leaving both Anomen and hopes for some sort of snatched future behind her. But, as she kept reminding herself, she had chosen this path and it was not fair on Imoen to continue like this – insisting nothing was wrong, but still trudging along next to the girl like she was being walked to the gallows. Besides, she had pulled herself from such misery enough times before, was this instance any different?

Fritha did not consider it was, though the thought was hardly a comfort and she let her attention drift back to those walking with her. For the last hour, she and Imoen had been joined by Athic and his company, the petite blond Eruna on one side of that tall warrior, the old dwarf, Golund, on his other, while the half-elves, Vigo and Hantha, marched just behind. Fritha watched the tall man as he laughed at some joke of Imoen's. He seemed older than their usual kin, probably almost at his thirtieth winter, his black hair falling in a dishevelled mop about his square, smiling face. His nose was strong and looked to have been broken at least once, his jaw as grey as the iron breastplate he wore and Fritha considered with his pale colouring he likely always looked as though he needed a shave -though with a couple of days on the road behind them, perhaps at the moment he just did. The girl next to him was closer to their age though, her pale blond hair tidied away in to the dark brown hood of her travelling robes, the girl seemingly unaffected by the day's heat, though her skin held an olive cast that indicated she may have been born in similar climes.

'So, it is you and Fritha who are the Children in your group?' came Eruna, Imoen nodding blithely.

'Yeah, just us two, though to be fair, I didn't even know I was one until a few months ago.'

'Really?' the girl cried, 'I can't even imagine it –I've known all my life, well almost -my mother told me when she thought I was old enough to understand. She fell pregnant without lying with a man, and when she spoke with the local temple, the priests there made an examination and explained to her what had happened. They suggested she cleanse the pregnancy, but my mother would not. She said who my father had been would make no difference as long as I was brought up properly.'

'And how right she was, eh?' laughed Golund, the girl blushing prettily behind a hand.

'So was it the same for you then, Athic?' continued Imoen.

'No, I grew up in an orphanage in Neverwinter, but my blood made itself known when I hit my teens.' He chuckled good-naturedly, 'I was a bit of a tearaway.'

'Gods, I doubt anyone would have noticed any difference for us two,' exclaimed Imoen.

'Or you, at least,' added Fritha. Her friend laughed.

'Yeah… So it's just you and Eruna in your group then?'

'That is so,' the young mage nodded, 'Though Athic seems to draw more trouble than me.'

'I do at that!' he laughed loudly. 'Do you remember that brawl in the inn back in Daggerford?'

'Yes, we still aren't welcome there,' agreed Hantha with a stern toss of her dark brown hair, 'They've got a poster of you in the watch barracks.'

'So, what about you girls,' asked Golund, his grey beard twitching with a smile, 'does the blood attract the same trouble as it does for these two?'

Imoen glanced to her with a grin and Fritha could see it behind her eyes: she was wondering how much to tell them.

'Kind of -I was arrested by the Cowled Wizards a few months back, but that was mostly because I used magic in Athkatla. Can you think of anything else, Fritha?'

'Well, there was a bounty on us for a couple of thousand gold last midsummer –though that's since been withdrawn. Oh,' she added in sudden afterthought, 'and I had the Harpers after me for a time last autumn.' Imoen was not alone in her astounded look.

'The Harpers? You never said!'

'And what did you do to stir up _those_ meddlers?' asked Vigo, dark eyes keen beneath the frown. Fritha shrugged.

'Nothing really, they just got me to do this test and that was it, wanted to box me up there and then to keep me out of trouble, I just couldn't understand it. Now, Fritha,' she began, in a voice of serene inquiry, 'something easy to start with: what is your favourite colour? Hmmm… blood! Now, that's not exactly a colour… But I like it, it suits me -drinking it, washing in it, generally splashing it about the place.'

Their laughter was warming, Athic slapping her back. 'Hah! I like you, girl.'

Eruna's smile faded with her sigh. 'I wish all the Children could laugh about it like you and we. When we travelled with Melissan,' she shook her head sadly, 'such bitterness and hatred.'

Hantha nodded. 'Yes, well, some have had a harder time than you and Athic.'

'And what excuse is that?' said Athic bluntly, 'It's like Imoen said, this curse is a problem the Children share, and it's up to _all_ of us to work it out.'

'Is that why you came to Saradush?' asked Imoen.

The warrior shrugged. 'In kind. It was said Melissan knew of the prophesies, and how this whole mess is going to end -we came to see what she had to say. But it seems her solution was just to hide us all away and wait for it to blow over, and we all saw how well _that_ worked out. We were about to quit her company when that army arrived and trapped us there.'

'Aye,' sighed Golund, 'She had everyone cowering in that damned hall waiting for a miracle. I've never met so many lost, frightened people -that Melissan managed to get quite a following.'

'The weak will always require an anchor,' muttered Vigo, a glance to them inducing him to add, 'Though there are other reasons, I am sure, to serve the woman.'

'We don't serve her,' countered Imoen, 'we were just asking her about our friend who was missing and we sort of fell in together when the city came under siege.'

'You go to Amkethran now, do you not?' asked Hantha. Fritha nodded.

'Yes, there's a monastery there where we can find out some more information on the prophesies.'

A look was shared about them, Athic scratching his stubbly chin. 'Is that so…'

'What is it?' pressed Imoen. Hantha answered her.

'It seems Melissan has been giving many people the same meeting place, if not the same reason. She has told many on this caravan to await her in Amkethran; that insignificant village her next best hiding place for the Children, though, after last time, there are fewer who are willing to put their faith in her.'

'Not that they dared strike out on their own,' added Vigo with a sneer. 'A group of Tethyran soldiers arrived at Saradush the day after the battle, enticing many away with tales of a hidden refuge the Tethryan leadership have set up, where the Children will be kept in safety until this trouble has passed.' He snorted, 'Just like Saradush was supposed to be.'

'Many went with them, but what can you do?' sighed Golund, 'All must walk their own paths.'

'Here,' shouted a voice before any could reply, one of the caravan heads walking down the line of wagons towards them. 'No offence, but you guards would probably be a bit more useful spread along our lines rather than all clumped here having a nice old gossip.'

'Aye, I hear you, mate,' Athic called back, those about him already pairing up as they made to fan out again, 'Ah, we'd best go; they're paying our wages, after all.'

'Yeah,' said Imoen, 'perhaps we'll catch you later.'

The man nodded, he and Eruna quickening their pace to disappear behind the cart before them.

**...**

Minsc watched as the girls ahead of him were left to walk alone once more. Jaheira had fallen back in the caravan to help tend a mule that had stepped upon a sharp stone, Minsc remaining there as guard, though it was difficult to keep alert through that haze of heat, the sweat beading on his bald head, tunic clinging to his back where it ran down his spine to pool in the small, slick and distracting.

'Hey Minsc,' called Imoen, the girl glancing back to find him alone and beckoning wildly, 'come walk with us.'

Minsc felt Boo twitch in his pocket, eager for the company – he could see no harm in it.

'Hello Minsc,' greeted Fritha, a smile he was glad to see upon her face, 'How is Boo liking the heat?'

'He is not, young Fritha, and neither am I- the sun of these lands is like a fell witchcraft that steals the will and fogs the mind.'

'Poor Boo,' sighed Imoen, Minsc letting the hamster scurry from his hand to hers where he paused for a quick wash, 'I don't think any of us are enjoying the weather today.'

'We can sing an ode of the ice fields of you like,' offered Fritha, 'all that lovely snow; might help cool you down.'

Minsc smiled and shook his head, Boo back with him and scuttling up his arm to perch and taste the breeze from his shoulder. 'No, no, young Fritha, we have no strength for singing now.'

'We could make up our own ode and sing it for you,' came Imoen eagerly, 'about-about a mighty warrior who had to travel to foreign lands braving great heat and strange ways to battle a fierce evil!'

Minsc felt the smile pulling wide his mouth -how the gods had blessed him with such bright little sisters!

'Odes are not for the living, young Imoen, but serve to glory those past.'

'Maybe we can hang on for you a bit then, eh?' the girl laughed, and they spent the rest of their time together talking of the odes they would sing to describe to his fellow Rashemi the distant land of Tethyr. Of the silvery plains and the boiling sky, and the moist heat that clung to the skin –_and_ the _pretty, pretty boys_, Imoen had insisted as her eye had caught on the swarthy vigour of some wagon driver's son.

It was another few hours before the caravan just halted there on the road, spreading out across the plain and up to the forest's boundary as they made camp. They had found a place on the edge only a few yards from the tree line; Jaheira had thought the gloom of forest may hold some cool, though Minsc found it little respite, the heat hanging about him like a shroud as he sat before his tent, as far from the cooking fire as space would allow. Jaheira kept assuring them it would rain soon like the mantra of the shamans, the woman stirring the pot and sending frowns to those grey clouds as though they were betraying her.

It seemed Fritha had long given up on waiting for it though, and had taken her own measures, the girl disappearing into her tent and returning moments later, barefoot and wearing fresh trousers and the linen slip she slept in, that blue woven scarf still looped about her neck. It was a change that had given surprise to many, though Minsc saw no trouble to it; men wore clothes as the beast wore their furs, to protect against cold and other teeth of Nature, and when these were lessened, then less was needed.

She was knelt behind the seated Solaufein now, the drow fanning them both with his hat, his head forward as the girl gently worked some knot from the back of his neck, Imoen watching them with an undisguised interest. Young girls and their fixation with matters of the heart! How many evenings had he sat with his Fang, men tended similarly by the fellow warriors about them, all brothers in their camaraderie.

'Better?' Fritha sighed, at last, sitting back and shifting to take a seat on the robe they both were sat on. The drow smiled and nodded, and Imoen turned to find distraction from another, the girl skipping over to catch at Valygar's sleeve and divert him with talk, the man seeming to take pleasure in her attentions as he laughed and brushed something from her hair.

Minsc felt the frown crease his brow, the man hauling off his own tunic to throw it onto the bag beside him. Imoen had moved to help Jaheira with the cooking and he nodded to the man she had left, Valygar crossing to sink down next to him.

'The heat is still troubling you, Minsc?'

'This is so, though not as much as other matters; you and young Imoen seem together often of late.'

Valygar looked for a moment taken aback, before his face fell once more into that usual mask. 'Indeed. We have settled our… misunderstanding and are friends once more.'

'Yes, as long as _she_ knows this too.'

Valygar was frowning, but it mattered not; such words needed to be spoken and, as Boo would often tell him, it was through Minsc they were to be given voice.

'Right, dinner's ready so pass me up your dishes,' called Imoen, blithely rattling the spoon about the pot until Jaheira seized it from her, sending the girl back to her place as she served their meal herself. Valygar remained seated there at his side, making no moves to join the girl, a comfortable silence descending as everyone set to their dishes. The stew was rich tonight, the dried meat long cooked with a strong flavour of garlic, though Minsc hardly minded.

'Oh, if it's not Jaheira,' came a cheerful voice, Minsc turning to see the driver whose mule she had tended before, the man sending a friendly nod to the rest of them as he explained, 'I though you lot would be camped further up. Old Jemund is off loading some of his wine cheap, if you want any- oh and tell him to put a bottle on my tab for your help today, m'lady.'

Jaheira nodded once. 'My thanks.'

'Do you wish for some?' asked the dark elf of the girl next to her, their dishes already cleared. Minsc frowned; neither of them ate enough to keep a frost shrew fed. Fritha was nodding.

'Please. In fact I'll come, too,' she added, letting him help her to her feet, 'bring enough for us all.'

The pair rose to leave the camp, Imoen letting her eyes follow them.

'I didn't think much of it here, but I wouldn't have thought she'd wander about the camp in her nightclothes.'

'What does it matter? The warrior-sisters of my home enter furious battle with little more than the woad on their bodies.'

'Yeah, well, don't be mentioning that to her, I might find it a bit distracting.'

Minsc's laugh was shared by many.

**…**

Anomen nodded to the lad, the boy smiling as he raised a hand to pat the neck of the bay gelding next to him, the reins of both it and Brieanna's grey warhorse held in his other hand as the pair left their horses on the edge of the encampment. Anomen felt a nervous chill sweep over him despite the dusk's heat, a glance stolen at the woman next to him yielding the same reassuring, if stern smile she had offered him all day as they set off in the direction the guards had pointed, making their way through the winding avenues of carts and wagons, the clearings between bathed in light from the cooking fires, scatterings of tents pitched for those who could find no room beneath a wagon's canvas.

His departure from the Order's camp had been little more than a brisk farewell to a thoroughly impressed Simon and a deeply frowning Erick, the former promising him he would hand over the letter he had composed to Elquist come the morning. Brieanna had taken a moment to make her own goodbyes to the squires who had become her friends over the last month, and they had left before the sun had fully set, riding until well after the moonrise before they had stopped at a small inn on the outskirts of Tambeth village. The morning had found them risen early and on the road once more, his confidence growing with every mile. This was the right decision and, whatever happened between him and the Order afterwards, at least he knew he had been acting for the best as he saw it, a day riding south finally bringing them to the caravan and their goal.

They stopped twice, friendly merchants confirming their course through the camp until, on the far side of the encampment, he heard them, Jaheira's stern tones ringing clear from behind the wagon before him

'How much wild garlic did you use in the stew, Imoen? It is all I can taste now.'

'Just the amount you told me –and then half again for luck. You weren't complaining went you ate it. Winthrop used to say I'd be a good cook.'

'Your enthusiasm for food is certainly matched by few.'

A look from Brieanna, and Anomen drew a breath to at last stepd forward into that familiar circle of tents.

'At least we won't have to worry about any vampires to- Anomen?' Imoen gasped, all faces suddenly turned to him, their surprise frozen there, golden masks in the firelight.

Anomen swallowed. It was the first time he had seen everyone at such a loss, even the unruffled Jaheira looking rather taken aback as she rose to greet him, the camp about her still seated and staring up at their pair, Fritha nowhere to be seen.

'Anomen -and Brieanna, as well- this is a surprise. Has there been some trouble with the Order?'

'No, my lady, we-'

'What are you all gawping at?' cut in a voice behind and Anomen turned, Fritha's reaction the worst so far as she gave a start and the bottle she was holding slipped from her hand, the drow next to her darting forward to neatly catch it.

'Anomen?'

'Fritha,' he answered, just as surprised to find her there as she was, dressed in the slip she slept in and that blue-black scarf, the painted outlines of clouds and constellations swirled upon her shoulders, her tiered jade earrings lending an air of disparate elegance to the ensemble. And the girl could plainly tell, too, an uneasy smile quirking her mouth.

'Ooo, awkward –quick, Imoen, say something funny.'

'Right, a man walks into a brothel-'

'_No!_' cut in Jaheira, but the ensuing ripple of laughter was enough to diffuse whatever air of tension had been over them, Fritha receiving the bottle back from Solaufein with a smile as she inadvertently echoed the druid. 'So, you are both here -is there some trouble with the Order?'

Anomen drew a measured breath. 'No, but in the course of our short journey I came to realise that, though my commander may not agree, this trouble with the Bhaalspawn will affect more than just the people of Tethyr, it could even change the heavens themselves, and I believe my place is here.'

He glanced back to see if the woman beside him had anything to add, Brieanna raising a critical eyebrow, though she said nothing -a silence that would have likely been echoed about the camp had not Minsc raised his voice.

'Ah, you two are returned to our company and our cause- a great day when warriors such as good Anomen and Brieanna feel the call of battle and heed it!'

His enthusiasm seemed to stir the others.

'Yeah, the more the merrier,' chirruped Imoen. Fritha nodded, the smile by no means reflected in her eyes.

'Yes, quite, as Imoen says, misery loves company -ah, I mean the more the merrier. There should be room for you to pitch your tents over there- speak to Hambel about any needs you have for your horses –his is the green covered wagon just there.'

Anomen nodded once, turning at her gesture to head towards the moss-hued canvas he could just see between the jumble of wagons, her low groan as he just stepped from the edge of their camp unmistakable and Anomen glanced back to see her, Fritha's forehead dropped to his shoulder as Solaufein whispered at her ear.

**…**

Fritha shifted listlessly, the man next to her moving to accommodate. Even in her slip, the air was too close to bear any contact, she and Solaufein sitting side by side upon her robe, an inch between them, the others seated and reclined similarly before their tents. Anomen and Brieanna had returned not long afterwards, the pair offered the leftover stew, eating it with some bread from their own rations, a silence descending over the small camp as twilight drew in, all wilting in the sultry, cloying heat while above them the heavy grey clouds rolled on, departing with their promised rain. Jaheira thought it very odd; she had not felt the wind change. Fritha let her gaze linger on the pair opposite, and took a large, gloomy gulp of the heavy, dark wine, Anomen oblivious as he shared a quiet word with the woman at his side. They looked handsome together, tall and statuesque, the firelight smoothing out the slight untidiness to their clothes and hair that those many days on the road had had left with them. Fritha watched them, him tanned and dark, his broad shoulders flexing as he leaned forward to serve her some more wine, the woman's smile softening her rather severe features, that heavy braid of hair over one shoulder and shining chestnut in the fire's glow.

He had been her silver lining in this, her one happy success. Yes, the others had joined her for the bloodiest war Tethyr had likely seen since their revolution, but at least Anomen was back north, living the life he had endured a decade of sacrifice and doubts to earn. But, no, now he was there, and Elquist probably hadn't even waited for the ink to dry before sending word of this desertion back to Prelate Wessalen, and Fritha had the most awful feeling it was all her fault.

She never should have embraced him as they'd left, told him she _wished him the best._ It had been too sentimental, too poignant, such emotion sure to stir in him the desire for some _noble _sacrifice -these knightly sorts were always ones for a lost cause. Ferdanil's words drifted back to her, unbidden and quite unwelcome. Perhaps he had not had a choice; perhaps none of them did, following in her wake like thralls to her power, ready to throw themselves before her, all dying for their chosen one…

'Gods,' sighed Imoen loudly, a tang of garlic lingering in the air, 'the sun set an hour ago, when will this heat die?'

Fritha finally stirred enough to pull herself from that stupor, knocking back the last of her wine with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. 'I'm going to the river.'

Solaufein nodded, making to rise as well, Anomen watching their pair with a frown that eased somewhat as the drow offered, 'I will walk with you and find a place to make my prayers.'

'A swim?' said Imoen, eagerly finding her feet and grabbing her bag, 'Oh, count me in.'

Their three turned, barely a step from the camp when-

'Ah, I would come, too, if I may?'

All eyes seemed to dart from her to Brieanna. Fritha forced a smile.

'As you will.'

The water was icy. Fritha was slowly working up to full submergence, and was now in up to her thighs, the hem of her slip held out the way until she had braved enough of the water to bother removing it, trousers, scarf and earrings safe on the bank. Imoen had taken the opposite approach, throwing off her clothes with a wild abandon and dropping from the bank into the deep pool of the bend with a breathless shriek, Brieanna stood on the shallower side in camisole and shorts of bleached cotton, water rushing about her knees as she tried to wash her hair, the tresses so greasy the soap refused to lather.

'Ah, that's better,' sighed Imoen, the girl wading from the rushing water, her teeth beginning to rattle as she hurried wrapped a towel about her, 'I'm almost cold now.'

'Here,' said Fritha, reaching back to her bag and tossing the still struggling woman opposite one of the fine soaps she had brought from Suldanessellar, 'you may find that works better.'

Brieanna smiled, seemingly surprised. 'Ah, my thanks; we arrived at the inn too late yesterday for me to attempt this then.'

'So, Brieanna,' came Imoen from the bank, the girl all wrapped up and head on one side as she tried to knock the water from her ears, 'Anomen decided to change his mind and help us fight this Five, and you came _all_ this way with him –aren't you worried about being kicked out the Order?'

The woman shrugged, or did her best attempt at it, her hands still working on her halo of suds. 'I am not yet a member and if they refuse me entrance for doing what I believe is right, then perhaps it is better it remains that way.'

'Oh, is _that_ why you followed him down here?' said Imoen innocently. Fritha sent her a frown, but Brieanna seemed unfazed.

'In truth, it was I who told him to come.'

'You mean he didn't want to?'

Brieanna smiled, eyes flicking to Fritha. 'Oh no, he wished to very much, but men such as Anomen find it difficult to do the things want.'

'How lucky that he has you then,' continued Imoen sweetly. It was time to put an end to this.

'Anomen is very fortunate,' said Fritha, at last hauling off her slip and throwing it to land on her bag, 'not all his friends would have done as much.'

Imoen's attention was instantly diverted, her gasp of delight audible over the chattering water.

'Fritha, your back! Who did that for you?'

'Solaufein –does it look nice?' Fritha asked, trying to peer in vain over one shoulder,' I haven't been able to see it yet.'

'It looks brilliant! D'you think he'd do one for me if I asked him?'

Fritha shrugged, lowering herself into the water. 'Probably; what will you ask him for?'

'Er, what about _me_, looking all _powerful_, surrounded by the remains of my _fallen!_'

'What? You and a load of sweet-wrappers?'

Brieanna snorted, the woman choking on the soap she had inhaled and Fritha could not help a smile as the two women either side of her laughed.

**…**

'Ah, you three are back,' announced Jaheira, Anomen glancing up to see the women returned, all damp-haired, and half-clothed and he tried to look anywhere but at them as the druid continued, 'Good, we were about to bed down for the night.'

'_Bed, bed, bed_-' sang Imoen, skipping over to where the drow was lounging with a book, 'but before that, Solaufein and I have something _very_ important to discuss.'

'We do?' the man confirmed, Imoen throwing herself down at his side, the camp about them slowly stirring to life as Minsc moved to douse the fire, Jaheira packing up their leftover rations, Valygar seemingly distracted from removing his boots by Imoen's laughter, and in this activity Anomen found himself at her side.

'Ah, Fritha?' She glanced up from where she had been brushing down the robe that had once served as her seat, 'Fritha, could I speak to you before we retire?'

Her smile was at odds with her deep sigh, the girl throwing the robe about her shoulders to gesture back to the woods she had just left. 'In private, I suppose? Come on, then.'

And he followed her through the trees, the chatter of the river just on the edge of his hearing as she brought them to a halt in a small grove, the girl throwing herself down on to the grass and waiting for him to do the same.

'So, you're here, then.'

'Yes… Fritha, though I believe my decision to return was the right one, I am sorry if you find my presence here difficult.'

But the girl just shook her head, smiling tiredly. 'It's all right, and your sword is always welcome. Brieanna told us it was she who convinced you to return- she seems very nice.'

'She is.'

'And she looks to have your wellbeing well in heart,' Fritha added mildly, the measured look she sent him anything but. Anomen felt the blush rise with his discomfort.

'Well, she, too, believes that our place is here, battling this evil.'

'Yes…'

It was time to change the subject, Anomen letting a finger hover over the scattering of henna stars that speckled her collar bone. 'This is very pretty- Imoen's handiwork?'

'No, Solaufein's. He has quite the eye for pattern, apparently – it covers my whole back and shoulders, so I won't get to see it properly until I get to a mirror.'

The words stuck in his throat. 'So much of you… you werenaked for it?'

'Well, a significant proportion of me could have fallen under that description, yes. What does it matter? Everyone _is_ under their clothes.'

A silence between them, Anomen trying to find a voice for his reluctant question. 'Fritha, are you and he…'

'Friends?' she supplied promptly, 'Most certainly!' She heaved a sigh. 'Anomen, why are you here? I left you all set and happy to return to Athkatla.'

'You left me,' he corrected, 'having just asked Sir Elquist to allow me to join with you. When he refused to heed my request I was lost enough in myself to carry on that path, until Brieanna shared her wisdom and recalled to me the reason for my return.'

'Which is?'

'Because I believe the Five need to be stopped before they bring this land to the ruin we saw in Saradush.'

'So it's not because of me then?' she pressed, 'Honestly, Anomen, you _must_ tell me the truth.'

Anomen swallowed and gave her the answer she was so clearly desperate to hear. 'Fritha, I followed my heart down here, just as I followed it from Athkatla, filled with a desire to see justice done and righteousness prevail.'

The girl gazed at him a long while before nodding once, laughing weakly to herself. 'I must sound so conceited. Good then,' she continued, clapping him soundly on the arm, 'I am glad you are back, Anomen, the group does not feel the same with you absent.'

Anomen smiled; foolish as it was and based on a lie, _he_ was merely glad she was happy to see him.

'I am pleased, then. And there is one last thing I would speak to you of, Fritha, the sleeping arrangements.'

Fritha frowned. 'Well, you brought a tent with you, did you not? If you don't have one, I can ask-'

'No, no, I brought a tent, but it is to sleep two and, well, if you are still sharing with Solaufein, and I am now here with Brieanna…'

Fritha heard his intimation, the frown deepening. 'No, Anomen, I won't share with Brieanna; I barely know the woman. She's your friend, you share with her.'

'But Fritha-'

'But what?' she interrupted sharply, 'If it were Simon or Erick there would be no complaint, but just because she is a woman, you cannot lie innocuously next to her? Why? _Question_, Anomen, question the values you have learnt by rote.'

He asked her to reconsider all the way back to their camp, but he knew well Fritha's obstinacy and she would not be moved, the girl bidding him goodnight and instantly disappearing into her own tent to leave him dithering outside his in the empty camp, before he dropped to his knees to call quietly, 'Ah, my lady?'

'You can enter, Anomen, I am quite decent.'

Anomen pushed aside the flap to find her laid in the half-light beyond, just a shadowy outline under the blankets. Anomen quickly kicked off his boots and moved inside to kneel next to her.

'How is Fritha?'

'Driving me to distraction, as usual,' he muttered, hauling off his tunic and just resisting throwing it to the end of the tent. He could hear Brieanna's smile.

'I like her. She is not as I would have imagined, but I can see why you favour her -though I notice,' the woman continued, a slight disapproval creeping in, 'that the main reason for your return here was _not_ mentioned among the ones you expressed to the camp.'

Anomen could feel the heat rising in his face. 'Well, I was hardly going to say anything before the others, my lady.'

'You told Fritha, then, of your feelings once you alone had her ear?' the woman pressed. The faceless nature of the question made the lie no easier.

'It was spoken of.' Anomen sighed, all his focus on folding the dark blue shirt as he continued, 'I am sorry about this. I asked Fritha if she would share with you, but she refused to see any unease to the arrangements. But we can get a tent for you on the morrow and-'

'Anomen, it is fine,' the woman cut in calmly, 'And Fritha is correct: you would have none of these reservations were I a man.'

'But you are not.'

Brieanna chuckled. 'I am a warrior before I am woman, Anomen; it is my choice and long has it been so.'

There was not much he could say to that, Anomen finally settling down next her, the dark silence allowing the question he had been mulling on since they had left the Order two nights before to surface.

'Brieanna, why did you wish to come with me?'

'Because I believe things are happening here, Anomen, great things, and I believe I am fated to be a part of them.'

'You are so sure? You seemed set upon joining the Order even a few days ago; you came to Tethyr to prove yourself to them.'

'Yes…' she answered slowly, 'I did say that, but in truth, what others see as humility, I know as fear. Anomen, I deferred my judgement, because I felt I would fail it. All the Order know of me was in that letter from Sir Morged, a noble man who was willing to view my actions rather than what lingered in my heart. I have a temper, Anomen. It has been so ever since my parents were taken. The sisters at the temple taught me to channel it into righteousness, but the anger lingers still. In battle it is a constant struggle not to lose myself to it, and I knew that were I to be judged, the Order would see it and find me unworthy.'

'There is nothing wrong with having a temper,' Anomen reminded, hearing her voice echo the words behind his eyes, 'as long as it is controlled. The Order would have seen this. I know, for I am the same.'

'Yes, I confess I had heard this about you, though I could scarce believe it –you always seemed so mild. But if you have tempered your rage, then I must learn to do the same, and perhaps we can still stand in the Order together one day. Goodnight, Anomen.'

A rustle of blankets as she turned over, Anomen remaining on his back to stare up at the dark canvas, and it was a long while later before he joined her in sleep.


	14. The Evil that Men Do

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if it's coming across as a substandard version of what happened in the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Evil that Men Do**

Valygar could feel his lips quirking into a smile, the girl next to him barely able to continue her story for laughter, voice wavering as she recounted her tale.

'So, there I was in the guest dormitories, just slipping the note telling him where and when we could next meet under his pillow, when I see Fritha waving frantically to me from the common room at the other end of the hall. A pause, my heart rattling, and over it and the low murmur of the common room, I can hear their gruff philosophising on, I don't know, who had the nicest beard –three old sages from the Brotherhood of Tellewyen are back early from dinner and marching up the stairs about to catch me in their acolytes' dormitory. Ulraunt had already said that I would be scribing until the following summer if I was caught _fraternising_ with _our younger guests_ after that last lot of trouble, and I'm sure I'm for it, when Fritha dives for the chair next to her, thrusts this cushion up the front of those great smock dresses she used to wear and cries _Help! I'm having my baby! _Oh gods! Those old men instantly descend upon her, along with half the common room, giving me ample chance to clear the hall and slip past them for the stairs as she's borne off to the nearest sofa only for her to have to shamefacedly pull this cushion from under her skirts. Oh, she was so embarrassed; she spent the next tenday hiding in the kitchens until the Brotherhood had left.'

Imoen spent a moment lost to pink-faced laughter, Valygar silent and smiling as she caught her breath. The sun was on his back, already a good way up on its eastern ascent, the air fresh and warm after the muggy heat of the previous day. The caravan had set out again with the dawn, the road still skirting the forest's edge and their company were scattered in pairs along its length as their roles as guards required of them, Anomen, Brieanna and their mounts selected to be outriders. Valygar could just see them, blots of grey and brown out on the plains further down the caravan. Next to him, Imoen sighed, dabbing her eyes on her sleeve.

'Ah, Fritha'd kill me if she knew I was telling you this.'

Valygar glanced far back, past Jaheira and Minsc to where the girl herself was walking with Solaufein a good dozen cart lengths behind, the drow passing her one of the two apples he had just produced from his bag. Valygar had joined their group far later than most of the others –he wondered vaguely if she was much changed from the friend with whom Imoen had grown up.

'Were you and she always so?'

'Course!' Imoen exclaimed with more than a little pride, 'Our names were synonyms for _trouble,_ as old Phlydia would say. But I bet you were the same when you were younger.'

Valygar cast back, trying to recall those days of his youth. He had been a trial to his tutors sometimes, especially towards the end, when he would have to be found before he would agree to leave the garden for the library, but his younger life had never involved sneaking out to meet _boys_, passing coded notes in scriptorium or building chair forts in the library. Of course, he and his parents had had disagreements over the years, but discussions were had and concessions reached, and he had usually found it much less inconvenient for all concerned, himself included, just doing as he was bid.

Valygar frowned, thinking on his later years and the matter of magic on which he had _not_ been prepared to concede. He had likely been more trouble for his parents once he had left home –he wondered now, confronted with Imoen's, merry tales, if he had not been missing out on something. Beside him, Imoen was still waiting for her recollections of juvenile defiance.

'Well, I would sometimes go and beg the cook for treats when I was very young, and later I would hide in the gardens until I was brought inside for my lessons, though I don't believe I gave my parents any real trouble.'

Imoen looked predictably disappointed. 'Oh, well, it takes all sorts. I bet the sages would have much preferred a couple of children like you running about –or walking sedately,' she glanced to him, lips twitching with her sanctimonious nod, 'running can be dangerous.'

Valygar tried and failed to stop his smile from becoming a grin- he had the distinct impression he was being teased.

'So was the romantic assignation you planned worth all that trouble?'

Imoen laughed. 'Not really –seemed young Danilo was more interested in my access to the archives than me –though he was certainly a lot less keen on them when Fritha and I locked him down there with the spiders for the night for his cheek. Ah, Ulraunt had a fit.'

Valygar frowned. 'Did not Gorion mind all this trouble you brought him?'

'Oh, Fritha got a fair few scolding from him, but not me- he was her guardian, not mine. And a much easier time he had with her! She still thought boys _smelt_ until she was about nineteen. No, I was raised by Winthrop, the local innkeep who kept a tavern and some rooms for those who did not want to stay in the main library. It was a small place and quiet with it. The sages would sometimes come in for a couple on a evening, but no one was much for drinking there; you've just paid a thousand gold to stay in Candlekeep for a tenday, you're not going to waste a day on a hangover. We sometimes got the soldiers from the barracks in, but if you were caught drunk on duty it was pretty serious; Candlekeep was a serious place.' She glanced to him curiously. 'Maybe you'd be more like me and Fritha, if you'd grown up there –being like we are, it was an act of rebellion.'

'Perhaps,' he smiled, 'But how was it you came to be under Winthrop's guardianship?'

'I suppose because he was the one who found me. He was coming back from a supply run to Beregost when he came across this small caravan, only a few wagons really. It had been attacked by bandits, something he knew straight away because their bodies were littered about it. Everyone inside was dead, too. There had apparently been some magical explosion -perhaps what ever they'd been transporting had been volatile. Winthrop found me unconscious in one of the carts. I was about five or so, the sages reckoned; I don't remember that or anything before it. Winthrop brought me back to Candlekeep and they sent news of the raid to Beregost, made enquiries with the local watch, but no one came to collect me. So with one child already at the Keep, I guess they couldn't see the harm in another and I stayed there, took lessons with Fritha and helped Winthrop at the inn when she had to do chores for the sages. It's strange to think I could have a family out there somewhere, some aunt or cousin,' she gave a shrug, 'but it's just one of those things.'

Valygar didn't know what to say. He had known she had grown up in the Candlekeep, that she had been an orphan, he had just never considered the details of it before.

'I am sorry.'

But Imoen dismissed his sympathy with a grin. 'Nah, don't be. I had Winthrop and Beth and everyone, and Fritha was the same - in the end, I think we enjoyed making up our own parents better than the real thing. I remember my dad was-' She stopped mid-flow, the smile fading on her face. 'What's going on?' she asked of no one particular as the carts before them slowed, the girl marching to the edge of that wide road to gaze up the long line of wagons.

Valygar frowned, his eyes falling on some sort of checkpoint, a score or so of soldiers, their green cloaks all bearing the same red sun of Tethyr, moving down the caravan and taking out people to join the slowly amassing group on the roadside, some struggling, others crying and shouting their objections. Valygar felt a jolt through his stomach to match the blow as a tall man was violently coshed into submission, fours pairs of soldiers waiting there on the roadside to bind their hands and add each person to the growing chain of captives, the rest of the caravan rumbling slowly onward, their eyes straight ahead and making a point not to notice.

The checkpoint was drawing closer, two soldiers frogmarching a struggling man from between the carts just before them.

'Wait, no, I'm not one of them! I'm just a traveller!'

'By order of Her Majesty, Queen Zaranda of Tethyr, all Children are to come with us.'

'Oi, what is going on here?' called the stout driver of the wagon at their side, a young soldier closing to answer him.

'We're under orders to round up all the Bhaalspawn. Since they bring trouble wherever they go, it has been decided that any within Tethyr are to be contained for the safety of the entire populous. Are there any travelling with you?'

Valygar instinctively sidled in front of Imoen, hiding her from view as he fixed the driver with a dark glower. The stout man hesitated.

'Well-' He didn't get a chance to finish.

'Yeah, there's some Bhaalspawn travelling with him!' snapped Imoen, barging past before Valygar could catch her, 'You have something to say about that?'

The soldier suddenly looked a whole lot less sure of himself. 'Well, any of the Children are to- are to-'

'What is going on here, solider?' came a clipped voice behind him, the lad whirling back to his commander, and Imoen's ire redirected instantly to the tall, thickset man.

'I could ask you the same, mate! What are you doing with these people?'

'Our orders are quite clear. All Bhaalspawn are to be detained as per royal decree.'

Some of the others had caught up to them by now, the caravan halted around them, the soldiers and their prisoners watching the scene play out from the roadside.

'And what is being done with these people once they are taken?' demanded Jaheira.

'They will be moved to an undisclosed location where they will be under guard for their own safety until this threat has passed.'

'All conveniently in one spot awaiting the next invincible giant?' snapped Imoen, 'Did you _see_ Saradush?'

Minsc was frowning deeply. 'No, no, Boo says this is very wrong. Soldiers should be protecting innocent people and imprisoning evil ones –I think you are very confused.'

'It is not my place to question these decisions, sir. Now are there any Bhaalspawn in your company?'

The young soldier, swallowed nervously. 'Sir, she said-'

'Young Imoen said _nothing!_' growled Minsc. The command gave a curt nod.

'I see. Well, move along then.'

'I will not move anywhere!' shouted Imoen, 'Let those people go- you've no right to arrest them. How d'you even know they're Bhaalspawn?'

'I think the girl has a point,' rumbled a voice behind them and Valygar was surprised to see Athic strolling slowly up to them, the rest of his group assembled pointedly at his back. 'I was at Saradush and I don't recognise half of those poor bastards.'

'You freely admit to being of the Children?' confirmed the commander, 'Soldiers, take this man.'

'I wouldn't suggest that if I were you, lad,' came the dwarf behind him, a warhammer hefted from his belt as around him swords were half-drawn and spells readied, a good number of the soldiers leaving the roadside to close in behind their captain. Each group was tensed waiting on the other, the horses and oxen about them stirring fretfully, and perhaps it still all could have been talked out, except-

'I am sorry, but all Bhaalspawn are to come with-' the captain's hand did not even make contact with Imoen's shoulder. A blur of green and the man disappeared sideways with a loud curse, everyone whipping back to where Fritha was standing further down the road with Solaufein, the apple he had thrown now replaced by a small knife –a subtle indicator of what would next be hurtling through the air should they provoke it, though he definitely seemed the less intimidating of the pair at the moment. Fritha was white, sword drawn and trembling in her hand, the girl so furious she was barely able to form the words as she hurled a finger at the bound line of people next to them.

'What is _THAT?_'

Imoen laughed grimly. '_Oho_, now you've done it.'

Their commander still grass-side, the nearest soldier stepped in to answer her approach with the bravery that only callow youth could afford.

'As per royal decree, all the Children are to be impounded.'

'_Impounded?_' she shrieked, 'We are not _animals!_' Fritha whirled to the wagons next to her, those seated high above all suddenly looking anywhere but there, 'And you would have just let them too, wouldn't you? _Dogs!_ He is right, you _aren't_ worth saving!'

She whipped back to the commander who was just staggering to his feet. 'Release them now and get out of here, or I will slaughter you to the last!' Athic's group drew their weapons, Imoen letting blue energy crackle between her fingers, Minsc and Jaheira ready behind her, and Valygar felt a hand close about his katana hilt. A wary glance between the soldiers, Fritha's voice raised to a piercing shriek. 'Do you _want_ to die? You came here, and there were none; the Children all died in Saradush! I said _GO!_'

A nod from their commander, the men taking a moment to gather their belongings and fall into rank, at last turning to march west back along the road. Fritha whirled instantly on the people they had left, some of the others moving to untie them.

'And as for you lot, stick together and put up a fight next time! And I cannot make this clearer: _leave_ _Tethyr_. Just walk east until you're somewhere else.'

'But-But Melissan said we should meet her in Amkethran,' ventured one bold soul, a few about him nodding. Fritha scowled.

'Yes, well, Melissan has her own plan in this – as much as Yaga Shura, Queen Zarandra or any of them. Just leave Tethyr; the further you are from here, the more chance you'll have to survive.'

The group seemed to share a look and slowly gathered into some semblance of order, setting out back east along the roadside, the halted caravan watching them pass. Valygar turned back to the group at their side, Athic watching his brethren move off and Imoen voiced his question.

'You're not going with them?'

'Not me,' the warrior laughed, 'I figure you lot are the people to stick with –especially for anyone who's set on seeing an end to this curse.'

The half-elf woman next to him sighed, those about him looking equally grim. 'Then I fear we will have to part; this- this is much worse than anything I imagined and Mardah made me promise I'd come back in one piece.'

Much nodding from his companions and Athic smiled as he struck the woman's shoulder. 'I understand. Safe journey, you lot. I'll be back in Golden Hog by midsummer, so get the drinks in. What about you, Eruna? You off with them?'

The girl shook her head. 'No, my place is here.'

Athic boomed a laugh, squeezing an arm about her shoulders. 'That's my girl. Right, well, can we join with you, then?'

'Yeah, course, join the rabble,' welcomed Imoen cheerfully, 'but I hope you're ready for a hike.' And she turned to where Fritha was stood at the roadside, Jaheira next to her as the girl angrily signalled their two knights. 'Because I don't think we're going to be with this caravan much longer.'

xxx

Jaheira glanced skyward, the clouds parting on a fading dusk as the storm at last rolled on, the droplets she still felt drumming her hood just runoff from the trees and she tipped back the cowl of wool to shake out her short wavy hair. It seemed Fritha's anger had inspired another sort of tempest, clouds gathering above as they'd collected their pay from the caravan master and Fritha had driven them west through the rains Jaheira had promised yesterday at a pace that had soon left the caravan far behind.

They had finally left the road now, moving up to the tree line to make camp for the evening. Jaheira let her bag drop in the cradle of roots beneath the nearest tree; the storm might have been over, but Fritha's temper was still raging, their two horses watching the scene with dark, serene eyes as their group pitched tents and unpacked the rations that would be the night's meal, Fritha storming about collecting firewood and ranting all the while. Jaheira was surprised she hadn't tired herself out yet- it was exhausting just watching her.

'Those soldiers- _vile wretches! _Rounding up those people like cattle! And that caravan! _Cowards!_ They would have just walked by as they were cutting their throats!'

Eruna sank down next her pack with a deep sigh. 'Why are people so horrible?'

'People are weak,' offered Jaheira simply.

'People are bastards,' countered Athic's bitter snort.

'Hear, hear!' laughed Imoen. Minsc stepped back from the small fire pit he'd dug, the short spade resting across one broad shoulder.

'Boo says people are people. In Rashemen, my Fang protected many of the towns that bordered the icelands and many times did I ride into battle to fight for the people who had once mocked me and my ways.'

'Well, you are a better man than I, Minsc,' said Solaufein gravely, 'for I would have let them reap their own folly.'

Anomen was frowning. 'The good must stand as examples to the rest.'

'And we _did!_' snapped Fritha, hurling the pile of sticks she'd gathered into the pit, her fury setting them ablaze in a glance. 'To think those of the caravan _knew_ them, spoke to them for _two days_ on the road, laughed and shared wine with them -and then they just turned away and let them be taken! _Bastards!'_

'Now, Fritha,' reasoned Jaheira, 'I know you are angry in this, but they are merely people.'

'And just what are _we?_ Well, they made their choice, and now they have to live with it! I hope they're attacked by a whole _army_ of bandits; I hope they are murdered to the last man, the road blocked for miles by that line of burning caravans!'

The predictable outrage; Jaheira did not even bother adding her voice to those crying her name.

'Fritha!'

'Fritha, you cannot mean that!'

'Why? It would be their own fault for standing by as half their guards were arrested.'

A silence, no one seeming to want to provoke her further with a response, when-

'Though I wonder at your words, I think it commendable that your being reacts with such fierceness in the face of these atrocities,' said Brieanna succinctly.

Another pause. Athic sighed as he heaved himself up and set to unpacking his cooking pot and a collection of spoons. 'Well, this meal isn't going to make itself.'

'I should go and make my prayers,' said Brieanna as she made to stand as well. Fritha seized up the old iron pot.

'I'm going to get some water.'

And Jaheira watched her stalk from the clearing; with any luck, she would return in a better mood and no words of censure would need to be expressed. The druid had more patience for her outrage than she could normally have mustered, but she knew such anger would only do more harm if allowed to fester overlong.

Jaheira let her gaze linger on the fire's steady flicker, the flames licking about the pit that was already half ash from the inferno that had initially engulfed it. Irritation prickled at such waste, but it faded quickly. It was hard not to feel sympathy for the girl. It had all begun again too soon, Fritha just beginning to get herself back when she had been forced to leave Suldanessellar once more. She was not yet far enough from the broken young woman who had died to save that leafy city, and Jaheira saw it at moments like this and back at the caravan: the façade of cool leadership lost to reveal the angry thirst that in reality drove her onward, just as she had been as she had led them through the Underdark. The druid could almost see the shadow of that woman next to her, Veldrin whispering at the girl's ear, and Jaheira wondered suddenly if Fritha still heard the voice; it seemed the supreme expression of distrust to ask her.

Well, it was done now, and that they were on the road once more did not mean the girl would not have chance to heal. It was a long way to Amkethran and such journeys could be ones of the soul as well as the feet -as long as they managed to avoid any more scenes like today's.

Across from her, Brieanna was looking over her map, their heads in close as Anomen peered over her shoulder and Jaheira smiled to herself –she had no need for maps in these lands. They would be in Marmont by dusk tomorrow, a large sprawling town kept rich by its proximity to the main road, river and the capital, Darromar, all, and the place was well know for its craftsmen- especially the finely carved furniture for which that land was famed.

That Harpers were not welcome in Tethyr was true enough, but that did not mean they did not operate there, and she had visited the town a few times for their cause, its location making it a useful place for other things, as well -the often illegal excesses of Calimshan making their way through its gates on their journey north.

Fritha had once told her to renew her ties with her brothers- perhaps this could be the chance.

**…**

Fritha had been a long while in collecting their water, and she was wise to do so, the girl returning in a temper much cooled by this absence. Minsc understood such rages, it took time to calm again the soul again once its ire had been stirred, and he sent her a smile upon her return, the girl returning it sheepishly as she set the water above the fire and preparations could at last be made for their meal.

The stew was bubbling fiercely now, a large flat bread warming on the stone they had set amid the embers and the yeasty scent reminded him of home, sharing the heavy doughy bread and spiced ale with his Fang on those cold nights patrolling the tundra. He let the memory of it warm him, a much needed comfort after the disquiet of the day.

He usually found such matters simple. But this whole conflict was not so easily split into those men of righteousness and those of tyranny. What those soldiers had been doing was wrong, but they were following the orders of their queen, trying to protect the common people of that land from the war that was to come. And the people of the caravan should have raised up their voices in protest at such wrongs, but Minsc knew it was the nature of people of avoid such conflicts with authority, and the ashamed way they had turned from the scene had shown him where they hearts had lain in this, too weak though they were to act upon them.

And where was his heart? Minsc knew his answer there- it had lain with Fritha's own, everything to his satisfaction in the end, as the godchildren were freed and soldiers sent away unharmed, though he would not have seen her so wrathful for it. At least she was calm now, seated a few places along from him between Solaufein and Imoen, the dark elf's hand resting on the small of her back as they sat side by side as brother and sister. Minsc approved- all warriors should aid each other as they may.

Across the camp, Anomen seemed to have found in himself a great need to clean his kit, the man scrubbing vigorously the inside of his cuirass, Valygar at his side though such work did not hold him, the man's dark eyes lingering on the girls opposite and Minsc recalled their talk the previous night. It was a sad thing, when brothers clashed with words, but Imoen had been hurt by his lack of care and he would not have it happen a second time.

'Here, shall we have a bit of wine, while we're waiting on that stew?' offered Athic to those about him, the man already rooting through his pack to dig out a fat stone bottle, from which he poured a good cupful of dark red wine before passing it on to the woman at his side, Brieanna receiving it with a nod. 'I carted this all the way from Riatavin. Don't know why we never got round to drinking it –I suppose there was always something better on offer.' He gasped, choking over that first sour sip, 'By, that will cure you or kill you.'

'So, you only recently came to Tethyr?' questioned Jaheira, receiving the wine to fill both his and her own cup, Minsc nodding his thanks as Athic made his answer.

'Well, Eruna here's from Loudwater, aren't you, flower?

'Yes, my mother is the innkeeper of the Crossed Swords, when we met I was helping her there as I've always done, whilst studying magic under an old mage who has a shop in the town. Athic, Golund and Vigo were guests at the inn, called to the town by a merchant who wanted to investigate what had happened to his caravan. They needed someone who knew the area, so I put them in contact with Hantha, a ranger who lived on the edge of the High Forest and when they learnt I was a mage, they asked me to come too.'

'Aye,' nodded Athic, 'I'd worked with sorcerers on a few caravans, and they always come in useful. Plus, with her mam owning the inn, it meant we could get our rooms for free.'

Eruna laughed and batted his arm. 'Athic! As for the merchant's caravan, it seemed to have fallen to a barbarian raiding party, and the local militia were considering retribution, but a bit of investigation uncovered this was all set up by a rival merchant- the trouble he'd caused, I think they hung him in the end. After that, it seemed only right we stay together. We travelled around the area, helping local militias subdue the orcs and other raiders, or guarding caravans. My mother was so worried for me, at first, but she could see how quickly my magic was developing and she knew it was the right choice.'

A frown marred her young face, 'I kept in touch while we were about the northern lands; we often returned to Loudwater between excursions anyway, but since coming south, well, I have only been able to send a few letters. But she understands this is what I must do, and she accepts it.'

'Must be hard still having family with all this going on,' sympathised Imoen, 'I never felt lucky being an orphan before.

'What about you, Athic,' continued Fritha, 'you said you grew up in Neverwinter.'

'Aye, in a small orphanage on the edge of the docks run by the Helmites. The woman that ran the place, Sister Isolde, was a bit of a harridan, but she did all right by us, trying to get us apprenticed as early as she could, and get us learning a trade. She could see I'd be a handful and arranged with some lads over at the local watch station to drill me with bow and blade,' he laughed, 'channel that disruptive energy into something that would be useful later on -and it was. I joined up with a small band of mercs when I was just seventeen and left that city soon as I was able.'

'So young?' came Brieanna, 'Was the orphanage so terrible?'

'Nah, but I didn't care one bit for Neverwinter, with it bridges and towers and temples, so grand as to draw your eye away from beggars and barefoot children and everyone else the watch just herded into the docks district and left there to rot -and all of it under the great fat thumb of that self-proclaimed _lord_, Gnome-Botherer Nasher,' he sent the girls a meaningful nod, 'they say he favours the small-folk.'

'Really,' sighed Jaheira, over the girls' laughter, 'all towns have such troubles, Lord Nasher surely cannot be held responsible for them all.'

'Yeah,' conceded Athic, 'but I find when he looks after Neverwinter, he tends to mostly be looking after himself, and everyone else can go whistle. You did not see the troubles Sister Isolde would have trying to get coin for books and clothes for growing children, for the church could only give her so much -I didn't have a pair of shoes on my feet till I was twelve. Everyday there were fresh bodies to be pulled from the harbour, the watch doing little more than arranging for their burial. What more could they do? The thieves outnumbered them ten to one, and half of them were on the take anyway, their wages cut to a pittance to pay for the rebuilding of the city walls, and there was Nasher throwing this banquet and entertaining that Waterhavian delegation.'

Anomen was frowning. 'The man may have his faults, but he earned his position there and I believe that, at least, deserves some respect.'

'Well, where _I'm_ from, respect's to be earned, not dished out like yestereve's leftovers.'

'_Athic…_' muttered Eruna, a hand upon his arm. The man patted her knee, his manner warmer as he conceded, 'Don't get me wrong, there are worse places to grow up, but everyone sees Luskan and all its vices, and Neverwinter seems some shining flower of virtue by comparison. Well, I'll tell you, I've been to Luskan and I've been to Neverwinter, and at least the former _knows_ it's rotten to the core. Neverwinter is like a high-class whore: all fur cloak and no knickers.'

Imoen spat the wine she had just drawn back into her cup, Fritha hiding her face in Solaufein's shoulder as the girls laughed, the elf looking more amused by their delight than anything said. Jaheira decided to turn the conversation back to more sensible matters.

'So you travelled mostly about the Savage Frontier?'

'Aye, as Eruna said, for a good three or so years. We made names for ourselves about there, much like you lot did, I suppose -well maybe not, _we_ didn't stop a war.'

'You heard about that, did you?' laughed Imoen, looking rather pleased. Eruna nodded.

'One of the caravan drivers recognised your names from when he was in the Gate last summer, when you were being hailed as heroes.'

'Pretty impressive stuff,' agreed Athic. Fritha offered him a mild shrug.

'Perhaps, but your band could have likely done the same. Maybe the only reason you didn't stop a war, was because there wasn't one to stop.'

'Young Fritha is right,' nodded Minsc, 'It is not the evil you battle, but that you took up the arms to do so that is important.'

'Well put, my friend!' laughed Athic, 'Now, shall we see how this stew is getting on?'

It was ready and eaten with relish after that day of rain and walking, the forest about them stirring with the familiar sounds of the night creatures as the twilight deepened about them. Imoen leaned comfortably into the girl next to her, empty cup lolling in her hand. Solaufein, Brieanna and Jaheira had all disappeared off to make their prayers, Eruna busying herself over her spellbook, while the men played a few hands of Hearts. Fritha's gaze was on them, or one of them anyway, her eyes following Anomen as he leaned forward to collect the cards for that round.

'So, he's come back to you, then,' offered Imoen quietly.

'Well, he's _back_,' Fritha conceded, 'I think the reason might still be open to dispute.'

Imoen snorted –for someone who'd earned enough praise within Candlekeep's walls, her friend could be surprisingly dense.

'It's clearly because of you, Fritha!'

'He says not.'

Imoen was astounded. _'Really?'_

'Yes, swore it was all for the cause of righteousness –had nothing to do with me.'

Imoen glanced back to him, just resisting the urge to march over there, give him a kick, and ask him what in the Hells he was playing at.

'And how do you feel about that?'

The girl just shrugged. 'Not much -especially for the fact he was lying through his teeth. But I think that he did is a good sign,' Fritha continued musingly over her laughter, 'I mean, if he'd come back with vocal declarations of love undying, then I would have had no hope; the man has a stubborn streak that makes _me_ look positively reasonable. But this way… He knows our past always going to be between us, but if he's willing to lie about it, then perhaps he's realised that trying to rekindle what was there isn't going to be the best for him in the long run.'

The girl smiled, her gaze falling pointedly on the dark-haired woman who had just arrived back at their camp, 'And I'm _sure_ once that idea has settled, it will only be a matter of time before he decides his affections lie elsewhere, and that will all tie up nicely.' Fritha glance to her, 'I don't suppose you want to play matchmaker, do you? Help things along?'

Imoen dropped her attention to her boot laces and firmly shook her head. 'Nah, I've had enough of romance lately to last me a lifetime- or at least the next tenday,' she added with a laugh; after all, melancholy really didn't suit her. Fritha was unconvinced.

'You really liked him, didn't you?'

'Yeah,' Imoen admitted in heavy confession, the dull hurt of it ignored but never quiet forgotten, 'but I should have known it would come to nothing. I'm a sorceress and about seven years his junior and a load of other reasons I just wouldn't have even considered.'

Imoen scowled at the scuffed toes of her worn leather boots. Gods, when had she become so caught by the thing? She had been telling herself she wasn't all that bothered about him for days now -longer than some her sweethearts had lasted- so when was it going to become the truth? Imoen sighed, resigned to feeling bad for at least a _few_ more days; it was time to change the subject. She sent a nod to the knight opposite. 'So, it's really all over between you two?'

Fritha frowned. 'What happened to you having had enough of romance?'

'Yeah, for _me_,' Imoen laughed, 'And I'll take the fact you're avoiding the question as a _no_.'

She had expected indignant protests, but Fritha just sighed.

'Imoen, it's not a yes or no answer. He is Anomen. He was in love with me before I even realised it. He pursued me for almost a month, and we were only together about the same length of time before I'd lost my soul and decided I hated his guts! I'm not sure either of us should want to go back there again.' The girl sank her head into her hands, 'I don't think I could take the stress for one.'

'Ah, has this morning's outburst finally caught up with you?' came a voice above them, Jaheira returning from her prayers to drop neatly next to her and pass the girl a twisted dried root that Imoen recognised as one of the druid's headache cures.

'So, did you ask Silvanus to give us better weather tomorrow?' asked Imoen eagerly. The woman sent her a stern frown.

'You will be surprised to hear I did _not_ bother my Lord with such trifles.'

'Truly? I'm always on at Mask for stuff.' Imoen clapped her hands together, eyes screwed shut in earnest petition, 'Please, please, please, _please_ can you get rid of this pimple on my chin by tomorrow; it looks like I'm growing another head.'

Fritha was laughing, though Jaheira looked distinctly less amused. 'We will be in the town of Marmont tomorrow; if the blemish is still there, you can go to the shrine to Sune and ask the same –I imagine She will be more inclined to hear you.'

'Shrine to Sune -do you know Marmont, then?' asked Imoen. Jaheira shrugged.

'I passed through there with Khalid on a few occasions.'

'Any good taverns?' questioned Fritha, absently dunking the root in her wine.

'I was not in a position to see.'

'Ah, never left your room, eh?' nodded Imoen, sending her a wink, 'I got you.'

Jaheira gave a burst of laughter loud enough to startle the whole camp.

'You two will be the end of me!'

**…**

Solaufein ducked into the tent, his eyes taking pleasure in the sudden darkness. Fritha was already laid under her blankets and likely dozing by the steady sigh of her breathing, the girl starting awake as he threw off his tunic and lay down beside her.

'I am sorry.'

'It's all right,' she murmured, 'For one awful moment, I thought it was time for our watch. When did Jaheira say we are on?'

'The watch after next- Minsc will wake us.'

Fritha sighed and turned to lie on her back, kicking the blankets from her feet. 'I much preferred it when no one trusted us to take one,' she grumbled quietly. Solaufein smiled, feeling again that warm acceptance her friends had shown him from the very start.

'I do not know- there are other benefits to travelling with this group.'

'I am glad you feel at ease with them-' she snorted tiredly, 'one of us should.' He watched her gaze up into the tent's peaked darkness. 'They won't say anything, but my anger worries them.'

'I was surprised myself today,' he admitted, 'I thought you resigned to the nature of people.'

He felt her shrug. 'I thought I was. But today, they weren't just strangers. They knew those people, out numbered those soldiers ten men to one and yet they still turned away and let those Bhaalspawn be taken. Maybe if one driver or hand had said something, _anything_, I wouldn't have felt so cheated, but they carried on walking- _these_ are the people I could end up dying for?' She sighed again and shook her head. 'I never meant anything more than when I threatened to kill those soldiers… I can see it upsets the others, that they think I am perhaps falling back to someone I should have banished when my soul was returned.' She glanced to him, eyes bright in the gloom, 'Does it worry you, too?'

His answer was firm enough to assuage even her dark fears. 'No. You anger was justified and necessary. Eilistraee teaches us that we must accept the faults of others, but repay any violence in swift kind, lest more are harmed by such faltering. If they had forced your hand today, I would have fought by your side without hesitation or doubt.'

She was smiling, her face wearing the soft look she would sometimes get, as though her heart was wavering between joy and sorrow.

'I'm glad you are here, Solaufein. And I'm _really_ glad you were here this morning,' she added with a giggle, 'I can't throw for toffee. That apple would have missed the captain by a clear yard, thunked off Imoen's head, then Minsc would have nutted the commander, and there would have been a brawl erupted before we'd even arrived.'

Solaufein laughed. 'I am pleased, then, my skills are at last being employed for something worthy.'

'Do you mean that?' she pressed quietly, 'I worry sometimes that this is not how you envisaged your life when you agreed to come with us.'

'It is not, but only as far as I could not have imagined what to expect.'

'I was talking to Eruna earlier. You know there are settlements of drow who worship Eilistraee within the High Forest –perhaps you could find a place among them.'

It made him sadder than she could know to hear her make these plans for a future she might not see.

'Perhaps…'

'Well,' she sighed, turning over to nestle down among the blankets, 'it is something to bear in mind. Goodnight, Solaufein.'

'Goodnight, Fritha.'

xxx

Their pace was much faster without the caravan, another morning's walking finding her at Valygar's side, Imoen laughing as he had shared with her the story of the time early on in his life outside the city, his hunting perch in the low boughs of a tree above a wild pig run somewhat compromised when a nesting jay had taken exception to his presence. He still had the scar on arm where the fall had broken it.

It was nice hearing about his past. It seemed to close the gap in their ages, helping to banish that air of the disapproving older brother, though it was likely a manner she encouraged in him, with her many tales of mischief and misbehaviour from her old home.

'Ulraunt often said he _rued the day_ I walked through the gates.'

'Was there never any talk of sending you both to an orphanage?'

'No, and I never even considered they would at the time.' Imoen sent him a cheeky grin, 'Why on Toril would they have wanted to? I suppose now it will have been because they couldn't trust Fritha would be safe in the outside world- and perhaps me too,' she added thoughtfully, 'I was never sure whether they knew of my heritage too, or just suspected, or maybe they didn't know at all, and just kept me about cause they could.'

Valygar frowned. 'Did you not miss the company of other children?'

'Not really. You can't miss what you've never had, and me and Fritha had enough in each other. Together we built our own secret world, away from the rules and the silence of the library. We knew were we both orphans and we wile away the hours when we were younger talking about who our _amazing_ parents had been. My dad was a Calimshite pirate and my mum was a Pasha's concubine he'd whisked away. Yeah, I know it sounds like the plot of something Aerie'd be reading,' she laughed at his look, 'but it was great when we were younger. I can't think what Fritha's mum had been, but her dad was a Purple Dragon Knight. Here, Fritha,' she called to where her friend was walking with Solaufein just before them, the girl pausing to turn back at her hail. 'Fritha, who was your mum again?'

'You know she was a lady from Ashabenford, why ask me this?' the girl snapped with a lot more heat Imoen felt the question had warranted

'Calm down, I didn't mean your real one. The one we used to pretend about, you know, when we made up our parents.'

Fritha was scarlet, eyes seeming to avoid the man next to her as she mumbled, 'She was a temple dancer at the elven city of Evereska.'

'That was it!' Imoen cried, 'A dancer to Angharradh.'

Fritha said nothing, returning to their path as Jaheira halted at their head.

'Well, we can stop now for something to eat, I think.'

Fritha turned instantly to the forest. 'I'm going to refill my flask.'

Jaheira was already on the roadside and stooped over her bag as she rummaged.

'Well, wait, Fritha, and you can take everyone's-'

'She's gone, Jaheira,' said Imoen reluctantly.

Solaufein cut off her anger with his offer, hand held out for the druid's flask. 'Here, I will take the others to her.'

He could hear the river's chatter after only a few paces from the treeline, his passage through the undergrowth almost noiseless, and he came upon her soon afterwards, her back to him as she seemed to watch that rush of water, a silver leviathan between two banks lush with reeds.

'Fritha?'

She glanced back and quickly turned away again, but it was enough to see the mottled wetness to her face, her voice falsely bright as she gestured to the ground at her feet.

'Oh, hello, Solaufein, you brought the others' flasks –thanks. Leave them there, and I'll fill them and bring them back in a moment.'

He closed to her side, a hand hovering over her arm.

'Fritha, are you-'

'I'm fine,' she cut in with a smile, wiping a sleeve across her cheeks and finally facing him, 'just being silly. It just catches up with me sometimes, how different this life is from the one I used to dream about in Candlekeep. I'm not complaining,' she added quickly, as though she thought her sorrow overindulgent, 'it's just… it can just catch me off guard sometimes.'

Solaufein sent her an understanding smile. 'Then you are right to weep. You must let your soul grieve its loss, for only then will it be able to come to terms with it.' He reached into his pocket to remove the small square of folded linen, the handkerchief she had long ago given him for his brow on some hot day back in Suldanessellar and had remained with him unused since. He placed it neatly in her hand, his lips twitching. 'There: weep as you will.'

Fritha burst into wet laughter. 'You _swine!_ I was having a lovely time feeling all sorry for myself, and now you've gone and spoilt it.'

The drow could feel the smile warm all the way to his stomach. 'Well, I am sorry to hear that.'

'Come on,' she sighed, stooping for her flask and taking a step towards the river, 'let's get these- _oh gods!_'

She started back with a cry, Solaufein darting up to meet her and they both leaned forward together. And there among the reeds it stared up at them: a bloated, hollow-eyed face.

**…**

Anomen gazed down at the three bodies before him, grey and swollen with water, skin hanging from wounds in fleshy ribbons, or pocked here and there to a fine lace by the nibbling of fish, revealing the dull pink musculature beneath. Fritha and Solaufein had burst from the trees but a quarter hour ago, the girl white and announcing gravely that they had found something. And indeed they had, a quick search uncovering two more bodies on the opposite bank, the three hauled out and laid now on their side of the river, two bearing the wounds that indicated a fierce battle, the last with his throat cut, Jaheira knelt over them as she made her examination. Anomen did not know how she could bear to be so close; the _smell_…

'Well, they have likely been dead about two days considering their condition.'

'Boo wonders could it have been bandits?'

The druid looked grim, lifting the arm of the nearest body over to show them the ligature marks at his wrists.

'Then he was still bound when they dispatched him,' confirmed Brieanna.

'More than likely, and untied afterwards when they made to dump the body.'

The knight shook her head. 'That was no way for this man to die.'

'It's no way for anyone to die- Cowardly dogs!' spat Athic angrily, Eruna's olive skin almost a match for those beneath her as she stared down at the grey body.

'I- I recognise him.'

'What now?'

'He was in the hall with us back in Saradush; he was one of the Children.'

'And the other two?' pressed Jaheira.

'Maybe the woman, I'm not sure.'

'It was those soldiers, wasn't it?' said Imoen, her voice strangely even.

'It would look that way at the moment,' sighed the druid, dusting off her knees as she rose once more. Eruna looked tearful.

'Oh, why would they do this?'

'They clearly resisted,' offered Valygar. 'Perhaps they decided they had to be subdued in another way.'

'More Children dead!' burst out Athic, 'This damn army is going to do the Five's job for them.'

Fritha said nothing- after the rage of yesterday her silence was all the more worrying, Anomen watching her stare blankly at the bodies.

'Are we going to bury them?' asked Eruna quietly. Jaheira shook her head.

'I fear the ground here will be too thin and we have not the time, though this place is not such a bad one to take your final rest. Come, we should get back to the road.'

And so they sat there and finished the meal they had been halfway through. No one seemed to have much of an appetite, but they ate anyway, silent save for the requests for tea or the dark vinegar that dressed their bread. Fritha finished first, the girl rising to walk a short way out into plains, her eyes fixed on the distant mountains she had once walked through on her search for Yaga Shura's temple. Anomen took a long draft of water from his flask and slowly rose as well.

She did not turn at his approach, eyes still fixed upon the sky.

'Fritha?'

'It's all happening too fast. There are too many players in this now; too much is outside of my control.'

Anomen felt his stomach drop at the despair that edged her words. 'Fritha, we can only do what is within our influence, just walk our own path and trust in the Fates to deal with the rest.'

'But then, when we reach the end, then what? It may be too late.'

'Too late for what?' he pressed, but she just shook her head.

'Anomen! Fritha!'

They turned as one to find Imoen waving to them, those behind her packing up.

'Come,' said Fritha, voice steady once more, 'we need to reach Marmont before nightfall.'


	15. The Long Night

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'The Story of O' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the above, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: This will be the last chapter now before the new year, so I will take the opportunity to thank my betas for all their hard work over the year and thanks also to everyone who left feedback –it's always appreciated. Well, Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it and best wishes to everyone for the coming year._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Long Night**

They reached Marmont with the sunset, the walled town looking small and huddled on the vastness of those plains, grassland becoming farms of wheat and other crops as they closed upon the gates. Jaheira observed the change with only a slight displeasure –all had to live in that land and the wilder plains seemed little more encroached since her last visit there many years before. Their journey had been pleasant enough in the end, everyone shaking off the shadow of that grim discovery with each passing league, talk and laughter slowly returning to the group, and only Eruna still seemed affected by what they had found. Perhaps her previous life had not prepared her for such inevitable horrors – or perhaps she was just not inclined to make the pretence with the rest of them.

They arrived just before the gates were to be locked for the night, the town large enough that strangers were commonplace and the guards allowed them entrance with just the few questions and dark looks that were reserved for all mercenaries and other men whose loyalty followed the coin purse.

Marmont was a prosperous town of stone buildings and cobbled avenues, people hurrying past them on their way home after another long day, their group walking the streets from the gates and pausing outside the lights of a busy tavern to get their bearings, Solaufein wrapped in his cloak and melting into the shadows of the doorway opposite. The tavern's front was set far back, the doors on the other side of a covered wooden veranda that stood a few steps above the street, the tables filled with patrons all enjoying a warm ale with the dusk's cool, Anomen letting his gaze pass over them as he scanned along the avenue.

'We need to find somewhere to stay the night.'

Jaheira nodded. 'There used to be an inn-'

'What about here?' cut in Imoen eagerly, 'And they've got stables for the horses.'

Valygar was giving the bustling terrace a critical frown.

'It seems a little,' his brow lowered with the word, '_lively_.'

'Exactly! Come on!'

Imoen was already on the first step, his sleeve in hand as she _encouraged_ Valygar to follow, Solaufein leaving the shadows as their group turned after them, when a body lurched from the alley behind, falling forward to collide with him. It all happened too fast, the drow's hood fallen back in the scuffle, the old drunk who had staggered into their midst regaining his balance to come face to face with Solaufein. His voice echoed with an agonising volume along that stone street.

'_Dr_-_Drow!_ He- he's a _drow!_ Get back from me, filthy _murderer!_'

It was difficult to say which landed first: the gobbet of spit he had flung at the elf or the fist Fritha had backhanded into his jaw, the drunk suddenly sprawled on his back, a hand fumbling for the knife at his hip, though his attention was suddenly refocused as he struggled to shift the heavy-soled boot Brieanna had pinned onto his neck. 'Not _one_ move.'

'What is going on here?' barked a loud voice. A flurry of movement, Solaufein bundled behind a wall of bodies as a watch constable and two guards approached from along the avenue behind them. Fritha turned to answer him.

'This man spat at me and I took retribution.'

At their feet, the drunk hastened to offer his own version of events. 'No, I never! There was-' the rest was lost to a choke as Brieanna leaned in her weight. The young constable glanced up to the veranda next to them.

'Anyone here see what happened?'

Fritha was glaring at them, just daring someone to pipe up and contradict her, the patrons turning slowly back to their drinks- it seemed a desire not to get involved worked both ways. Jaheira watched the constable frown. He was young, and had not held the command long by the indifferent attitude of the two men that followed him, the patrons from the tavern discreetly scrutinising from behind their drinks –this moment could forever set his reputation upon those streets. He turned his attention back to Fritha.

'Your name please, miss.'

Jaheira knew what came next. 'I understand the need to keep order, but is this really necessary?'

'I am afraid so, madam. Brawling is not tolerated within the town walls- the penalty is a fine and a night in cells –I'll have to take you in, miss.'

'No! She did nothing!' cried Minsc, Imoen nodding in vehement agreement.

'Yeah! He started it!'

The lad swallowed, a mere glance to those apathetic men behind betraying his nerves.

'I understand, miss, but the law is the law.'

Fritha gave a weary laugh. 'He sounds like you, Anomen. It's all right,' she continued, letting her bag drop from her shoulder to place the strap into Minsc's waiting hands, her sword unbuckled and offered over to Imoen a moment later. 'I'll come quietly. And the name is Freya, Freya of Beregost.' She glanced to them, 'You lot come and pay my fines in the morning.'

'And where are _we_ going to stay?' cried Imoen after her.

'Why not here?' offered Athic with a laugh, 'I think we've made what impression we need to.'

'Athic is right,' nodded Jaheira, already half-turned to follow as Fritha moved off with the guards, 'go and get rooms. I will rejoin you all shortly.'

Jaheira sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth, trying to suppress the urge to just grab the girl's shoulders and give her a good shake as she fell into step beside her, the guards that followed a few paces back and out of earshot of her hiss. '_By Silvanus, Fritha_-'

'I just reacted,' the girl cut in.

'Yes, something I notice you have been doing with an _increased_ regularity of late. We are _trying_ to be inconspicuous.'

'You would have just had me stand there while Solaufein was spat on?'

The druid sighed tersely. 'Fritha, I need not remind you that Solaufein is drow and has likely suffered a few centuries of abuse far worse than some drunkard's slurs.'

'That is not the point and you know it. I stand there and do nothing, and I may as well spit on him myself.' The girl sent her a surprisingly open look. 'I reacted, I am not dissatisfied with the result, and now I am facing the consequences- I see no problem. Ah, we're here.'

And Jaheira turned back to find themselves arrived at a long building of grey stone that stood over two tiers, a shield bearing the salient boar of the town's arms hung above the entrance. The constable ushered them officiously through and into the room beyond, a large square space with a single iron door leading from it, presumably to the cells. For all her bravado, Fritha seemed to be avoiding looking at it, though the room they were stood in held enough to draw the eye, a large round table set up just behind the main door, five guards playing a raucous hand of cards about it, a gleaming pile of copper in the centre.

'Well now,' came a broad, friendly voice, and Jaheira glanced back to see a tall man unfolding himself from behind a paper stacked desk that had been pushed back into the corner to make room for the game table. He was dark-skinned and black-haired in usual Tethyran colouring, likely past his fortieth winter and growing thick about the middle, a contrast to the dark hair thinning on his crown, his face bearing the lines from years of laughter and a few too many late nights on the ale. He was eyeing their arrival with an air of mild exasperation that seemed directed at his eager young constable, and Jaheira considered the captain looked to be the sort of man who approached life with the simple aim to get through each day with the least amount of trouble, and who likely saw every arrest as just more paperwork.

'What you got here then, Gaffrid?'

The lad sprang to a salute that looked incongruous in his surroundings. 'Captain, one Freya of Beregost, arrested outside the Ferryman's Rest tavern for brawling.'

The captain's bushy eyebrows darted an inch up his lined forehead. 'Brawling? A nice little thing like you?'

'Aye,' laughed Fritha, 'the bloke I decked called me something similar.' Her eyes flicked to the table next to them, 'Ooo, is that Berger's Draft?'

The guards glanced up from their game.

'Aye, lass, you know how to play?'

'Yeah, but I'm pretty poor –I lost enough silver to sink a trireme last time,' she added with a laugh.

A sly glance about the table.

'_Well _then_,_ lass, pull up a chair if you like; let's see if Tymora is with you today. The minimum stake is two coppers.'

And Fritha dropped blithely into the nearest seat to be dealt in. Next to Jaheira, young Gaffrid was mouthing in voiceless indignation.

'Well then,' continued the captain easily, 'we'll keep her here tonight, m'lady, and you can come pay her fine in the morning.'

'I will be here.'

Back at the table, Fritha was making every effort to settle in.

'Ale, lass?'

'Ooo, I wouldn't say no.'

Jaheira rolled her eyes and stalked out.

**…**

Solaufein kept his head down, feeling the tension in that room about him -not an unfamiliar sensation considering where he had come from, but an unpleasant one all the same in that company where, until now, he had felt like welcomed ally, not tolerated _burden_. They were gathered in one of the rooms they had rented, unassigned to any pair as yet, as they all sat on beds and floor, cloaks and bags at hand awaiting he knew not what. Solaufein did not feel any guilt for what had happened, not for the man who they had sent sulkily off down the street, Imoen leaving him with the warning that if he caused any more trouble for them, a bruised jaw would be the _least_ of his worries, nor for Fritha, walked off to the local gaol to pay for her intervention. Brieanna had assured him at the time that no harm would come to her whilst in the guards' custody, though he had held no such fear –Fritha would have hardly gone with them so peaceably were there any danger.

No, all he felt as he pictured again her arrest in his mind, watching her move off, Jaheira already hissing admonishments at her ear, was a fierce pride. Her temper was a glorious thing, wild and precise and thrown out at an unjust world, and he saw in her all the things he could not do –years of suppression leaving his will too strong to accept any loss of composure, and even his anger was controlled, like a tethered beast.

The room was small and cramped with them all within, the two beds serving as seats for half of them, Eruna and Brieanna perched upon one, Anomen and Athic wedged shoulder to shoulder upon the other, Valygar finding a seat before the dresser, while Minsc sat on the floor beneath the window. As for himself, Solaufein had found a place upon the hearthrug, Imoen knelt next to him before the cold grate, an anxious frown creasing her brow, and he offered her a reassuring smile as her gaze moved to him; he had no worries. The room glanced up as the door creaked open, Jaheira appearing in the mouth.

'Here you all are; the innkeep said you were on the third floor.'

Imoen was already knelt up from the hearthrug, eager for news as the woman sank down beside her.

'Is Fritha all right?'

'She is fine, Imoen. I left her playing cards with the guards, fool that she is.'

'She is no fool,' countered Brieanna sharply, her voice softening as she conceded, 'I will admit her actions were impulsive, but the thought behind them-'

'There was no thought behind them,' snapped Jaheira, '_that_ is the problem here! She acts too much on impulse lately, and it draws to us attention we could well be without. Arrested by the watch,' the druid muttered angrily, 'news of our arrival could be about the whole town by dawn.'

The disagreement was getting heated, Brieanna tossing back her long braid and straightening with a physical defiance. 'By which time _we_ will be departed. What would you have had her done instead? Just stand there as one of our company was dishonoured?'

'Boo agrees with good Brieanna,' intervened Minsc evenly, 'such men who let ale rob them of their sense, need to be shown that other men's honour cannot be stolen similarly.'

'By a boot to the throat? I wonder, does Torm approve of the intimidation of outclassed, outnumbered _drunks?_'

'My lady!' cried Anomen, any attack on faith an unfair blow in his opinion. Brieanna dipped her face, though no blush rose to her cheeks.

'My actions were rash and driven by an anger unbecoming to my Lord; this I know and must atone for myself.'

'I would have done the same, my lady,' assured Anomen, a glare sent to the druid opposite, 'you were merely the swifter of us.'

A long pause as wounds were licked and anger faded, Solaufein sensing the air change as Valygar's dark eyes came to rest upon him. 'I fear these kinds of hostile encounters may become an all too regular occurrence now.'

Solaufein quirked a cool eyebrow- there was a time for subtlety, and there was a time for directness.

'You would have me leave your company?'

'No!' cried Imoen and Minsc together, though the drow noted many others remained silent. Valygar at least had the resolve to hold his gaze.

'I did not say that, but it cannot be denied that your presence here could be seen as a disadvantage- we wish to travel without notice if nothing else.'

'So you _would_ have me leave. We can present the idea to Fritha if you wish, but _I _was her companion when all others were found to be absent,' the drow retorted with a bristling pride, 'do not be so sure who she will select to accompany her should you force her choice.'

'That is not what was meant, Solaufein,' rejoined Jaheira briskly, 'but surely you yourself cannot welcome these encounters any more than we.'

'Perhaps we can disguise you somehow,' offered Imoen, 'I bet I could manage a glamour or the like.'

Eruna nodded, eager to help, as well. Solaufein's face was set –he had the feeling this was the sort of discussion that could only be had when Fritha wasn't there to throw a fit on his behalf.

'If all agree that it is the only way to continue, then I will comply,' he conceded, 'though I would rather _not_.'

'Well, this isn't something which needs to be decided on now,' sighed Athic. 'To be honest, I'm more worried by what we found earlier than anything that's happened since. If the Tethyran army are rounding up people, I wonder if we'll even be able to make it to Amkethran, or at least, without a line of dead soldiers behind us.'

Eruna looked crestfallen. 'Oh, don't, Athic, I don't want to just kill them, not for just trying to keep their homeland safe.'

'Ah, young Eruna, Boo agrees with you. A terrible thing it is to be caught on the wrong side of good men.'

'I don't see _anything_ good in what they were doing this morning,' snapped Imoen bluntly. Jaheira had clearly had enough bickering for one evening.

'We will reach Amkethran within another seven days or so. If we move quickly, we should be able to avoid any further patrols. These remaining members of the Five are our priority –the rest must be left to Fate.'

**…**

The group ate dinner together in the common room, the meal quiet as all kept to their own thoughts, that feeling of being watched heavy over them as Solaufein garnered more than a few looks, but the rumours of what had occurred outside had already travelled the tavern at least twice by now and none approached their table. They retired to their rooms afterwards, Anomen included, though he felt strange sat there alone, Athic gone to lend an ear and some comfort to the still anxious Eruna and, after a good quarter hour trying and failing to settle into the campaign diaries of Sir Fyant, the knight gave up and decided to seek distraction in another form.

Twilight was drawing over the emptying streets, though the veranda was no quieter for this, all eyes glancing to him as he left the tavern door, ale in hand, and made his way over to take table in the far corner, the noise about him making him feel somehow better after the pressing silence of his room. On the other side of the veranda, a table were enjoying a rowdy game of dice, the groans and laughter echoing up the street, and Anomen wondered if Fritha was somewhere similarly engaged –jealous though such always left him, he hoped it was so.

'Ah, Anomen,' came that voice and he turned to see Brieanna stood before his table, free of her armour and dark hair loose, long fingers clutched about a cup, 'you came out here, as well, for some- well, peace does not seem the right word,' she conceded, as noisy laughter exploded from the table behind them. 'May I join you?

'Please do.'

The woman smiled, a discomforted frown creeping in as she explained, 'Eruna was beginning to get tearful, so I left Athic to his consoling. You are worried, as well, about this detention of the Children?'

The man shook his head, drawing a long draft of ale. 'No. We know our task in this and we have skilled enough woodsmen in our company that I believe we should be able to avoid any more patrols if we are careful. It is as Jaheira said; we must walk our own path in this and trust the Fates with the rest. There is no room for doubt.'

'And for Fritha?'

He snorted a laugh. 'How can I worry for her? She is probably having a better evening than we.'

'I am surprised she agreed to go,' confessed Brieanna, 'from the tales I have heard, she does not usually bend so willingly to the law, and it was clear to all the constable could have been persuaded otherwise.'

'You would have approved of such tactics?' questioned Anomen curiously. The woman frowned, and drew a curt sip of wine.

'Certainly not. Though understandable, Fritha broke the law; it is only right she pay for her transgression.'

Anomen sighed, almost amused by his own failings as he considered it. 'Fritha and the law… I never seem to expect it to apply to her in quite the same way.'

He had anticipated at least displeasure from the woman opposite, but Brieanna was nodding, an absent air to her as she raised her cup again. 'I understand, for I see it too… she is special; her destiny shines brightly. Though the law is paramount, it is difficult not to wonder whether allowances should not be made for the person she is, and the future she must face.'

'She is but one of many Children, my lady,' Anomen reminded; this talk of Fritha as something so unique seemed to put her disturbingly beyond his reach.

'I know,' the woman conceded, eyes back on him and bright with feeling, 'But for one such as she, who fights the call of her blood… I can sense it in her, the power and the will to change the very heavens -as my own Lord once did. It sounds foolish, but I feel that I was brought here to protect her, that she survive to reach her destiny.'

'With a boot to the throat?' Anomen questioned mildly. Brieanna flushed, clearly astounded by this censure, something in her face softening as she found his smirk, his laughter prompting her own reluctant amusement.

'Oh, Anomen, don't. I should not laugh; my temper is awful.'

The man just smiled, reaching again for his ale. 'It suits you better than the strained deference I have sometimes seen in you; I do not believe there was a single meal since we departed Athkatla that you were not assigned a hand in –Ah, I wish I had seen Sir Elquist on the receiving end of your wrath before we had to depart them.'

Brieanna was watching him, her eyes suddenly narrowed; calculating, reassessing.

'You are not as I would have expected of a Helmite.'

'Well, you are hardly the usual follower of Torm,' he accused just as genially. The woman barked another laugh.

'What a pair we are- What it is?' she questioned at his grave look, the woman turning to see what had so caught him and the pair watched unseen as Jaheira tipped up her hood, slipping disregarded through the bustling tables to step down into the darkened street.

'Is there some problem?' pressed Brieanna. Anomen shook his head.

'It is nothing… merely that the Lady Jaheira has connections to certain... organisations within Faerûn, and the alliance has not always been favourable. There was some conflict in the past which brought both she and Fritha to a great deal of grief. I wonder now if she does not go to reaffirm old ties.'

'You do not trust her?'

'No, I trust her… but it can be a difficult choice to make between the old allies and the new.'

'You chose,' Brieanna reminded quietly.

'Yes, I did.'

'Do you believe the Order will accept you back within their ranks?'

'I do not know. But my Lord Helm is still with me and that is enough.'

'Yes,' the woman murmured, nodding absently to herself as she went back to her wine, 'faith before desire, always.' She drew a long sip. 'Always.'

**…**

The air was stale and reeked with a damp she doubted ever left that sunless, stone room. The gaol was quiet once more, the ranting of the drunk they'd brought in an hour ago finally echoing away to leave only the snores of the man in the cell next to hers and the murmur of the watchmen back in the guard room, two pairs of feet occasionally rattling along that long corridor in a brisk, cursory patrol. The bench was hard beneath her, her shoulder blades aching dully as they pressed into the unyielding wood. There had been no bedding provided, though to be fair, Fritha likely couldn't have stomached using it anyway. She had rolled up her robe to place under her head as pillow, but such had left her without covers and she was slightly too cool to be comfortable, the ale that had helped her fall asleep initially long worn off now. Far across town, a distant bell struck midnight and Fritha wondered what it would be like to be a true prisoner, not for a day, but for years and years. Every day spent looking at the same damp, four walls; she would rather have the noose –but then she had been facing the gallows for a while now.

The familiar worry stirred. What would happen to the others when and _if_ her end came? Most of them had one another and a purpose, too, and it was only Solaufein for whom she had any true concerns. She could not help but feel responsible for him. He had come to the surface because of her –had left Suldanessellar's tenuous peace for her own bloody path, and there it looked like she would desert him, unwillingly or not.

It must have seemed foolish to worry about the man. He was strong and as keen as the blade he wielded so well, but it was not so much a case of him surviving up there, but finding a life where the guarded mistrust he had learnt in Ust Natha was not necessary. A life where he could leave the ruthless brutality of his people behind, rather than merely changing the way in which he was forced to exercise it.

Fritha stared up at the cracked stone ceiling. So much had happened lately, Anomen's return and her own more personal discoveries throwing her feelings into turmoil, and underneath it all, that ever-simmering resentment at the world that could never quite be quenched. She was not the person she had thought she was, not the person she had been led to believe, and Fritha tried to push the thought away before the anger could swell. Gorion had lied to her, and not just small, minimal lies to push aside the questions of a girl curious about her origins, these stories had been _well-embroidered_ with details not necessary for anything but decoration to the tale.

That he had even taken the time sown the seeds to ensure the story's continuance after his end, that letter placed so carefully under her pillow in her old room, just awaiting her return. That he had told her the truth of her heritage and still buried it within a falsehood –telling her she had been the product of such a horrific violation and all the while knowing when she discovered it, he would be gone, free from the consequences of his lies -_that_ seemed the cruellest betrayal of all. Perhaps it was for the best he was gone; it seemed now she did not know her father any better than she knew herself.

The clatter of armoured footsteps in the hall outside, another pair of guards making a perfunctory walk of the corridor.

'All clear?' asked one as they paused outside her door.

'Aye, as ever. Now, what was it you couldn't say before those two?'

'Keep your voice down,' the first man hissed, 'I just wanted to tell you of a way to earn a bit more coin this next couple of months. Take that look off your face, it's nothing dodgy. Just some army patrol came through here a few days back and spoke to the captain. Apparently, they've been charged with rounding up all the Bhaalspawn they can and carting them off to some camp they've set up somewhere west of here. They asked the captain to let a few of the men he trusted know that if we could keep an eye out for any strangers passing through the town and see if we can't detain them, they'd be back in few days and willing to make it worth our time.'

Fritha fought to keep her breathing shallow, scared any noise would alert them to her; how could she have wandered so freely into a trap?

'Well, I'll bear that in mind,' the second guard murmured, sudden afterthought prompting an eager, 'What about that one in tonight? The lass from Beregost.'

'What her? Nah, she's an all right sort; she was playing cards with the afternoon shift when I came on -and losing enough coin to keep them sweet.'

An approving snort. 'Clever girl.'

'Aye, she took the evening meal with them, and we finally locked her up for the night when the bells struck nine. Besides, you didn't see that group she was with- Deven told me young Gaffrid was nearly pissing himself when he had to bring her in. Hells, I wouldn't tell anyone even if I thought she was a Bhaalspawn.'

Laughter, the sound of it fading with the footsteps as the guards moved on.

Fritha felt her heart calm, at last, eyes starting blankly up at the dark ceiling. A prison for the Children; she had known such a place existed ever since she had watched with growing fury those soldiers dragging people from the caravan to take there, but now…

They were rounding up the Bhaalspawn and, if that morning's grim discovery was anything to go by, the Children's survival took second place to their retrieval. Fritha could have almost laughed. Illasera and Yaga Shura were already dead, and she knew she would likely have no choice but to kill remaining members of this Five to prevent them murdering the Children and resurrecting Bhaal. But her intervention would all be for nothing, if some idiot soldiers were going to murder the rest of her brethren in their own ignorance. It seemed she was damned either way.

That familiar resolve was creeping along her spine. If they were to stand any chance of keeping Bhaal well and truly dead, then she was going to have to make sure at least some of the Children survived. Three powerful Bhaalspawn were already marked for death, and that meant only one thing: they _had_ to find this camp.

But there was little she could do about it that night. She sat up, hurriedly gathering the robe about her and shifting onto her side as she lay back down once more, arms folded under her head, the boards pressing uncomfortably into her hip; she was getting too thin.

Fritha opened her eyes on that familiar green sky, the wind that usually screamed across that plain of blasted tiles somehow lulled. Fritha sighed.

'Oh great. Sarevok? Sare- oh!'

He was behind her, though not in any position to answer, the man laid out, vivid red blood pooling slowly from beneath him, though the wound he bore was blocked from her view by the figure hunched before him, her back swathed in a familiar blanket of coppery tresses, face hidden as she wept quietly into her hands.

'Ah, hello?'

The figure whirled in a blink, Fritha suddenly faced with not her own visage, but a leering skull surrounded by that halo of mocking curls. She lashed out with a choked cry, her hand passing unhindered through it, the creature falling to pool on the tiled floor, just a crumpled pile of clothes. And then that noise behind her, that deep ragged breathing, and Fritha turned slowly to stare up at it, some horrific mix of man and monster towering over her, clawed hands aloft, axe and hammer held crossed above its head.

'YOU ARE _MINE!_'

xxx

Imoen jerked upright, breath coming in a gasp as she ran frantic hands over her body trying to beat out the flames that had consumed her, the panic fading as she found herself sat in that darkened room, Jaheira sleeping peacefully in the bed next to her. Another dream. They had started again as soon as they'd left Saradush, every night lost to screams as fire raged all about her, smoke choking the sky above, not a single star to lift the darkness. Imoen leaned back into the pillows, her body damp and twisted in the blankets where she'd sweated and writhed. She knew she should just return to sleep, especially since she would be up early enough to fetch Fritha and then set out on their journey once more, but her throat was dry, the idea of a half cup of ale easing her back into her sleep too tempting to ignore.

What she slept in was only underwear away from what she wore everyday, and Imoen saw no need to change, the old tunic and trousers looking even more faded and threadbare in the dim lamps of the common room. Hardly anyone was about, the room empty barring a table in the back where two old travellers were stooped over their drinks, cloaks over chairs and bags stashed beneath, the pair enjoying an ale before they retired to their rooms. The dozing server brought her the same with little more than a tired nod, the cost of her cup added to their slate as she took a table, the amber liquid barely to her lips when the door banged open and in walked Valygar.

'Oh, hello,' she greeted, the man's surprise a mirror of her own as he found her there.

'You are awake,' he confirmed, sinking into the chair next to hers. Imoen nodded and drew a mouthful of that warm, tangy liquid.

'Yeah, bad dream; thought a drink might help. Yourself?'

'I could not sleep. I went for a walk,' he added unnecessarily.

'A late night for both of us, then; we'll be fit to drop tomorrow. Still I imagine Fritha won't be much better, so at least our pace will be a bit more reasonable than it's been lately.'

'Are you worried about her?' he asked quietly. Imoen shook her head.

'Nah, you heard Jaheira, and it's only a night in the cells –I was in the asylum for _months_,' she added blithely. Valygar just frowned though, and she wondered if his question had indeed been on her friend's well-being as she'd first assumed.

Well, what did he expect her to say? That she _was_ worried at this sudden anger Fritha seemed to hold for the world? Where before the girl would have refused to engage in such violence, she now seemed to pursue it. Imoen may have felt them, but she would have never been so disloyal as to give such fears a voice, and the silence billowed over the table.

Imoen let her gaze drift about her, feeling that wistful pang as she admitted at last, 'This kind of reminds me of old Winthrop's place, late after all the guests were in bed and the bar had closed. He'd draw himself an ale and water one down for me, and we'd sit and he'd ask me about how I was getting on with Steen and my lessons. He knew he wasn't the cleverest man there, but Winthrop cared, maybe even more than Gorion cared for Fritha –he really wanted to be a good father to me. Not that I could have made it easy,' she added, unusually sober as she thought back, 'Always in trouble. And what could he do other than make his apologies and try to tell me off. But I wouldn't listen… Everything was a game back then.'

Her mind fingered the paper-thin memories. Her lessons, the boys she had dallied with, the sages they had tormented: her whole life had just been something she'd played at, a game for her and Fritha to share. And then they had left Candlekeep and nothing had been the same since.

'It's ironic really; I used to find those tall, grey walls confining. It wasn't until I was stood outside them that I realised it had been _they_ that had been protecting me and that life I'd had for all those years. Then, one day, Fritha and I lost them and nothing's been the same since.' She shook her head, and drew a comforting gulp of ale. 'Everything's so serious now –me included.'

Valygar made a gesture somewhere between nod and shrug. 'We change to accommodate the challenges we must face; I am sure Winthrop would be proud of the woman you have become.'

'Yeah,' she laughed weakly, 'I bet he'd barely recognise me.'

A quirk of his lips. 'Though you have undoubtedly changed from your youth, I do not think you should have any concerns on that matter.'

'Ah, do I detect a hint of approval for this _immaturity_, Vals?' She paused, suddenly wishing she could just take it back as her insides knotted, the girl cringing at how flirtatious she had sounded. 'Er, don't answer that, mate.'

Valygar heeded her. 'Would you wish to return to Candlekeep?'

'Yeah -for a bit, anyway. Winthrop wasn't there when we made our visit before the summer –he'd gone to Beregost for supplies. I missed him at the time, but with Gorion being dead and what kicked off just hours later, I didn't feel I could complain.'

'Very sensible of you,' he complimented mildly. She did not miss his smirk.

'Oh, yes, let's all laugh at poor, prudent Imoen –I'll be as boring as _you_ soon.'

'I will mourn the day.'

They shared a laugh, the man's attention shifting to their surroundings as she took another mouthful.

'If taverns were always this quiet I would not find them so jarring.'

'You were brought up on your estate in the city, weren't you? So when did you realise you didn't like it? I mean, if it's all you'd known…'

'The life I had on the estate, the quiet space was what I had grown up with. It was when I became old enough to be taken about the city that I came into contact with the noise and bustle in those endless brown streets. To sit in a carriage and watch the sea of bowed heads about you- these were not people as I knew them, they were worn out, broken things and I came to realise eventually that it was likely the city that was to blame.'

'Life is hard everywhere when you're poor,' offered Imoen practically. The man nodded.

'Indeed, but at least out and away from the city, your enemies are of nature itself, primal, insensate. It is there within the city, when all your pains are caused by avaricious merchants and corrupt watchmen, your fellow men who are not unfeeling but merely do not care, that I believe it takes a toll upon the spirit.'

'So that's why you left?'

'I left because I refused to stay and watch my parents fall to corruption.' His face twisted, 'The _coward's_ course. I was twenty, though I had been travelling further and further into the surrounding forests since my seventeenth year -and the talk of our circles it was apparently, though I never paid any mind to such things. So I left for the wilds, and spent that spring and summer travelling across Amn to settle finally in a small forest outside Eshpurta. There I built a more permanent shelter and it was on one of my trips to the city to acquire supplies for the coming winter I met Durden and the others who I eventually joined. They were men such as I, who worried at the dark influence that the Weave could have, and though many fight it, others embrace such darkness. Together we travelled Amn ending the existence of those mages who believed that arcane power set them above morality and laws. And there I remained for those four years, only returning to my home again when I heard of my father's passing…' he trailed off. Imoen knew what had occurred then, the silence heavy with regret.

'And then?' she questioned.

'And then, I returned to Eshpurta, and continued with my life, my estate left in the hands of the seneschal, Nentat, and forever could it have remained so had not our group met its end almost two years ago now. We had never been a static group, people joining and leaving as the cause compelled them, but at our heart the same six stood always: Durden, Melfor, Sangeeta, Arvind, myself and,' she did not miss the bob of his throat, 'Suna.'

'Suna… she was important to you.' It was not a question.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'You loved her.'

'I did. But she died along with that life when we were lured to a trap within the Troll Mountains. I returned to my estate, found Lavok's diary and the rest of this tale you likely know from the others here.'

Imoen nodded slowly, trying to picture the girl behind her eyes; dark or fair? Tall? Short? Did she laugh or had she been grave just like her love?

'What was she like?'

But the man shook his head. 'It does not matter. She is gone now, along with the others, and that chapter of my life is closed. We can only move forward.'

Imoen did not fail to hear the echo of her own words, and she felt suddenly tired, of that tavern and his distance both, the girl draining her cup to set it between them.

'Yeah… Well, I think I'm going to move forward back to bed. Goodnight.'

She did not even manage to rise before her name halted her, the man looking uncomfortable as he stared down at her empty cup.

'Imoen… you were correct before –what you said in Saradush. Though I do not see how it could possibly benefit either of us, I do have feelings for you outside of my concerns for your growing powers.'

For a moment, Imoen was struck with the unfamiliar sensation of being speechless.

'Oh. Right. Well, ah…' She sighed crossly, 'You're going to have to help me out here, Vals, cause you don't sound so thrilled about it, and I don't know if I should be saying, _oh, good,_ or _don't fret, it'll pass_, or _at least I was right_, or whatever.'

He glanced to her with a weak half-smile. 'I don't know myself.'

Imoen frowned and made to rise. 'Right. Well, be sure to let me know if you manage to work it out.'

His voice halted her again. 'Imoen, I enjoy your company.'

She rolled her eyes. '_Steady on there_; these declarations of passions unrestrained make the whole thing seem ridiculous.'

Valygar sighed, terse and seemingly frustrated by his lack of eloquence. 'I like you, Imoen. Though I have my reservations and cannot predict what the future will hold, I would like for us to face it together.'

Imoen sent him a grave look that was quite at odds with the rapturous warmth that was suffusing her body.

'I'm going to have to think about this, Valygar… Right, I have; you're on.' Imoen rose again, an unmistakably satisfied grin on her face, stomach hot and trembling as she affected a supremely casual air. 'Well, now that's out of the way, I'm off back to bed. Night, Vals.'

She turned to leave, barely a step from the table when she whipped back to catch him with a glancing kiss high on that dark smooth cheek. Imoen didn't look back as she headed for the stairs, but she knew he was smiling.


	16. Sune's Smile

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. I wonder who owns Wizards of the Coast. Is it just one person or a board of shareholders? Can you buy shares in Wizards of the Coast? Maybe they can start putting single shares in packs of Magic cards –like the time they put in the foil cards.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Sune's Smile**

'Imoen… _Imoen!_'

Something was hissing at her, Imoen rolling over to bat it away, her eyes opening on that tanned, angular face.

'Whassit- Jaheira?'

'It is dawn; do you still want to come with me to collect Fritha?'

Imoen nodded groggily and pushed off the blankets. 'Yeah, course- just give me a moment.'

It may have been dawn by the druid's definition of the thing, but just barely, a watery grey light filtering over the rooftops outside her window; Imoen didn't know how Jaheira even managed to wake _herself_ that early. A moment stumbling about the room they shared to change and wash her face, and the pair were clattering down the stairs, Fritha's old blue cloak swinging over the druid's arm. The inside had been scorched by some means between Suldanessellar and Saradush, a black sunburst on that dark wool sky –Imoen reminded herself to ask Fritha for the tale.

Anomen was already at a table when they arrived in the common room, Jaheira's surprise indicting that this had not been any doing of hers, the man sending them a grave nod as he rose and together they left the inn.

It was bitter out, the last few stars fading in that clear grey sky and it would likely be another fine day, the three marching briskly through the empty streets, their passage marked here and there by a polite nod from some passing merchant or labourer who had risen early, as well, to get ahead on the day.

The main door to the gaol was opened by a sluggish-looking guard who Imoen suspected had been catching up on his sleep just moments before, a snail's trail of drool still glistening on his cheek. He allowed them inside though, the man shuffling back behind the desk and flicking through the log book to the last page.

'Freya, you say? Freya, Freya… ah, here she is. In cell five for brawling, and you're here to pay the fine, right?'

The druid nodded. 'Yes, and secure her release.'

The guard's face fell. 'Well, you can pay the fine now, but I can't release her yet, not until-'

'Is there some sort of problem?' demanded Jaheira sharply.

'No, no, but you see the thing is, the captain isn't awake yet, and I'd rather not-'

Anomen was frowning. 'We were told to return here at dawn to pay the fine. Our companion has spent her night in the cells as your bylaws dictate. Perhaps you _should_ awake the captain; I will wish to speak with him about any prisoners being detained here _unlawfully_.' He leaned forward, two large hands planted on the desk, the golden eye of Helm falling forward to swing pointedly before his chest. The guard seemed to enjoy an expeditious change of heart.

'I'll go fetch her now -the fine is five silver, m'lady,' he added politely, as Jaheira reached for her purse. Off he disappeared through the heavy iron door, the rattle of a distant lock and creak of hinges echoing back along the corridor and he appeared again soon afterwards, Fritha ushered before him, the girl bleary-eyed and hugging her thin linen robe about her, the tip of her nose tinged pink like a safflower from the night's cold.

'Morning,' she greeted hoarsely, 'I wasn't expecting you for a few hours yet.'

'We were not about to leave you here to suffer,' said Jaheira, 'however much you may have warranted it. Come, we've paid your fine, we can go.'

Outside, Fritha was shivering as she bundled the cloak Jaheira had brought about her, Anomen fussing at her shoulder.

'Are you well, Fritha?'

'Fine, fine, it just got really cold around fourth bells.'

'Here,' he continued, pressing the flask he was holding into her hand, 'I had the kitchens prepare you some tea. Be careful, it will likely still be hot.'

It took her a moment to reply, Fritha staring down at the flask with an intensity that suggested she was too embarrassed to look up at the man who had brought it to her.

'Oh… thanks.'

Imoen smirked to herself. Yes, Anomen _definitely_ looked like he was but a few short days from banishing her completely from his regard –_no_ worries there. Imoen fell into step next to her friend, Anomen and Jaheira a pace before them as they set out back to the inn once more.

'So, how was it?'

Fritha sniffed and took another sip of tea; the heat of it was likely making her nose run.

'All right; some drunk got brought in just past midnight and kept the whole gaol awake with his ranting. I found it hard to go back to sleep afterwards.'

'And whose fault is that?' offered Jaheira crisply. Fritha sent a frown to her back.

'The _man_ who spat at _Solaufein_. You don't look much better,' her friend continued to her, 'having trouble sleeping?'

Imoen shrugged. 'A bit, I keep having strange dreams -but it all ended quite nicely _last_ night,' she added, just bursting to tell someone. 'I met Valygar and we talked a bit; we agreed to give it a try.'

An incredulous smile slowly spread across Fritha's face. 'Oh, so are you and he, well, courting now then?'

'Hmm, not sure,' Imoen admitted, 'perhaps not something so official sounding… let's just say I won't start sewing my trousseau yet.'

Fritha laughed.

Back at the inn, the women tripped quickly back to their rooms, Imoen and Fritha to catch up on their sleep, Jaheira to check their supplies and plan what would need to be bought for the next few days' travel while Anomen left again to make his prayers at the temple across town, and it was a few hours later when all were reunited about the breakfast table. Fritha looked much better for her sleep, the girl chatting with Solaufein whilst merrily spreading a slice of bread with jam, pausing to send Imoen a grin as Valygar arrived at the table and sank into the empty place beside her friend.

'Young Fritha,' greeted Minsc as he took the last seat, his round face beaming, 'you are back with us!'

The girl finished a mouthful of bread with a grin. 'Yes, the others came to pay me out this morning, thank goodness –I don't think my poor back could have borne another day breaking rocks.'

'Very droll,' Jaheira offered dryly over rim of her cup, 'I am glad to see your _lengthy_ incarceration did not break your spirit.'

Fritha nodded, a certain gravity creeping in. 'No, but it did offer an insight or two. Last night I heard the guards talking. Apparently an army patrol came through here a few days back asking that the watch detain any travellers of a suspect nature here in the town for their return a few days from now.'

A round of muttering, Minsc and Athic wearing the same deep frown, Eruna twisting a napkin in her distress while Anomen and Brieanna shared a dark look. Imoen glanced to the man next to her, Valygar drawing a breath to offer up his own assessment.

'They are much more organised that we had first suspected.'

'According to them, there is a camp somewhere west of here where all the Children are being held. I say, we go there and take a look for ourselves.'

'What?' cried Jaheira, 'Fritha, we don't have time for this, we need to get to Amkethran-'

'To stop the Five, yes, I know, but what will be the point if this army kill just as many themselves? They've already proven they're capable of it.'

'She is right,' sighed Athic, 'though the prophesy is clear, most people are ignorant to the fact that the death of every Bhaalspawn brings Faerûn one step closer to our dear old dad's return.'

'And what of the Five?' questioned Brieanna.

'What of them?' countered Solaufein, 'We know of only one and have no idea where she may be found. This threat is here and now.'

'Perhaps we should split up,' came Eruna, 'some could go to Amkethran and start the search for Sendai.'

Jaheira was shaking her head. 'No, it is too dangerous, especially with these patrols on the roads. All right,' she sighed, her own words apparently convincing her, 'you said this patrol was returning to Marmont in a couple of days –we can follow them when they quit the town and find the location of this camp. Depending on what we discover, we will plan our course from there.'

A glance about the table; no objections were raised. Fritha nodded firmly, knocking back her tea and taking the uneaten half of her bread from her plate as she rose.

'Good. Right, since we're not going anywhere now, I'm off for a bath.'

Anomen's protest was instant. 'Fritha, you have hardly eaten a thing.'

'I've had plenty.'

'Fritha-'

But she was already gone. Anomen went sullenly back to his dish, his admonishments rather unfair as he proceeded to push porridge about it for the next half hour, talk of supplies and their eventual route to Amkethran holding the table for the rest of the meal.

Imoen let the noise of them ebb and flow about her, losing herself in the solid presence at her side. Last night did not seem real, a pleasant dream between the usual nightmares. But Valygar had confirmed it with every sly glance and shared smile over their breakfast that morning, and Imoen could not have been happier. She moved to take his hand under the table, feeling that thrill fade to disappointment as he gently patted her own and reached instantly for his cup.

Imoen decided not to let it bother her- _yet_. Opposite, Jaheira was talking about their plans for the day.

'Well, whether we leave this morning or in a few days' time, we will still need supplies. I have made a note of what will be required.'

'Minsc and Boo will come, too.'

'As will I,' nodded Valygar, 'I would replace these arrows- you will join us, Solaufein?'

Yesterday's words were apparently not so easily forgotten by some of their company. The drow raised a cool eyebrow.

'If you do not believe I will be too _conspicuous_.'

'What about you two -do you have plans?' continued Jaheira, turning to the knights opposite, Anomen glancing to Brieanna as he offered hesitantly, 'Ah, I am not sure, my lady. I had nothing planned, but perhaps Brieanna would prefer to join yourselves.'

The woman looked, in truth, rather put on the spot, Athic kindly stepping in with his own plans.

'Well, Eruna and I are probably going to take a wander about the town.'

'You can come, too, if you like, Imoen,' the girl offered brightly. Imoen shrugged- she had hoped Valygar would have at least made a point to invite her with him.

'Maybe. I'm going to see what Fritha is up to; perhaps we'll see you about.'

**…**

'Knock, knock!'

Fritha glanced back as the door rattled in time with the call.

'Come in, Imoen, its open.'

And her friend pushed wide the door to find her standing there before the mirror as she had been for a while now, tunic pulled over her head and held before her as she admired the henna that covered her bared back.

'Ah, taking a peek at Solaufein's handiwork, are we?'

Fritha nodded, eyes back on her reflection. 'This is first chance I've had to look at it. It's beautiful; I wish I could just walk about naked.'

'Well, I don't think you'd get too many complaints,' the girl laughed, sinking on to the nearest bed, hers by chance, Fritha pulling her tunic back over her head to take a seat on Solaufein's.

'So, what have we got planned for today then, since we're going to be hanging about here for a bit.'

'I don't know; we'll need to buy supplies, I suppose.'

'I think Jaheira has that _well_ in hand. She and the others are going for a jaunt about the market this morning.'

'Solaufein as well?'

'Yes -don't fret, though,' Imoen added at her look, 'I don't think anyone's going to be stupid enough to start on him with that lot there.'

'No…' Fritha agreed quietly, but the worry was not so easily ignored. Perhaps Imoen sensed the change in her, too, the girl leaning forward to ask something that had likely been pressing on her a while now.

'Fritha, why d'you hit that man yesterday? Don't get me wrong,' she added hastily, 'I think it's brilliant that you did, but-' A frown, Fritha seeing for the first time the troubled look to her friend's eyes, 'but you seem so angry nowadays.'

Fritha shrugged, relaxing back into the pillows.

'I am -at least, I am sometimes. And as for why I hit him…' She cast her mind back to that dark street, the world falling away as she watched that lined, bitter face contort with a sneer, and a red veil suddenly swathed her sight. 'I saw what that man was about to do and I felt this surge of uncontrollable anger, and, what was more, I didn't want to control it. I hate the way they treat Solaufein here. I brought him from Underdark, and then from Suldanessellar -it's my fault he's on the surface, and I need him to believe there could one day be a place for him up here, or what hope has he?' Fritha felt the lump rising in her throat, so hot and solid it was a struggle to get the words past it.

'Imoen, if there was ever a problem, you'd keep an eye on him, wouldn't you? He- he'd always have a place with you, wouldn't he?'

'Yeah, yeah, course!' the girl assured her, 'Gods, Fritha, the way you're going on, it's like you're in love with him.'

'No, no, it's not like that, I just-'

Fritha couldn't say it, but this need for Solaufein to have a place on the surface -it wasn't just for him, but for her, too. Because if one such as he could be accepted up there, then it would prove that her world really was the place she hoped it was. That it wouldn't all feel like such a waste when she had to die to save it.

'You've been so tearful lately,' her friend continued kindly to her silence. 'I know you were crying yesterday when you flounced off into the forests -though I thought it best to leave it to Solaufein to _comfort_ you.'

'Yes, yes,' Fritha sighed, 'a quick snog and I was right as rain.'

Imoen nearly toppled off the bed in her keenness. '_Really?_'

'_No._'

Imoen laughed, leaning across the narrow gap to tug at her trouser leg. 'Ah, come on, Fritha, we haven't anything on tomorrow; let's just waste the day shopping, then go out tonight, have a few drinks, find some dancing. It'll be nice –we can forget all about this Bhaal War, just pretend were visiting here.'

'Wouldn't you rather spend the day with Valygar?'

'No,' Imoen muttered, suddenly sulky, '_he's_ going out to get supplies with the rest of them. It's not even been a day and I'm already having second thoughts.'

'_Already?_ I'm impressed! You've only had breakfast with the man, what on Toril could he have done?'

'_Nothing!'_ the girl cried, 'Which is kind of my problem! Oh, he'll smile and that, but anything more and he shies away like he's never seen a girl before.'

Fritha frowned; she wasn't sure what else Imoen had expected.

'I've no doubt he cares for you, Imoen, it's just people show their regard in different ways.'

'Well, I'd rather have another way -Anomen's, for one. _I brought you some tea, Fritha._'

'Very funny.'

Imoen clearly thought so, the girl still laughing as she rose to give her leg a rousing slap. 'Come on, let's go and enjoy the _splendours_ of Marmont!'

'Oh, first leg of our Grand Tour, is it?' Fritha laughed, throwing up her hands in defeat. 'Why not?'

'Let's invite Eruna, too,' enthused Imoen, as they filed into the corridor, 'we'll need to tell her now in case she wants to buy anything from the market.'

'And we should let Brieanna know, as well.'

'What? _No_,' whined Imoen; for someone who had spent their good few months travelling the Sword Coast telling Jaheira she was not a child anymore, her friend was doing a remarkably good impression of one. 'Brieanna'll spoil all our fun.'

'Imoen, she shares a room with Eruna; we can't invite one and not the other.'

'I guess it's just us two then.'

Fritha sighed. 'Imoen, we have to welcome her into the group –she can't spend all her time with Anomen.'

'That sounds _exactly_ like something you'd want.'

'No, no, no, she needs to feel welcome and at ease here; I don't want her holding back on her feelings for Anomen for fear of upsetting the rest of us.'

Imoen looked rather impressed. 'Ooo, yes… You know I used to think those romance novels were a waste of time, but I can see they had their uses.'

'To be fair most of them were,' Fritha admitted bluntly, 'but for every dozen dull shells I parted, one hid the occasional pearl of wisdom.'

They had reached the next door by now, the two women sharing the room next to her and Solaufein's, Anomen now in with Athic. Fritha raised a hand to knock. Silence; Imoen had already turned to go.

'Well, we tried.'

'Imoen.'

Fritha knocked again, their answer coming not from the room, but the hall behind them, a young maid offering blithely, 'If you're looking for your friends, they left with two tall fellas a few moments ago.'

Imoen grinned. 'Anomen and Brieanna: together again. It's all tying up for you, Fritha.'

Fritha nodded and tried to match her friend's delight. 'Looks like. Come on, then.'

**…**

Anomen shifted his weight, the warm air stirring his hair and carrying with it the scent of the fish that was being grilled over hot coals at the stall opposite, the man rather wishing he could affect the same air of watchful ease as the woman next to him, Brieanna leaning back against the sun-warmed stonework of the building behind. They had found a quiet corner on the edge of the bustling market square, the large plaza crammed with stalls and people, children running through the crowds playing tag and other games in that forest of legs. The shaved ice stall on the far corner of the square was doing a roaring trade, and Anomen's mind was drawn forcibly back to winter on the docks of Athkatla, and his idle wish he could share one with Fritha. It seemed another life away now. Everything did.

And before him, life in the town square bustled on, oblivious to them. Marmont reminded him of the town closest to the seminary where he'd spent most of his childhood and he recalled with sudden clarity the tenth-day afternoons, when after the morning service, if chores had been completed, the older boys were allowed the afternoon off, he and few of his friends often leaving the seminary grounds to walk the streets of the town and perhaps take an ale or two once they were old enough. He had had a few friendships there, both from the seminary and the nearby shrines to Torm and Illmater, though he had made no contact with them since he'd returned to Athkatla. Anomen sighed inwardly. At the time, he had been so eager at the prospect of joining the Order, he had never considered what he was leaving behind.

A group of children charged past them laughing wildly, Brieanna followed their play with an unreadable look, the woman catching him watching to send him a smile.

'You are very quiet, Anomen.'

'I was just thinking. This place recalls to me Syensford, the town near to the seminary where I spent my formative years.'

'Truly? I had thought you had grown up within the Order's ranks.'

He shook his head, glad to feel that mild acceptance in place of the resentment that had once riled in him as he explained, 'No, I wished to be a paladin when I was younger, but my father would not put up the funds required to pay for my entrance to the Order as a boy, so I joined a Helmite seminary and entered as a cleric in my twentieth year to train as a knight. For a long time, I was bitter that my father's actions had denied me my dream, but, I am glad to say, no longer. As either cleric or paladin, I serve Helm and the Order both- at least, I did,' he corrected soberly. 'But what of you, my lady,' Anomen continued, trying to lift this sudden shadow, 'You grew up in the temple near to Vallumscourt?'

Brieanna nodded. 'Yes, but it was not as this. Vallumscourt is a small town, its wealth built on the trade that seeks passage through the mountains and can fluctuate greatly with it. As for the temple…' she trailed off, eyes shifting to gaze unseeing across the marketplace, 'It was quiet, especially once the other children had gone. The sisters were strict, but I understood what they taught me was for the best. They had great plans for me…'

'Plans?'

She started back to him with a smile. 'Why, yes, to battle evil and take glory of St Rielle and our temple out into the world. It is strange, is it not? If my parents had not been taken from me, I would likely just be living in Vallumscourt now, some farmer's wife surrounded by fat children.' She shook her head, seemingly relieved at her lucky escape. 'Ah, is that not?'

He turned at her gesture to find them, Fritha and Imoen lingering before the stall opposite admiring a selection of the stick fans that seemed popular there, as well as the parasols, shawls and other trinkets the merchant was trying to entice them to buy. Fritha was idly considering a neat green fan painted with a forest scene, Imoen pointedly turning her back on the rather assertive merchant to see their pair. A tug at her sleeve caught her friend, too, and, a moment later, they were crossing over to them, Fritha shading eyes beneath a hand as she greeted, 'Anomen and Brieanna, enjoying the sunshine?'

'More than you, I suspect,' Anomen commented at Fritha's weary look, the man shifting a pace to throw his shadow over her, sun beating hot on his neck. The girl lowered her hand, though she made no comment as to his courtesy.

'You are not used to the heat?' confirmed Brieanna.

'Not really.'

'Well, _I _love it,' announced Imoen firmly, face tilted skyward as she gloried in the light. Brieanna smiled.

'Well, that is something, at least. With Kythorn but days away, the weather is only due to grow hotter.'

'And we will have the pleasure of travelling in it. You will have to get some balm before we leave,' warned Fritha to her freckled friend, 'and ensure you don't burn.'

'_Yes, Jaheira._'

'So what are you doing about Marmont,' continued Brieanna over their snickering, 'picking up some supplies for the road?'

'Not likely,' laughed Imoen, 'we're on our Grand Tour.'

The woman quirked a sceptical eyebrow. 'Doesn't that usually involve Waterdeep, Suzail and other cities of note?'

'We visited Suldanessellar,' challenged Imoen.

'We've stopped here on out way to Calimport,' offered Fritha more peaceably. 'We will be going out around some of the taverns later, Brieanna, if you would like to come- we'll be inviting Eruna and Jaheira, too.'

The woman looked rather thrown by her offer. 'Oh, perhaps... Is that why you are here in the market?'

'That's right,' nodded Imoen eagerly, 'Fritha needs something to wear. I'm all right; I've been carting that dress about since Nalia's wedding- good job it rolls up small.'

Anomen could not quite suppress a frown. 'The gown you wore to the wedding, my lady? Don't you think you might be a little overdressed?'

Imoen glanced to Fritha and gave a shrug. 'Probably. But Fritha's going to get something just as _splendiferous_, so I don't look out of place.'

Anomen laughed. 'There will be no where fit to house you!'

'We'll take that risk.'

Brieanna turned to Fritha. 'So for what sort of dress are you looking?'

'Something backless,' said Imoen. Fritha laughed.

'Let us say, I'll know when I see it.'

But any more discussion of this was suddenly cut short.

'Ho there!'

The cry came from behind, Anomen whipping back to see two armed men standing before the shaved ice stall and beckoning to them.

'It is the watch,' said Brieanna warily. An instant of tense expectation when-

'Oh, it's Malcolm and Hoden,' said Fritha, recognising the pair and immediately setting out for them. 'Mal, Hod, all right there? What's the chant?'

Imoen turned blithely back to them. 'So, what are you two up to, then?'

'Well,' began Anomen, 'we are not sure. It is said the temple to Tyr here is a sight to behold and we both thought to take the other to see it.'

Brieanna began to laugh, her amusement prompting his as she continued, 'But it turns out, we each made a visit ourselves this morning to confirm the rumours on the way back from our prayers.'

The pair laughed, Imoen joining them, though it looked decidedly forced. 'Oh, you two! So, what d'you do instead then?'

'We walked along the river and then took a drink in one of the taverns there. Perhaps, this afternoon we can visit the shrine to Sune, Anomen; I hear the gardens in which it is set are quite lovely.'

'Ah, yes, my lady,' Anomen faltered under Imoen's sudden frown, 'if you would wish.'

'Well, sounds like you've an exciting afternoon planned,' said Imoen insincerely, the girl turning to where Fritha was still chatting with the guards, the three laughing as one presented her a paper cone of shaved ice with an exaggerated bow; how easily other men did what he could not.

'I'd best get back to Fritha. See you later, Brieanna.'

And Anomen watched her go, Fritha glancing back at her friend's arrival to send them a curt nod and they quit the guards' company but a moment later, disappearing once more into the bustle of the marketplace.

'She will come round,' Brieanna offered quietly. Anomen said nothing.

xxx

Solaufein pushed open the door and sensed her immediately, his suspicions he was not alone confirmed as her voice called out to greet him.

'Is that you, Solaufein, I'm just behind the screen. How was your day in the town?'

'Fine,' he answered, closing the door behind and moving to take a seat on his bed. 'We bought the supplies that were needed and then spent the rest of the afternoon drinking and playing boules in the town park.' He paused, the sensation still surprising even as he admitted, 'It was quite enjoyable.'

'I'm glad. I was worried you might be tired, that you wouldn't be able to return to sleep this morning after I came in.'

Solaufein felt the smile broaden, recalling her return and his insistence that they swap beds. She had protested at first, but cold and fatigue were his allies, the drow slipping between the icy sheets of the empty bed as she stripped to curl in the warmth of his blankets.

'I slept well enough,' he assured her, 'I-'

It was like that first moment he had emerged from the caves of his home into that cool night, his fellow soldiers fanning silently out about him as they had prepared for that attack on the surfacers in that timeless ritual that would confirm him a man, and he had looked up to find that vast canopy of branches and stars stretching endlessly above, both she and that sky like nothing he had ever seen before as Fritha stepped from behind the screen.

The gown she wore was palest amber, full-skirted with a narrow, fitted bodice, a wide cream sash tied high about her waist. Her shoulders and arms were uncovered and he could see the delicate stain of his artistry that covered her back as she crossed the room.

'Fritha, you look very … different.'

'Yes,' she continued nonchalantly, moving to take a seat at the dresser, the surface already covered in pots, brushes and a trove of jewellery. 'I am going about the town tonight with the other women –oh, except for Jaheira; she said she's too tired. I think the men are staying here in the tavern, though, if you are at a loose end.'

Solaufein frowned, his thoughts on the previous evening and those words he had, rather naively, never believed would be spoken in that company.

'Quite. I wonder, though, if they would welcome my presence down there. Though there was no trouble today outside of looks and sneers, when men have been drinking, they haven't the sense to realise the risk to their careless hatred.' He watched for her reaction, adding, 'Last night there was talk of placing a glamour upon me to disguise my nature.'

The girl in the mirror frowned, pausing to take a sip of wine. '_Was_ there now? I hope you said _no_.'

'I expressed my reluctance, but if a unanimous request was put forward, I agreed to heed it.'

'And _how_ are the people here supposed to lose their prejudice against the drow, if they never realise they are meeting one?' she demanded hotly. He smiled.

'I knew you would say that.'

Fritha snorted and went back to the dresser, earrings of gold and jade glinting as she fastened them to each ear, pearls as long as a rope looped about her neck in place of the scarf she usually wore. Her hair was up, but much more loosely than usual, the mess of fiery curls softened to a warm amber in the lamplight, her skin given a golden cast, and she almost seemed to glow.

He was used to women who dressed to show their status, but this was different. It was not that she looked beautiful, such things so common as to be negligible from where he had come, but she seemed so rare and opulent in that dull place of stone and wood. No Matron Mother he had grovelled before had ever managed such careless imperiousness, and to the point where he did not feel he should be looking at her. Solaufein frowned deeply; he doubted the other males of that place would be so respectfully awed.

'There,' she smiled, one last sweep of her powder brush putting a final touch to the thing, 'what do we think?'

'You shine like a jewel – I worry though that someone may try to steal you because of it.'

Fritha refused to hear his allusions to danger.

'They'd soon bring me back,' she laughed. 'Besides, I can practically guarantee that dressed like this will ensure me little to no interest of that nature this evening.'

'You plan to go somewhere very dark?' he quipped dryly.

'_No_, but men are uncertain about things they are unfamiliar with. You'll see; Imoen and the others will get far more attention than me tonight.'

Solaufein was sceptical, the man moving to stand behind her, a hand closing about one of the four small hilts that lined the back of his belt.

'Please, Fritha, take one of my daggers. It is small and light; it will hide easily beneath your sash.'

She rolled her eyes, but raised her palm for it all the same, taking the leather sheathed blade to hide it in the folds of her wide silk sash.

'All right -for _you_. Goodness, you fuss like…' she paused, face for an instant frozen, and he had the impression she had been about to say something very different as she finished, 'an old hen.'

'Well, oblige this ancient bird, and return to me in safety.'

A dazzling smile; a flick of her wrist sinking the last of her amber wine.

'I shall, I shall.'

**…**

Solaufein followed her downstairs, though he still bore that air of guard rather than companion -his propensity to worry was rather endearing. A few of the others were already gathered about a table in the spacious common room, the walls lined with low tables and upholstered benches that put her in mind of the Friendly Arm Inn so far north, Jaheira, Valygar and Minsc all looking up as they arrived.

'Good Solaufein- and _young Fritha!_'

Fritha smiled at the Rashemi's obvious admiration, a hand at her skirt as she gave a mischievous half-twirl.

'How do I look?'

'Utterly overdressed,' said Jaheira, 'I assume that was the effect you were going for?'

'You have to ask?'

'Wotcha!' came the call behind, Fritha glancing back with the others to see Imoen bounding over to them, the girl beaming in bright pink silk, orange sash tails flying.

'Imoen, you look very fair,' said Solaufein promptly.

'Awww, thanks, Solaufein,' she laughed, patting the neat twist of pink she added, 'I managed to get my hair up eventually, but I had to leave the flower out this time. It's got a bit squashed in my bag and _then_ my hair dye got near it –now it looks like something that should be living a few leagues beneath the sea. Oh, and _here_ they are!' Imoen cried as Eruna and Athic finally trooped through the door. 'We were looking for you earlier.'

Her words barely seemed to register with either of them though, Eruna's lips parted in a neat circle, while Athic no less than goggled at the pair.

'_Well_ now, look at you both all dressed up. Is there some prince in town looking for a bride?'

'Ugh, no thanks; we're on our Grand Tour,' announced Imoen proudly. Eruna was apparently unfazed by such games.

'Oh, how nice; are you going to the theatre?'

'No, I think we're just going to get drunk in the nearest tavern,' admitted Fritha, 'but you're welcome to come.'

The girl looked suddenly unsure. 'Well…'

'Ah, go on, girl,' laughed Athic, the encouraging slap to her shoulder sending her tottering forward a step. 'Go out and make merry while you're young. You'll be old and past it soon enough -like me.'

Eruna sighed, a fond cast to her brown eyes. 'Oh, Athic, you're not so old. Can you wait while I change?

'Course,' said Imoen, 'we can have one in here –Fritha, get the drinks in.'

Fritha rolled her eyes, taking a quick order from the table as Eruna raced upstairs, the rest of them taking their seats. Imoen dropped into the space next to Valygar, Fritha pleased to see the man murmuring something at her ear –and likely a compliment from the way she was grinning. Anomen was already at the bar, his eyes fixed on the stairs as he nursed an ale, though the innkeep appeared at the counter before she could announce herself to the knight, the old man's moustache bristling as he regarded her patterned shoulders.

'_Well_ _now_, my pearl, what can I get for you?'

'A carafe of wine and another of ale, please.'

'Not a problem, flower -which table is it? I'll have one of the girls bring them over.'

She handed him the coin with a smile, the old man bustling off to collar one of his maids and Fritha returned her attention to the man just next to her, still watching the stairs and seemingly unaware of her presence. Perhaps it was someone _else_ he was waiting to see…

'Anomen?'

He whirled back, clearly surprised to find her there by the way he was mouthing silently, struggling to find the words for his greeting.

'Fritha, you look, well…' He trailed off. Behind her eyes, Beth laughed; _if you can't say something nice… _

'Yes, I wanted to show off my henna,' Fritha explained with a smile, not much caring what he thought and glancing again to her bared shoulder as though to check the swirl of clouds and leaves were still there, 'You can't see the flowers or the sun, but the moon and tree look beautiful, don't you think?' She sighed, 'I wish I could draw.'

'You make a lovely canvas,' he offered quietly. A pause between them, Fritha pretending to straighten her sash until she felt his gaze shift; he was _supposed_ to be disapproving.

'Here,' he continued, his voice returned to its usual cadence as he passed to her one of the stick fans that were so popular there, beaded tassels of gold and brown hanging from the stiffened-paper paddle where a nightingale had been depicted in simple sepia brushstrokes. 'Brieanna was looking for one at the time, and I recalled how you had complained of the heat earlier in the day, so, yes…'

Fritha nodded briskly and tucked it into the back of her sash; there was no point encouraging him.

'Thank you, Anomen. Ah, and here is the last of us,' she announced, glad of the distraction as Brieanna made her stately descent into the common room in a gown of deep forest green. A sly glance to the man at her side. 'Doesn't Brieanna look lovely this evening?'

'Er, yes, indeed.'

'Anomen, you're not even looking.'

The man, at last, obliged her, gazing over to where the tall woman was receiving a cup from Imoen with a smile. Anomen sighed, seemingly defeated.

'Yes, she is very handsome.'

Fritha nodded; it was a bit heavy handed, but she was too tired to bother about being subtle at the moment.

'So what have you planned for the evening?'

Anomen shrugged, reaching for his ale. 'I do not know. Perhaps cards or the like; I fear we men will be at a loss without our ladies.'

'Jaheira is staying,' offered Fritha, 'I'm sure she can giggle and flirt and simper about how tall you all are.'

Anomen snorted. 'I think we would be more likely to get Valygar down here in a dress.'

'Here, Fritha, hurry up and take some of this wine before Eruna drinks it all.'

'Imoen!' the young mage laughed, returned to their company once more, and now wearing a simple dress of dusky blue linen, that, though hardly a match for even Brieanna's plain velvet gown, seemed to enhance the girl's natural prettiness, her straight blond hair loose and golden in the lamp light.

'Ah, now this is company to be seen with,' said Athic proudly, an arm each about their two mages, 'are you sure you girls want to leave us, after all?'

'_Positive_,' said Fritha. Solaufein remained unconvinced.

'Are you not worried that your… _appearance_ might draw unwanted attention?'

Imoen snorted into her cup. 'Ha! Not with Knuckles over there coming with us -only been here a day and she's already got a reputation about the town for brawling.'

Laughter; Anomen and Solaufein shared a frown.

'So where will you head, then?' continued Athic genially. Imoen wagged a playful finger under his crooked nose.

'Never you boys mind where we're off. Suffice to say, I wouldn't bother waiting up for our return.'

Eruna looked nervous. 'We won't be back too late, will we?'

'Oh no,' assured Fritha, 'I imagine by then it will be considered very early.'

'Ah, good- _oh!_'

'Right,' announced Imoen over their laughter, empty cup set down with a clear _snap_, 'time we were off. Come on, drink up.'

Eruna rose, her cup left half full; Fritha downed hers with a practised ease. Brieanna was already looking like she was having reservations, Anomen sending her a smile across the table.

'Have a pleasant time, my lady.'

'Yes, you girls come back safe,' warned Athic, 'and behave, you hear? I'm sure Jaheira doesn't want to be fetching any more from the gaol tomorrow morning.'

'We'll be good,' Fritha assured him from the door. Imoen laughed.

'Speak for yourself.'

'Goodbye, enjoy you evening,' called Eruna blithely, and out they stepped into the dusk.


	17. On the Tiles

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: Early publish this week as I am away to a party in Edinburgh, which I suppose coincides nicely with the chapter. The forecast is snow, so I fear my lovely new sandals may have to be swapped in favour of a pair of wellies. Ah well, at least my beer coat is an all weather garment, lol. _

**On the Tiles**

The noise of the veranda seemed to lull as they stepped from the doors of the tavern, the tables paused in their games and revelry to take in the four young women who had emerged into their midst. Brieanna was returning any looks with a stern frown, Eruna shrinking back into her shadow, the smile frozen awkwardly on her face. Imoen just grinned as a man two tables down gave her an appraising look –what was the point in getting dressed up, if you didn't want people looking at you? Besides, Eruna hardly had any cause for concern; Imoen doubted anyone would be sparing her a glance with Fritha stood there before her, chin tilted upward, her gown and adornments shimmering in the lamplight; an empress in autumn's palette. And then the girl glanced to her, the majestic mien lost as she flashed her that familiar toothy smile, and Imoen felt a surge of affection for her funny, if sometimes frustrating friend.

'People are staring at us,' murmured Eruna. Imoen laughed.

'Course they are: we look great. Come on.'

And she led the way across the crowded veranda and down onto the street, the girls catching up to her to walk four abreast along that empty avenue, young stars twinkling in the clear violet sky. Eruna pulled her plain green shawl about her more tightly.

'Brrr, it's quite chilly now sun's in -aren't you cold?' she added, giving Fritha's bare shoulders a worried glance. Fritha shrugged, no break to her pace as she glided along next to her.

'Not really.'

'You've even got a fan!' Eruna continued, almost laughing as she noticed the paper paddle tucked in the back of her sash, golden beads glinting as the tassels swung with her footsteps.

'It's just for effect.'

Imoen frowned slightly. 'I didn't see you buy that…'

'Didn't you?'

'Your dress is very interesting,' said Brieanna, unfortunately before Imoen could probe further, 'I am surprised you found one in such a rare style so readily.'

'Oh, it hardly looked like this when I first found it at the seamstress's,' Fritha confessed blithely, 'but the sleeves themselves were made of this fine gauzy silk, so I just had the woman take them off, get rid of most of the frills and add the sash.' She smiled wryly, 'You'll be surprised to hear that half a dress actually costs much more than a whole one.'

'Hey girls, you off to a ball?' called a rough voice, the pair of drunks they were passing taking a moment to laugh and mime a waltz. Eruna took a step closer to Brieanna; Imoen just waved.

'You can all come home with me, if you like,' shouted the other, 'I'll show you a night!'

'I think our husbands might have something to say about that,' Fritha called back with an easy laugh, returning to them as their shouts faded along the street. 'So where _are_ we headed?'

Imoen grinned- she certainly had an idea of where she wanted to go.

'Well, I was thinking about the tavern next to shrine to Sune- could be good for some totty.'

'_Imoen!_' cried more than once voice, the girl laughing her joy into the sky.

'Ah, I'm so excited! I want to drink and dance and flirt with a hundred boys!'

'I thought it was one boy in particular who held your fancy at the moment,' said Fritha mildly. Eruna's interest was instantly piqued.

'What's this?'

'Valygar and Imoen are in _love_ –or is it lust?'

Imoen shrugged. 'Bit of both, I imagine.'

'You're courting?' confirmed Brieanna, as though she could not think of a more unlikely pair. Imoen had every sympathy for her.

'Sort of -but flirting's all right, isn't it?' she added, returning to her initial question.

Fritha snorted. 'Don't ask me, I'm dreadful at it.'

Eruna looked at a loss, too, Brieanna frowning as she offered, 'I think the wisest rule to follow would be to do nothing you yourself would not be pleased to find the gentleman attempting with another lady.'

'Oh, that's all right then! Can you imagine Valygar trying to flirt with someone? He'd be awful –even worse than Anomen!'

Fritha smiled absently to herself. 'Anomen wasn't so bad.'

Imoen couldn't let that slide. 'Oh _really?_ Do tell.'

Her friend's imperial air was somewhat lost as she flushed a stunning shade of pink.

'I, ah- help me out here, Brieanna.'

The taller woman blinked, for a moment thrown, though she recovered quickly enough. 'I fear _I_ would not know; when a man is chivalrous, it is easy to mistake affection for the courtesy he would show any lady.'

Fritha shrugged, turning back to Imoen. 'Oh, perhaps I was doing that, then.'

Brieanna frowned.

'So when did you and Valygar pair up?' asked Eruna. Imoen smiled, feeling that flutter in her stomach anew.

'Last night, late on in the tavern. He was beside himself worrying over Fritha in the gaol. _But, Imoen, what if the guards are mean to her?_ There, there now, Vals. Yeah, Fritha's a bit melodramatic, but she's tougher than she looks. She'll be fine.'

'Indeed,' said Fritha, her smile wry and slight, 'I assume you managed to calm his worries in the end.'

'Yeah…' Imoen smiled, feeling her face growing warm as she confessed, 'He said he wants us to face the future together.'

'Oh, that's so nice,' cried Eruna. Imoen giggled along with her. That was Valygar though; his stern mask hiding a warmth she had always suspected lingered within. He had made a point to say she looked fair before they had left the inn; simple words, but they meant so much more than the poems and speeches from those verbose suitors, because he gave them so rarely.

'Yeah…' Imoen sighed, starting to find herself still grinning like an idiot, 'but let's stop talking about this before I'm overcome with _womanly desires_.'

'Like jewellery,' offered Fritha. Imoen nodded.

'And cake.'

The tavern Imoen had spotted earlier was easy enough to find, set on the street that ran along the western edge of the gardens to Sune and Her shrine, the Dovecote clearly catering for petitioners of that faith. The high-ceilinged room was panelled in dark woods, the bar a square of counters within which stood an enormous gilt-framed mirror, dividing the two halves and stretched from floor to rafters, rows of bottle-crowded shelves before it, the coloured glass glinting in the lamplight while the surrounding tavern was a warren of gloomy nooks and deep booths where men and women could meet for clandestine trysts.

Imoen thought Fritha, at least, would be getting some interest, if only for her hair, but most of the men seemed a bit too in love with themselves, eyes following them as they crossed the room before going back to their drinks. They took a table in the corner, the nearby fireplace finally convincing Eruna to abandon her shawl, the maid nodding to them as she set down two steaming dishes before the patrons at a nearby table –she would be over when she had a moment.

'Well, we made it then,' enthused Imoen, looking about her with a satisfied sigh, 'I had hoped to find us some dancing. Still, perhaps we can find some later, eh?'

Eruna was nodding brightly. 'Oh I hope so too; I love dancing. My mother would sometimes hire minstrels to play back in the inn on feast days and the like.' She sighed dreamily, 'My first love was a balalaika player from Daggerford.'

'What happened?' asked Imoen. Eruna quirked a wry smile.

'Unlike what Athic said, I think _he_ really was only paying me interest for a free bed -not mine,' she added hastily, the pink already rising in her cheeks, 'I mean, just at the inn. I was young and my mother soon sent him on his way. Yes, well,' she continued briskly, primly smoothing out her skirts, 'do you like dancing, Brieanna?'

Brieanna glanced back from where she had been frowning at a man who was still staring at them, the woman looking surprised to be included.

'Hmm? Oh, not especially. The skill was not valued at the temple.'

'Really?' exclaimed Imoen, 'Beth, the cook, taught me and Fritha. It was loads of fun –sometimes she'd make the younger monks come and partner us. Ah, the colours they'd go! Now, put your hand at Imoen's waist, young Francis. _Her-her_ _waist?_'

Eruna and Fritha were laughing. Brieanna just shrugged.

'I know a few of the more popular dances, but I have rarely had chance to exercise the knowledge. I learnt some temple dances as I was growing up, but the sisters saw little need for anything outside the dance of combat.'

It was as if Imoen had not heard her last line. 'Temple dances? They're Fritha's favourite –she collects them, don't you, Fritha? Perhaps you can show her them, and she can teach you a bransle or something in return.'

Imoen had thought the woman would jump at the chance to share her faith and become more included in the group, but she looked strangely contemplative, dark eyes staring down at her from beneath that lowered brow.

'Imoen,' Fritha murmured next to her, 'they might be private…'

'No, they are not…' said Brieanna, at last, the woman inclining her head to Fritha as she demurred, 'Perhaps we can find the time one day…'

'What is taking the maid so long?' said Eruna to the awkward silence they'd been left in. Imoen glanced back to the bar where two maids were laughing with a large group of men.

'I think I could make a guess.'

'I'll go,' sighed Fritha, making to stand, 'What are we having? Wine?'

'Oh, small ale for me, please,' corrected Eruna, 'I drink any more wine, and I shall be on the floor.'

'You grew up in a tavern,' laughed Imoen.

'Yes, and my mother was very careful not to let me get into the states she had to throw out every night.'

Imoen shook her head. 'What a waste.'

'You grew up with Winthrop and he never let you sample the casks,' reminded Fritha.

'No, but only because he knew I couldn't pay him for it –miserly git.'

'Right,' Fritha continued, 'a carafe of wine and small ale for Eruna. Come on, Imoen, you can help me.'

Imoen nodded, she knew what was coming, the girls a few paces from the table when Fritha began.

'Imoen, did you have to put Brieanna on the spot like that? You made her really uncomfortable.'

'How can you tell? She always looks like she's got a pole lodged somewhere. Besides, you said we should make an effort to welcome her in to group –I was helping.'

'By volunteering _me_ to give her dance lessons?'

'I thought you could do with a bit of dancing.'

Fritha snorted. 'I could do without you lot –oh, I'm sorry,' she added, her dismay instant, 'I didn't mean it like that.'

Imoen just shook her head; it had hurt, but more as a sign of her friend's continuing displeasure.

'It's all right; I know this isn't how you'd have picked it to be.'

Fritha just sighed. 'Is it how any of us would have chosen?' She glanced to her, eyes black in the gloom of bar, 'I would have come to Athkatla with you, Imoen.'

'Yeah, I know,' she smiled, 'Come on; I need that drink.'

The maids were a lot more attentive when their patrons were there before them with insistent frowns, the woman placing the wine and three cups on a tray before hurrying off to fetch the small ale. Fritha poured the three cups there while they were waiting, leaving the empty jug on the counter and drawing a sip like a kiss, Imoen watching from the corner of her eyes as two old men turned from their own order to give them a decidedly lingering appraisal that ended on Fritha's naked shoulders.

'Well now, my lovely, that is some pretty ink,' the taller piped up, 'Where d'you get that done?'

'Prison,' she answered flatly, 'I stabbed a man in Suzail just to watch him die.'

His face was a picture, a wary look passing to his friend.

'Oh, right, well, enjoy your evening then, ladies.'

'_Fritha..._' hissed Imoen, half-laughing, half-astounded as the men moved off with their drinks, the girl flashing her a wicked smile.

'What? Why waste time convincing them we're not interested, when they can make that decision for us? Come on.'

Back at the table, Eruna and Brieanna were sharing stories of their past travels, Imoen joining the talk and Fritha let them drift away from her, her mind pleasantly unoccupied as she watched patrons come and go, the way the men and women flirted and laughed and took pleasure in the wine and company. Imoen's choice of tavern really was a clever one, the company about them fair enough that they did not stand out overly, even dressed as they were- well, almost, she considered, a glance back to the bar confirming the raven-haired man was still lent against the bar, the conversation with his friends hardly preventing the occasional glance her way. He was certainly handsome enough to be from the shrine next door, chiselled, tanned face brought alive by two pale eyes, their hue so subtle, she could not tell their colour from that distance, though the contrast was striking. He caught her watching and Fritha turned back to her own table with a mental shrug. Such attention would have had her so flustered once, but no longer, and a part of her could almost enjoy the power of it – she smiled into her cup; you could take the girl out of Ust Natha…

Across from her, Eruna was laughing behind her sleeve, the girl looking pretty and natural now over her initial discomfort, Imoen the source of this amusement as they both watched a short and slightly portly man sat alone a few tables over. He was likely awaiting someone else from the way he was checking his refection in his spoon, Imoen providing a voice to his titivation.

'_Lo, what is this perfect love? Hush, my darling, don't try to explain; we need no words._'

Fritha smiled, leaving them to their game and turning to find Brieanna's attention at the bar, the woman catching her eye to offer, 'That man is still looking at you.'

'Oh, yes?'

'Perhaps he believes his goddess has sent a celestial servant here upon some errand.'

'Perhaps he's wondering where I lost the top half of my dress.'

'I know there are more men than he who think you of the divine.'

'None who know me well.'

'I believe there is one who knows you intimately, though you seem to wish to keep him at a distance.'

'Minsc and I are better off as friends.'

Brieanna tired quickly of this verbal chase. 'Fritha, I will be blunt: Anomen is in love with you.'

Fritha laughed. 'Goodness, when you say you're going to be blunt, you mean it.' She shook her head, drawing another sip of wine, 'Brieanna, what makes you think _that_ is any revelation to me? I know Anomen still has feelings for me, contrary to what he might say. Telling me he's only here for duty,' she snorted tersely, '_honestly_, do I look like I came down in the last shower?'

Brieanna was frowning. 'He told you that?'

'Yes, and pardon _my_ bluntness, why are you so concerned about what Anomen feels for _anyone?_'

Brieanna drew back in her chair, her delivery holding the monotone of a well-rehearsed answer.

'He is a good man; he deserves to be happy.'

Fritha nodded. 'I quite agree; set yourself away then, petal.'

'Me?' the woman cried, unable to suppress the burst of incredulous laughter before she calm it to demure, 'I- I do not think we would suit.'

Fritha felt rather taken aback; Brieanna's surprise was convincing- had the woman really followed him all the way down there out of good-hearted camaraderie? She was a saint! The girl shrugged, carefully careless as she lifted her cup once more.

'Poor Anomen, it seems neither of us wants him. Perhaps one of these two can oblige us,' she continued more loudly, the girls turning at her address. 'Good Brieanna here seems to feel Anomen needs marrying off; any volunteers? What about you, Eruna? He has a very nice estate in Athkatla, and a vineyard in the mountains.'

'Bloody Hells!' laughed Imoen, 'Throw in a townhouse in the Gate and I may just get in there myself!'

Eruna was giggling shyly into her sleeve, the small beer helping the blush to her cheeks.

'Ah, no, I don't think so. You see –I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I'm already in love with someone else.'

'Who?' pressed Imoen keenly. Fritha rolled her eyes.

'Who else, Imoen? It's Athic, isn't it?'

Eruna nodded, smiling and wistful as she cast her mind back.

'I have loved him since that first quest brought me from Loudwater all those years ago. He was just so warm and alive, and- and _honest_. Just said what he thought and away with the consequences; so unlike all the merchants and caravan hands I'd grown up around. I did tell him after a few months travelling together, but…' She trailed off, her pause saying more than any words could express. 'He was really very nice about it. Told me he thought I was lovely, but that I was yet young and had to find my feet in the world before I could make such choices. I _was_ quite naïve at the time –I suppose he thought it just some silly passing whim. Now it's been so long, I don't want to mention it again in case we ruin what we have. But I'm happy enough as we are. He has never really shown any interest in anyone else, and we get along so well, I consider it a good enough trade.'

Fritha nodded firmly; how nice to meet such a sensible girl. Imoen though looked appalled –perhaps her own recent success had given her boundless hopes for such doomed romances.

'Eruna, that's so _sad!_ You have to tell him how you feel! I'm sure he likes you back; he hasn't gone after anyone else, has he? He's probably just worried about ruining your friendship, like you are.'

The girl looked sceptical. 'Are you sure?'

'Well, I can't say I'm convinced,' said Fritha, 'If you are happy enough now, why chance it? Friends are far better to have than lovers.'

'Friends, eh? Like you and _Solaufein_,' sang Imoen, Eruna giggling as her friend made kissing noises. Fritha ignored her.

'Exactly so.'

Brieanna was frowning again. 'You favour the drow?'

Fritha smiled. 'Not as Imoen thinks, but Solaufein is very dear to me, like the brother I never had, and it is nice always knowing that someone has your back.'

**…**

'Another round there, sirs?'

Valygar drew a sip from his half-full ale cup. It was the maid's fourth visit that hour, the dazzling smile she was directing across the table to where Athic and Anomen were sat side by side going entirely unnoticed, Anomen shuffling the deck ready for the next round of_ Ruin the Guild, _Athic paying just enough attention to answer her_._

'Ah, I think we're fine, love.'

'As you will, sirs.'

And she left them with barely a sigh, even her long black braids seeming to droop as she returned dejectedly to the bar where a long row of orders were waiting to be taken out to other tables, the frowning barkeep pulling another carafe of ale from the taps. It had been a pleasant enough evening so far, the tavern not so busy as to grate overly and Valygar liked their company enough to bare the surroundings, the time passed in card games that reminded him of his life in Eshpurta, the talk moving from the cool discourse of their plans, to more light-hearted topics as the ale flowed.

'Right, are we all playing this round?' asked Anomen, though the question was directed to Solaufein, who had opted to watch the first few hands of the current game until he had a grasp of the rules. The drow nodded once, Anomen dealing the cards to the four men about him and placing the stack in the middle. A cacophony of clunks and sighs as cups were set down and hands taken up, Minsc starting off the round as the winner of the last hand, taking a card from the pile in the centre and discarding two others.

'Boo wonders where our maids have found themselves this eve.'

'Marmont is a fair town and the river is lined with taverns,' offered Athic cheerfully, taking his turn, 'I imagine they're having a fine enough time of it. I am surprised Jaheira did not want to go with them.'

Athic was likely the only one among them who was, a covert glance shared about the table. Valygar threw down a card and took another two.

'I cannot see why we could not attend with them,' muttered Solaufein to his hand.

'Boo says it is harder for the maids to talk about us if we are there.'

Much laughter followed this truth, Athic adding teasingly, 'But which girl will be speaking about you, eh, Minsc?'

The broad shoulders bobbed in a shrug. 'I know of none, but Boo tells me there is much to talk of sat about me.'

'I am sure they will have better things to talk of than us, Minsc,' dismissed Anomen sensibly. Athic, though, was looking contemplative.

'I don't know; Eruna takes gossip as parched men take ale, and I fancy young Imoen would have quite enough to slake her –you two seem often paired of late.'

A round of quiet snickering. Valygar threw another two cards down onto the growing pile, feeling uncomfortable, something he would have rather kept private, at least for a short time, already out and open for discussion. He liked Imoen; the girl's irrepressible nature a heartening reminder that even as times darkened some things would always remain bright.

'The days of walking are shorter when passed in talk,' he offered coolly, a stab of guilt catching him under the ribs as he imagined Imoen's hurt look should she have heard him.

'I wonder if you will be so stoic when she returns here with some other sweetheart on her arm,' mused Athic.

More laughter. Solaufein smiled along with them, though he could not manage the same mirth. He would have believed the company of men easier, it certainly had been so in his home, a sense of camaraderie coming from a shared position as inferiors –that was if you ignored the hungry rivalry for favour.

It was a different relationship, though, to the loud and familiar banter of those men about him now, and Solaufein did not feel quite included, though he was sure that was not their intention –after all, their ways were not his own. Across the table, Valygar was taking a sudden and unprecedented interest in the game at hand. He clearly favoured the girl, Imoen, yet it seemed he would rather do anything than admit as much. Surfacers were allowed so many freedoms –why they found the need to be trapped by prisons of their own construction was beyond him.

Solaufein placed another two cards down with little care as to who won. Worry for the women gnawed at him just as it had since they had left, an ever-present weight upon his chest. He was distrustful of that place; the duplicitous surface, where women were so esteemed, called the fairer sex, gloried as nigh perfect creatures, and seemed almost always the first to suffer at the hand of their males.

Though perhaps his concerns of these outside troubles should have been directed closer. The game ended in the obligatory groans as Athic took the last hand, the woman's passage across the tavern unnoticed in the bustle.

'Excuse me a moment.'

Solaufein caught her just outside the main doors, the veranda finally emptied by the night's chill.

'Jaheira?'

She whipped back, arms paused at her ears as she had made to lift her hood and she let the wool fall back to her shoulders.

'Solaufein, there is some problem?'

'No. You go to meet the Harpers?'

Her eyes widen the slightest fraction, barely a quirk to her lips; she hid her surprise well, her voice holding no hint of it as she enquired coolly, 'You know of that?'

'Fritha and I keep no secrets between us. Do you think it wise to attend alone after the last time?'

The woman flushed, brow marred with a frown she made _no_ attempt to hide. 'Is that any business of _yours?_'

'We are allies, are we not?' he rejoined smoothly, 'Your welfare affects us all.'

Jaheira was really scowling now, her forehead unpleasantly creased.

'And I suppose you are here with an _offer_ to attend as well –_for my own safety_, yes?'

The drow allowed himself a smile. Such games were the same everywhere; it was a comfort.

'But, of course.'

**…**

Fritha rolled the smooth stick back and forth between thumb and forefinger, watching the round paper paddle of her fan flick back and forth, the painted nightingale a blinking image before her barely focused eyes. Gods, she wished this evening would hurry up and be over. Things had started off so brightly too, the thrill of flitting about her room getting ready long departed now, any mention of Anomen sure to leave her out of sorts, and all she felt was bored and tired and longing for her bed. The tavern was much busier by now, people filling the tables about them and crowding along the long counter, the air thrumming with the low din of discordant voices all fighting to be heard. Imoen and Eruna seemed a lot more drunk than she had yet managed to get, and had left for the bar to fetch another round an age ago. Fritha was more than tempted to join them in the bottom of a wine cup –at least if she was drunk, the time might pass more quickly.

Across the table, she could feel Brieanna's attention shift back to her, and Fritha wondered from where her curiosity stemmed: her heritage as a Child of Bhaal, or their shared connection to a more earthly individual, and Fritha was filled with sudden urge to ask the woman if Anomen had bought both their fans, Brieanna's still hanging where it had all evening from her belt by the loop set in the handle, the paper paddle painted with a green-grey scene of mountains. Her question was mercifully forestalled by another, though.

'Anomen told me that both you and Imoen came to age in the library of Candlekeep; do you remember much of your early years there?'

Fritha blinked, Brieanna watching her carefully above the open smile.

'A little,' she evaded, adding with a laugh, 'it was quite a while ago.'

Brieanna laughed too. 'Indeed. So you recall nothing of your mother? Forgive my curiosity; it must seem a strange thing to ask.'

Fritha sighed. It wasn't at all strange, in fact, she should really come to expect it after this long; the religious ones were always the more wary. Right, time to give that well-worn _lie_ another airing.

'Don't worry, Brieanna, we both know of my heritage. And to answer your question, no, I don't recall my mother. I don't remember anything before Candlekeep, but Gorion, my foster father, told me later she was a lady from Ashabenford who'd died giving birth to me. And, of course, I didn't know anything of my father.'

Brieanna looked genuinely shocked. 'You mean, you were never told of your birthright? Of anything?'

Fritha's laughter rang across the table.

'Birthright? It's not like I'm heir to the throne of Cormyr. And, no, it wasn't even hinted at –I suppose it was a hard thing to tell me.'

'How did you find out?'

Fritha drew a mouthful of wine, hoping to forestall that bitter taste. 'In a letter, after Gorion's passing.'

'And that told you what you were,' Brieanna pressed, 'where you came from?'

'Well, yes, in that it said my father was Bhaal. Gorion had been a friend of my mother's, which is how I'd ended up at the Keep. What about you, Anomen mentioned you are from a temple to St Rielle?'

The woman frowned and glanced away, knuckles paling as they clenched about her cup.

'I never knew my father; my mother was murdered by heretics.'

'Heretics?'

'Yes, some godless orc band who never knew the Light of the True God except for on the battlefield. After she died, I was taken in and raised by the local temple to Torm.'

'Were there any other children there?'

'For a time.' Brieanna sighed, for a moment somewhere else as she drew a sip of wine. 'The raids that winter had claimed many lives, but all other children were sent to an orphanage in the lowlands come the spring.' The dark eyes were back on her. 'I suppose we had very similar upbringings, in the end.'

Fritha shrugged. 'Yes, it would seem so.'

'Were they strict, the sages? The sisters had little tolerance for games.'

'Some-' Fritha paused, reassessing the thing, '_most_ were strict, yes, but I managed.'

The woman opposite was nodding firmly. 'Such upbringings can be a strength in themselves, imparting one with a sense of self-reliance that I feel is important. We must all trust in ourselves, in our own paths.'

'Yes…' Fritha agreed slowly, thinking back on those long, lonely days and the dusty silence of that world, 'But Beth was about and Gorion did his best to accommodate the girl in me -and then Imoen came and I had all I needed for a family. You?'

Brieanna's face was a stern mask. 'I had the sisters and my god; it was enough.'

Fritha nodded once, turning back to the bar once more, feeling awkward and in even greater need of that drink.

'What is _taking_ those two?'

**…**

Imoen drew another long sip, the sweet wine leaving her mouth dry and her head pleasantly warm, the jostle of the bar loud and cheerful as she stood there hidden from their table by the crowds having a covert drink with the equally merry Eruna.

A glance through the shifting throng confirmed the reason for their absence was still valid, Brieanna glaring at some men foolish enough to be looking their way, while Fritha played with her fan looking as though it was the only thing keeping her conscious. Neither she nor Eruna had been in any hurry to get back to that pair, Fritha and Brieanna equal parts dour and dull that evening, and scaring away any chance of entertainment. Opposite Imoen, Eruna was smiling as she emptied another cup of ale and unsteadily reached to the counter to pour herself another from the waiting jug.

'This small ale is so smooth –I wonder what their recipe is.'

Imoen laughed. 'I'm surprised you can't tell by now, the amount you've had.'

'Oh, I know, I really must slow down,' Eruna admonished herself, blithely knocking back another mouthful, 'I'm used having to keep an eye on Athic… Didn't Valygar want to come out with you tonight?'

Imoen frowned inwardly, though her face still smiled. 'Well, even if he did he wasn't invited, was he? Tonight is for us girls only.'

'I used to love going out about new places with Athic and Hantha and everyone. Vigo would always complain that wherever we went wasn't as "fine as Sembia" and then Hantha would tell him to bugger off back there if he thought it so grand –those two were always a word away from a quarrel,' Eruna paused, cup hovering halfway to her lips as she mused, 'I think he rather liked her, in truth. Oh, sorry!' she cried, a rather enthusiastic mouthful sending her teetering back a step into the group behind them, the four men swarthy and dark-haired in the local colouring, all in the autumn of their lives and quite unfazed with this interruption, it seemed, the one she had bumped into shaking the ale from his hand as his friends laughed.

'No matter, my pearl, that's the first bath he's had this tenday.'

'Aye, and look how black the water's gone,' his fellow quipped, showing the pair the murky contents of his cup, the black liquid shimmering ominously within. The man himself just laughed, rolling back the damp sleeve and wiping his hand on his loose linen trousers.

'Ha, smelling like this I'll be beating them off with a stick- the lads that is.'

'What _is_ that?' asked Imoen; despite its appearance, she could only assume he _hadn't_ drained it from the nearest bog.

'It's a porter,' piped up Eruna, 'they make it by burning the malt when they cook the barley.'

'_Oho_, lads, we've an authority here!'

'Not really, but mother would always have a few barrels of it on tap for the Sembians' mercenaries. Athic really likes it, too.'

'What's it taste like?' asked Imoen, giving his cup a dubious frown. The man's weathered face split with a smile.

'Here, have a try if you like, flower.'

Well, she had asked. Imoen took the cup he offered, her reflection rippling as she raised it to draw a sip, the tangy liquid strong and bitter.

'It's sharp, and- and it tastes like burnt toast.'

'That will be the malt,' offered Eruna wisely, 'they serve a porter in the North that is so strong they tax it as a wine! I remember once in Daggerford, Athic drank too many tankards and passed out, and he was so heavy none of us could move him from the table. We just took all his valuables off him and had to leave him to sleep in the common room. When he came round in the morning, he thought he'd been robbed.'

'That's sounds about right,' laughed the man, taking a hearty swig himself, 'But what are two pale northern flowers doing in our fair Marmont?'

'We're just guards on a caravan to Darromar,' explained Imoen in the lie that had served her all evening, 'the traders wanted to stop here and see if they couldn't get better prices for some of their goods before they reached the capital, so we thought we'd see the town for ourselves.'

Eruna was nodding. 'We were actually looking for some dancing, but we don't know where to go.'

'Well, there's the Tarnished Tankard on the other side of the river,' offered one man, his fellows frowning, more than one eyeing Imoen's vibrant pink gown.

'I'm not sure these girls would fit in there, Samis.'

'There's always the Tunbridge,' offered another cheerfully, 'They often have music of an evening and it's a friendly crowd; that might do for you.'

'It's on the other side of the town though. If you head to the market square and take the northern avenue from it, you should be able to follow the music from there.'

'Right, lads,' came Samis, knocking back the last of his cup, 'we'd best finish up here- I promised our Joina I'd meet up with her at the King's Fleet for the end of her shift.'

'Aye, let's be off then. Can't keep your pretty wife waiting –she might realise you're not worth it. Nice meeting you girls.'

'Aye, take care, there.'

And Imoen smiled as she watched them file past her, another group leaving just after them, her and Eruna suddenly exposed to the room and Imoen wondered if she moved a step, whether the glare being sent to her would be was enough to scorch the wooden counter, Fritha's brow lowered in a deep, amber frown.

It was time to get the drinks in.

'Here we are, a small ale for Eruna and wine for the rest of us,' Imoen trilled, unloading the four cups from the tray she had just set in the centre of the table, Fritha nodding her thanks with a rattle of pearls.

'Did you have to wait for it to _ferment?_'

Imoen heard the cool complaint at the delay, and blithely ignored it. 'Oh, we had to wait while they changed the barrel.'

'For _wine?_'

'Were you enjoying your wait at the bar?' Brieanna cut in to the escalating argument, 'I noticed you drew quite a bit of attention.'

'Ah, you know,' laughed Imoen, dropping into the empty chair next to Eruna, 'just being friendly –you remember what that was like, don't you, Fritha?'

Her friend drew the word out in her lingering dissatisfaction. '_Vaguely_.'

'Ah, cheer up,' laughed Imoen, 'you've got to make hay while the sun shines, as Winthrop would say –we'll have left here soon enough.'

'You plan to head to another bar?' confirmed Brieanna.

'Not another bar, but we'll likely be leaving Marmont in a couple of days at most, won't we? Off to rescue those-'

'Imoen, keep your voice down,' hissed Fritha. Imoen rolled her eyes.

'All right, all right; no one's listening.'

'And how do _you_ know?'

'Gods, Fritha, if I'd wanted a lecture I'd have invited Jaheira out with us.'

Fritha muttered something that was likely some wish that she had, but said nothing audible, Brieanna stepping into the breach with another dismal theme –gods' mercy, this pair could depress a Lliiran.

'Yes, I was discussing earlier our plans with Anomen; I must admit, Fritha, I am amazed you see your path through all this turmoil so clearly. Does it come from your blood, I wonder; perhaps a pull you cannot explain taking you towards your destiny.'

Fritha seemed suddenly like the only pull she was feeling was to the wine cup before her, the girl looking deeply uncomfortable as she surveyed the table.

'Er, not that I know. But if Bhaal needs the essence to return, then it would make sense that the more Children that remain alive the better.'

Brieanna was nodding. 'I see… I understand your logic, though such prophesies seem rarely to be bound by such sense. I am unsure as to whether saving these Children will even make a difference. If Bhaal is fated to return, I fear it may take more than such measure to this to halt Him. We may take a great risk now, to save people who are fated to die later.'

Imoen frowned; how easy it was for others to write off what was essentially her entire existence.

'So, the Children are fated to die, eh?'

Imoen and Fritha shared look, previous altercation instantly forgotten.

'I think I could use some more wine,' said Fritha dully.

'Yes...' sighed Eruna.

Across the table, Brieanna looked unusually embarrassed.

'I am sorry, it seems unkind to say it, but it may be the case. Whatever may come, please know I have the greatest respect for those carrying your burden.'

Imoen sighed and forced a grin.

'Well, I s'ppose someone's got to, haven't they? At least I was granted the wit, grace and charm to bare it. Come on, drink up, I want to get another round in –the barman here is _gorgeous_.'

**…**

Jaheira swallowed another yawn, the cool night air making her tired eyes water. She had not even made it to her bed the night before, all evening spent in the dingy snug of the Locks, an unexceptional old tavern marked by its landlord's sympathies with the local Harpers, or at least his willingness to take a bribe from them. And, by Tymora's grace, he was there still, the wizened barkeep making no sign that he recognised her from those past days as she spoke the code that identified her allegiances, the man grunting something about getting a message to _them_ before shuffling into the back.

With little else to do, she had waited there for her reply, hopes of a meeting that very night before they departed Marmont, fading with every toll of the temple bells. And then, at last, as the candles were but melted wax in their dishes, a message had returned offering her the last thing she had desired –a meeting on the morrow. The barkeep's permanent frown had deepened as she had refused it, though it paled in comparison to his displeasure when she had returned that morning to request the meeting go ahead after all, breakfast and Fritha's announcement changing more than just the group's plans.

A shout echoed behind them, a group of men falling out of the nearest tavern, still yelling farewells to the friends they left within. Next to her, Solaufein seemed to withdraw deeper into his cloak, attention returned instantly to their path as he dismissed this potential threat. Jaheira watched him a moment, the man giving no indication whether he noticed her or not, his dark profile just peeking from the grey wool hood, the hair at his temples pale gold in the streetlamps.

His presence irked- a subtle indicator of his distrust, and the fact she could see herself behaving similarly were their positions reversed was all the more annoying. She could, in theory, have refused him, ordered him back into the tavern, but after last time, and the troubles that had arisen from her alliances, the last thing she wanted was him telling tales to Fritha about her secrecy and giving the girl any cause for worry.

But even this displeasure could not detract from her enthusiasm, it seemed, Jaheira surprised to find herself smiling and she took a moment to rearrange her expression into something more neutral. It would be good to renew the old ties, ones untainted by the betrayal found in Amn. These were the Harpers as she had first discovered them, and she had been looking forward to rejoining their ranks for longer than she cared to admit. She _had_ hoped to make herself available to them, though since that morning's meeting, it was clear the local cell would be of more help to her, than she to them.

The tavern the barkeep had told her of was at the end of the street now, a group of drunks milling before the front doors holding a friendly argument with the two guards who had turned them out.

'Here, this is the place,' murmured Jaheira.

Solaufein read the distant sign with a puzzled frown. 'The Golden Garter –is it a brothel?'

'No,' she answered firmly; it was an understandable mistake to make. 'Come, this way.'

She led them past the slowly dispersing drunks, the drow shrink to the shadows as they passed the tavern to slip down the alley next to it, the pair about halfway down the building before Jaheira brought them to a halt, her three sharp knocks booming against the rusted iron door. It swung open on surprisingly well-oiled hinges, the tall man within looking them both up and down, chewing a mouthful of pipeweed contemplatively.

'You here to see Rahir?' he grunted, not waiting for an answer, 'He's in the back office. Just wait in the common room.'

The common room, it turned out, was just a room, small and gloomy, the single window long ago boarded up. Long benches lined two of the walls, a large table set in darkest corner, half the chairs about it already occupied while in the far corner a smaller table held a jumble of mismatched cups and two large carafes presumably of ale.

There were barely half a dozen people within, none of whom Jaheira recognised- or so she believed; the lamp cast more shadows that light. At the smaller table, a tall, blond woman was helping herself to a drink, the light falling across her as she turned and Jaheira felt that frisson of delight as it opened out an angular tanned face dominated by two bright, almond eyes.

'Parim? Yes, I thought I recognised-'

The woman's face was set, lips twitching in hint at her sneer. 'I do not know you.'

Jaheira felt her own expression harden. 'I see. Perhaps I was mistaken.'

Parim said nothing, brushing past them to join the table of similarly glowering figures, enough dark looks put their way to indicate they were likely the subject of their muttering. Solaufein watched them with an undaunted boldness.

'Are your brothers always this friendly?'

She suspected her scowl was all the answer he needed.

'Jaheira?'

They turned as one, a short, rather ratty looking man stepping from the door opposite, a cloak over his wiry arm, his gingery hair seeming to sprout in tuffs about his balding crown and coming down into two bushy orange sideburns that clashed with his weathered pink face. It was Temas, one of the men from her old cell, though he had been closer to Khalid than to her. To be truthful, Jaheira had never much liked him, the man dull and a bit too eager to please, but she could not have appreciated it more than at that moment, the scrubby face pulling into a guileless smile, 'As I live and breathe; how are you, my friend?'

'The better for seeing you, Temas; how have you been?'

'Ah, well enough- and who is your friend here?' he continued, the cheerful smile turned upon Solaufein, 'I did not know we had any drow within our local chapters.'

'You do not.'

'This is Solaufein,' offered Jaheira, 'a companion of mine.'

Temas just nodded, good humour unwavering.

'Well, any friend of Jaheira's. So, what has been happening with you? I heard about that business up in Athkatla.' He shook his head, perhaps unwilling to say more as he ploughed on, 'Then we get news from seniors that all the blame was on those you had battled, and you were exonerated -I knew it was only a matter of time.'

'It seems _you_ are the only one,' offered Jaheira, with a glare to the table behind them. Temas's nature easily saw both sides to the quarrel.

'Yes, well, there is a view that dead tongues can't prove their innocence, but those that know you well are not so cynical. I was sorry to hear of Khalid –his loss was mourned by many here.'

Jaheira dipped her head and offered the only thing that could be said. 'Thank you.'

'But I have to be going,' Temas sighed, all bustle as he threw his cloak about his shoulders, 'Are you here in Marmont for long?'

'Perhaps a few days -our plans are subject to the Fates.'

'Well, if you're about, Aleef, the barkeep over at the Oyster and Pearl, knows where to find me. Leave a message with him and perhaps we can meet up.'

'I would like that.'

Another broad smile, a friendly nod to Solaufein ending the meeting and the man was gone, stalking across the room to throw a 'goodnight' to those about the table as he passed before disappearing through the door.

'Ah, Jaheira, you are here as was arranged.'

And the druid turned to find him behind her, just stepped from his office as Temas, the man Rahir, of middling years and a fellow Tethyran from his colouring, his jowly face trembling as he crossed to them. He was more portly than she had expected, though with the attitudes to the Harpers what they were and their proximity to the capital she wondered if their presence had not become a more political game there now, all spying and manipulation. The man could have certainly passed for a merchant, his bulk hidden behind fine, tent-like robes, neat little beard showing where his chin became neck, his dark eyes already locked upon the man next to her.

'And you have brought another…'

Jaheira inclined her head politely. 'Rahir, I am pleased to know you. This is Solaufein, a companion of mine.'

The man's expression remained stony. 'I see. Perhaps your friend can wait outside.'

A look from Solaufein that just dared either of them to ask him; Jaheira bit back a sigh.

'I think he is fine here.'

Rahir's bulk bobbed with a shrug. 'As you say, though know there are certain matters I will not discuss before outsiders. Now you requested this meeting as a Harper, and as Harpers we heeded- what is it you need?'

Jaheira nodded once, glad to get to business. 'We are looking for a camp in this area, where the Tethyran soldiers are taking those Children who _survive_ the encounters with them.'

'Ah, I see. And may I ask why you search for it?'

'So you know where it is,' concluded Solaufein bluntly. Rahir shot him a narrow-eyed look.

'We have a fair idea.'

'_And?_' pressed Jaheira trying to curb her impatience. The man sighed.

'And I cannot tell you what we know, not when it is clear you mean to disrupt their work.'

The druid drew back; how soon the old regrets could surface. 'So, the Harpers support this evil.'

'Yes, to guard against a greater wrong. As you may have _forgotten_,' he drew the word out –she did not miss the insult, 'the Harpers work for the greater good, and the majority of people are _not_ Bhaalspawn. I understand that some of the soldiers who are tasked with their retrieval are being a little over zealous, but I have reports that the camp itself is quite humane for a prison of that type and, as far as the seniors are concerned, that is an end to the matter.'

Jaheira did not bother to hide her impatience this time.

'And what if another Bhaalspawn decides to take this opportunity to declare war on his brethren –are you so eager for another Saradush? Not to mention what will happen if that number of the Children die; Bhaal is resurrected and who suffers then?'

But the man waved her concerns away with a thick-fingered hand. 'The old prophesies are at best vague and at worst contradictory; nothing of them can be proven, and these people may be fated to die anyway. If another Bhaalspawn army is raised, then better these Children die all at once, than in running battles that will pock this land; the last thing Tethyr needs is an army sweeping across it rooting them all out!'

'So you would just have the Children all caged in one place awaiting slaughter?' demanded Jaheira, 'These are people!'

Rahir was shaking his head. 'I have heard of you, Jaheira, and I know of the company you keep; you let your association colour your perspective. You may travel with two of the Children, and find them to your liking, but other Bhaalspawn are not so agreeable; most are selfish, violent and wholly untrustworthy.'

'They merely sound like people to me,' muttered Solaufein. Rahir sighed, throwing up his hands in angry defeat.

'I will not stop you, but if you wish to find this camp, then you will do so without our aid. And before you go, Jaheira…'

His tone denoted a certain confidence, a nod to Solaufein sending him onward to the door with a frown, Rahir's voice low and grave as he gave the warning meant only for her.

'A word of caution. Be _very_ sure of your path. It has been reported by the seniors that you were accused falsely in your past troubles, but Dermin was a friend to many here, and such conflicts between our brothers are long in the forgetting. Many will be watching your actions in the days to come; do not give them cause them to question the seniors' decision.'

Outside the drunks had moved on, the street empty, and Solaufein waited until they were almost to the end before breaking the silence between them.

'So they will not aid us; I am _not_ surprised. All wish an end to this war, but none will work towards that conclusion.'

'They believe they are,' reminded Jaheira tersely.

'They are wrong.'

'And what makes you so sure that Fritha has the right plan in this?'

The drow glanced to her, silvery eyes flashing in the streetlamps. 'You disagree with her?'

'No, but I will not blindly follow either. The Harpers have a point, and as a Harper, I have a duty not to see this land drowned in blood.'

'Fritha desires no less,' he said simply, Jaheira feeling the familiar frustrations rise –it seemed only Solaufein was worthy of her confidence now, and _how_ he let them know it.

'And I suppose _you_ are her speaker?'

'No, I am her _friend_.'

Jaheira bristled. 'Do not take that tone with me, _boy!_ I was defending her against bounty hunters, while you were still serving your Matrons in the darkness. I stood against my brethren for that girl, and you will not pass judgement on my loyalty!'

Solaufein looked furious, eyes blazing, when just as suddenly the anger was gone, his face a mask once more as he returned his attention to their path.

'I am… sorry; you are all her friends, I know. But I find your expression of it strange. You follow her as leader, then proceed to question every decision she makes.'

'Something that shows our care, not our lack of it,' Jaheira pressed gently; it was easy to forget how confusing that world must have seemed. 'Fritha is strong and guileful, but that encounter with Irenicus changed her.' The druid cast her mind back to the lamplit common room, the girl skipping about with an altar's worth of veneration scrawled across her shoulders. 'I saw the henna stain she was showing off before they left the tavern –Solaufein, she is not infallible, and however much you may believe her to be, she is not of the divine.'

The drow snorted, his mutter almost lost to the night. 'You are more wrong that you realise.'

'And what is that supposed to imply?'

'Nothing,' he snapped far too quickly. Jaheira sent him a shrewd frown.

'Solaufein, you help no one, least of all Fritha, by keeping things from the rest of us.'

A long pause, and she had just about given up when-

'Fritha discovered something when we went to the temple in the Mir- she is not the child of some northern lady, her mother was a High Priestess of Bhaal.'

For a moment, Jaheira could say nothing. So Fritha was not the only one with a talent for stories it seemed; Gorion and the other Harpers had mentioned nothing of this to _her_. At her side, Solaufein was fidgeting, perhaps taking her pause for some unspoken doubt as he challenged fiercely, 'This changes nothing! Fritha is still the woman she has always been!'

'Peace, Solaufein, I did not say otherwise!'

The drow muttered something in his own tongue, likely a curse from the venom with which he spat it and one seemingly directed at himself. Jaheira ignored him; there was too much to consider now, without the drow's jealous loyalty getting in the way.

'Gorion brought her to the keep when she was in her fifth summer; what does Fritha recall of the time before?'

Solaufein sent her a glare, angry that more was being expected of him, though he answered anyway.

'Very little…that I know of.'

Jaheira nodded slowly; it seemed Fritha still kept some secrets from even the closest of them. They walked on in silence.

**…**

'Oh, I love him so much!' Eruna wailed to the uncaring rafters, 'Why can't he like me?'

Fritha sighed inwardly. A good few cups of small ale had taken Eruna from merry and well into maudlin as she dwelled upon her doomed love, Imoen still at her side and earnestly trying to convince her otherwise.

'Ah, come on, Eruna; you don't know that. You need to tell him how you feel!'

'I've never known _anyone_ get drunk on small ale before,' muttered Brieanna. Fritha just scowled. 'I could bloody throttle Imoen! This is all her fault for making a fuss about it being so _tragic_ –the girl was happy enough just being his friend before she started on about it!'

'Be cheered, Eruna,' offered Brieanna more audibly, 'I cannot believe any true affection is in vain.'

'Really?' the girl sniffed, wide-eyed and hopeful. Brieanna looked pointedly to Fritha, nodding gravely.

Fritha threw a glance heavenward and sank the last of her wine; she'd had enough.

'Perhaps we should be getting back to the inn.'

'No! We haven't been dancing yet!' cried Eruna, her unrequited love now mere inconvenience in the face of _this_ tragedy, Imoen nodding in eager agreement. Fritha shook her head.

'We don't even know where to go, and I don't want to wander the streets all night looking for somewhere.'

'Some men at the bar said there's music on over at the Tunbridge.'

'And where is that? I think we've left it a bit late, Imoen.'

'Oh, come on, Fritha.'

A glance to the bored Brieanna; if it came to a vote the woman would clearly be siding with her. Fritha sighed and reached for her purse.

'Right, since the Fates seem set on deciding every step of my path lately, they can decide this one, too. Swords, we go back; wreaths, we go on.'

They followed the arc upward, the spinning coin flashing in the lamplight only to disappear, a broad hand snatched about it and all eyes seemed drawn up that green clad arm to the handsome, sculpted face now above them, the faded blue eyes holding a confidence that came from too many people having seen his beauty and judged on that alone. The raven-haired man had finally left his perch at the bar, it seemed, his few friends gathered behind him, happy enough to let the fairest of them make the introductions.

He smiled cockily at her, flipping the coin deftly between his fingers; something inside Fritha bristled.

'You must be very wealthy to be throwing silver away.'

'It wasn't away; it was _up_,' corrected Brieanna sharply. It was as though he had not heard her, the man still looking down at Fritha.

'And where are you ladies heading tonight?'

'We don't know until you give us back our coin,' said Imoen with her usual bluntness.

'Oh, you have no plans then?' he confirmed, barely sparing the girl a glance, 'Well, then my friends and I can surely help you; we know many of the taverns here, perhaps we can even attend one together.'

Imoen was frowning- the fact she hadn't seized upon the chance to ask about dancing said all Fritha needed to know, though her friend told him any.

'Yeah, well, thanks and everything, but I think we're fine on our own.'

He ignored her, still smiling at Fritha.

'What brings you to Marmont?'

'We're on our Grand Tour,' giggled Eruna. His eyes flicked to her, lingering on the plain blue dress.

'Ah, a Grand Tour, is it? And how nice you brought your maid out with you.'

Eruna's smile faded, a chuckle rippling through his friends, the man looking down at her as though he expected Fritha to join them in it. Her lip curled back in an unattractive sneer.

'For an undeniably handsome man, you have an ugly soul.'

The laughter stopped abruptly, the man's smile suddenly tight.

'Sune finds me fetching enough.'

'Perhaps She should look deeper.'

The man bridled. 'She would not even spare a glance to any of you!'

'At least we don't worship a ginger slag!' snapped Imoen.

'No, just drink with one!'

Fritha did not recall standing, the man hastening back a step into his friends, alarmed at her celerity. The weight of that dagger was pressing into her back and for an instant she felt it, saw it: the spray of blood glistening in the lamplight, the knife through his hand and pinning it to the table, that rapturous explosion of pain in her fist, each finger throbbing as though it would burst as her knuckles collided with his jaw, and all around her the tavern erupting in shouts and clashes. Fritha drew a deep tremulous breath and slowly released it.

'Come, we are leaving.'

Outside, the cold air took the last of the anger from her, Fritha finding herself shivering uncontrollably, the sudden release leaving her light-headed and edgy, face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the wine. At her side, Imoen was still spitting a venom incongruent to her elegant appearance at the inn behind them, the windows throwing light in warm yellow panes across the darkened street.

'Stuck-up bastards! And that bloke- I hope the next women stupid enough to bed him gives him the clap!'

Brieanna turned from the girl's ranting to catch her eye. 'Are you well, Fritha?'

'Yes, just a bit cold -and annoyed,' she admitted in grave understatement. Eruna tutted sympathetically, tottering over to pat her arm.

'Don't be upset, some people are just like that; here, take my shawl.'

Fritha wrapped the wool about her gratefully, its homely fragrance of soap and woodsmoke familiar and deeply comforting.

'Yeah,' agreed Imoen, her wrath finally spent, 'Well, we gave as good as we got. Come on, let's get back.'

At least the incident had seemed to convince the girls of returning to the inn, Eruna and Imoen arm in arm as they led the way with a song.

'…_Were I laid on Vaasa's coast and in my arms embraced my lass, warm amidst eternal frost, too soon the half year's night would pass…'_

Fritha followed them, head dipped and shawl tight about her. Before it had always felt just, warranted by the circumstances, but now… Now she was just _aching_ to stab people for mere name-calling. Her anger was no longer her own and it was frightening.

'You felt it back there, did you not?' came the voice at her side, Fritha glancing up to see Brieanna watching her with an unreadable expression, 'The stir of the blood.'

'I'm really not comfortable talking with you about this, Brieanna.'

The woman ignored her. 'I could see it to your face -the struggle.'

'I _said-'_ Fritha just managed to swallow it, the anger almost choking her, 'I would rather not talk about this.'

Brieanna nodded slowly, deciding something. 'You can control it; you are strong.'

Fritha snorted – what did any of them know?

'It doesn't care. It isn't the instinct, so keen for my _triumph_ over the brethren, it is the essence, it longs for death: others, mine, it doesn't care; it just wants blood and chaos and violence until all is consumed.'

'But you resist it,' said Brieanna, eyes bright with an emotion Fritha had not seen in them before. She nodded, unable to stop her mind from adding the pessimistic _for now._

'If you ever need to speak of it, Fritha-'

_I won't_

'I thank you, Brieanna,' she cut in, polite, but firm, 'I shall bear that in mind.'

The woman nodded and said no more, Fritha losing herself in their voices as the girls song echoed about them.

'…_If with me you'd fondly stray, over the hills and far away.'_

**…**

'We're back!' cried Imoen as she burst through the doors, the common room much quieter than when they'd left, only a few patrons whipping around at the commotion as she and Eruna danced between the tables to their own, Fritha and Brieanna following at a more decorous pace. Minsc, Valygar and Athic were still seated where they'd left them, Anomen standing at the bar possibly getting in their last round of drinks, Athic and the Rashemi beaming at the girls' approach.

'Ah, Boo wonders is there anything fairer than young maids?'

Athic joined him in a laugh, the tall man standing to meet their arrival.

'Ho, Eruna! You're looking very merry!'

'Athic!' the girl cried, flinging herself at him a drunken embrace, the warrior taking this sudden affection in his stride as he lifted her up, her laughter warming the air. 'Oh, Athic, I had a lovely time!'

The man was chuckling fondly, setting her down and pulling out the chair next to his.

'I can see that! Come over here and take some water with me, and you can tell me all about it.'

Imoen smiled as he poured their cups, subtly getting some water into the girl before she slept –she'd thank him in the morning. Behind her, Fritha and Brieanna had already moved off to join Anomen at the bar, Imoen slipping over to the other side of the table where Valygar and Minsc remained seated.

'So, did you miss us?' she laughed.

'Certainly! Boo says it is not an evening without our womenfolk.'

'And what about you, Vals,' she teased, dropping neatly to sit on the ranger's lap, an arm draped over his shoulder, 'did you miss me?'

She felt him shift uncomfortably, his posture suddenly as rigid as his chair as he avoided the Rashemi's eye, even Athic paused in his conversation with Eruna to give them a curious look. Valygar gruffly cleared his throat.

'As Minsc said, it is not a table without all present.'

Imoen just nodded, moving from his lap to take the nearest empty seat –he had not told them.

'Yes… as Minsc said.'

'So,' continued Athic, 'did you girls get into any trouble then?'

'Ah, we don't get in trouble -we _are_ trouble,' quipped Imoen.

The laughter rang about her; Imoen made herself join it.

A presence behind her chair, Brieanna's shadow falling over the table. 'Are we having another round here before we retire?'

The idea of staying down there to force that friendly chatter was more than she could stand; Imoen pushed her chair back with a pitiful shriek.

'No, I'm fine; I think I'll head up now. Night, everyone.'

The gloom of the landing was a relief she had not realised she had been craving, the good humour she had been forcing for what felt like half the evening finally abandoned. Gods, that life was hard work sometimes. Still, she'd be better for a sleep.

'Imoen?'

She turned at the voice, paused as she watched him ascend the stairs behind her, a frown already furrowing that board, dark brow.

'Hey Vals, you going to bed, too?'

He ignored her question. 'Imoen, is something wrong?'

'No, no…' She swallowed dryly, his unease pressing the answer from her. 'You haven't told the others about us, have you?'

'I did not see it as any of their concern.'

Imoen sighed inwardly, turning to go. 'No, I s'ppose it's not. Night, Vals.'

'Imoen?'

'_What?_' she snapped a little more tersely than she had meant to, turning back to find Valygar's frown had deepened. 'I mean, what is it, Vals?'

'Imoen, if something has upset you then I would rather you told me of it.'

The girl shrugged; there were some things she wondered if he'd ever understand.

'It's just you haven't told anyone about us.'

'I did not see it was any of their business.'

'And it's not, but it's not about that. I told Fritha and the others because I couldn't help it. I was so happy; I just wanted to tell everyone. Hells, I'd have the town crier yell it over the market square except they don't have one here.'

Valygar looked rather uncomfortable, as though he was just beginning to see it all through new eyes. 'I see…'

'And this morning,' she continued quickly, feeling she may as well give all her grievances an airing while she had the chance, 'You didn't ask if I wanted to go about the town with you.'

'I assumed you would wish to spend the day with Fritha.'

'Well, I would, but you still could have asked –that is, if you had wanted that,' she added sullenly. 'You say you like me; well, how am I supposed to know it? You never seem to want to spend any time with me outside of what we would usually, and you can't even stand me touching you.'

Valygar was really frowning now. 'That is not the case, Imoen, and I understand from where your concerns stem, but I told you last night my feelings are sincere, and I do not believe I should have to constantly give proof of them.'

'_Constantly_ _prove them?_ You wouldn't even hold my hand this morning! Look,' Imoen sighed, more than tired and frustrated of the whole thing, 'I like you, Valygar, but if you're just saying we should be together because, I don't know, you feel guilty for hurting me before, or you feel you should be moving on from Suna, or proving to yourself you're over this fear of magic, or whatever, then, just say now and we can call it a day.'

Valygar was staring down at her, face twisted into an expression of rarely-seen surprise.

'You honestly think that?'

'Oh, I don't know what I think,' she cried, almost despairing of him,' One moment you're telling me I look nice, the next you're clearly twitching in your own skin when I so much as sit on you.'

A silence between them, the man's face dipped as he confessed, 'I am sorry, Imoen, it has been a time since I was, well… and I am more accustomed to relations of a certain… reserve. I am ill at ease with displays of affection before others, but it does not mean I do not care for them at all…' he swallowed uncomfortably, 'or you.'

Imoen sighed, his sincerity finally cooling her temper – she had promised herself, she would not let not bother her.

'I care for you, too, I- just do what you're comfortable with and we'll go from there. Think you can manage that?'

He smiled at her teasing.

'I imagine so.'

**…**

Anomen smiled, watching the commotion from the bar he had just been about to leave, Imoen stood at the space between Minsc and Valygar and giggling as Eruna collapsed into the chair beside Athic, Fritha and Brieanna eschewing that lively company to join him there.

'Ladies, you enjoyed your evening?'

A glance between them, the taller of the pair offering, 'It was… an experience.'

Fritha smiled. 'Ah, Brieanna, tactful as ever.'

'The others seem a little merry,' said Anomen, eyes drawn back to them as laughter rang out from their table.

'Are you surprised at their state,' asked Fritha, 'or the fact I'm not worse?'

Anomen laughed, the pair nodding as Brieanna excused herself to join and perhaps endeavour to subdue the riot.

'You are returned earlier than I had expected.'

Fritha's painted shoulders bobbed in a shrug. 'We had a little trouble at the tavern, though you'll be glad to hear I behaved myself this time. That is the thing about going out dressed like a lady: you rather feel you should act the part.'

Anomen ignored her quip, an unease stirring in his stomach. 'There was trouble? Nothing serious, I hope?'

'No, no, it was fine,' she dismissed with a sigh. Her lower lip was stained indigo with the wine she had been drinking, the slight smudge to the kohl under her dark eyes leaving them attractively dusky; weary little empress.

'And you came by no attention of a more favourable sort?' he continued more quietly and only half in jest, 'No men falling at your feet to pledge devotion undying?'

'Not a one!' she exclaimed, 'It was wonderful; I felt quite unloved. What about you men, was the maid service particularly good?'

'Not that I noticed. Perhaps rumours of our quick-tempered young leader were keeping them away.'

Her laughter was a little wan, but it made him smile all the same, the man gesturing to the counter at their side.

'Will you have a drink?'

'Ah, no thank you, I think I've had enough. Have Solaufein and Jaheira already retired?'

'No, they left together a couple of hours past now, and did not say where they were going, which, I suppose, is answer in itself.'

Fritha was nodding contemplatively. 'Yes…'

Her gaze drifted back to the table behind them. Imoen and Valygar were long departed, Brieanna stood further along the bar with Minsc, leaving Athic and Eruna alone together, the young girl leaning in unsteadily as she beckoned the man closer. Fritha was galvanised to action. 'Oh _no_…'

Three paces and she was at the girl's side and gently heaving her up from the cheerfully bewildered Athic, 'Come on, Eruna, time for bed.'

'But, I was just telling Athic-'

'Yes, yes, if you still want to tell him anything, I'm sure you can do so in the morning,' she soothed, sending the knight a smile as they passed, 'Goodnight, Anomen.'

'Goodnight, Fritha.'

He watched her ascent, one hand at her skirt, the other steadying the girl before her, Anomen smiling as her voice drifted down the stairwell.

'Gods, you two scared the life out of me! What are you doing lurking about the hallway?'

'Hello Valygar.'

Anomen turned back to the bar; he would likely be joining them soon enough, the man eyeing his barely touched cup of ale with a debate on whether to abandon or finish it as Brieanna rejoined his side.

'So you enjoyed your evening, my lady? Fritha said you came by some trouble.'

Brieanna ignored the question, eyes dark beneath the frown.

'She knows you still love her.'

'Sorry? Brieanna, I-'

She did not let him finish.

'I am disappointed that you lied to me, Anomen, and even more so that you did the same to her.'

'My lady-'

'I understand that you believe you are acting for the best, but she cares for you, of that I am sure. The happiest I have seen her all night was here now talking with you.'

Contrary to all he would have believed before, this was _not_ what Anomen wanted to hear, all he had resolved upon, now once more thrown into uncertainty. He felt his jaw tighten, the words coming clipped in his frustration.

'I appreciate your concern in this matter, my lady, but it really is not something I wish to discuss.'

Brieanna's face was set. 'I see; perhaps I have overstepped myself.'

Anomen sighed; he should not push away his only ally in this, however lost the cause felt.

'No, no, I am sorry, Brieanna; I _am_ grateful for all you have done, but I pursued Fritha once against her preference and though in the end we came to an understanding, at the time I merely made her miserable. I think you were correct in the first instance; I shall be an ally to her first, and friend second, and any more is best put aside.'

'Why must you _both_ be so damnably stubborn?'

'My lady,' he reproached, her anger alarming. Brieanna just shook her head, no less passionate as she pressed, 'I am sorry, Anomen, but Fritha needs you! She is wavering, the blood set to consume her, and she needs the anchor of another to remind her why she is fighting it! More than just your heart may be at stake here!'

Anomen could not help a laugh. 'You have quite a flair for the dramatic, my lady.'

Brieanna drew herself up, eyes burning with indignant protest when suddenly she began to smile too, sheepish and slight, passions leaving her in a sigh.

'I suppose I have. The sisters always said I'd a lively imagination, though they did not see its value. Perhaps I can yet prove them wrong.'

'And that aside,' Anomen continued kindly, 'Fritha has many people around her to whom she can turn –should she choose to do so. She will be fine.'

Brieanna merely nodded once. 'As you say. Goodnight, Anomen, please think on what I have said.'

**…**

Fritha sat on the bed opposite, watching as the girl before her muttered something and turned over in her sleep. Eruna had changed into her nightdress and slipped beneath the blankets with little prompting from her, Fritha left to put out the lamp and neatly fold her discarded clothes one by one over the back of the chair.

She was sweet girl, a nice match for the friendly Athic should they ever get that far. Even Imoen seemed hardly changed from the friend with whom Fritha had grown up…

It sometimes felt like _she_ was the only Bhaalspawn among them.

Fritha left the girl sleeping, moving back into the hallway, the murmur of Valygar and Imoen following her into her room. It was dark and empty, as expected, lit only by the lamplight from the street outside. Solaufein's bed was still made and she sank on to her own with rustle of silk skirts, the bells striking the eleventh hour across the town.

Tomorrow, maybe the day after, and they would be leaving Marmont, likely never to return, setting out to aid this camp of Bhaalspawn and keep sustained for her the meagre chance of a life after all this –and Fritha was no longer sure why they were bothering. If she _was_ the Chosen One, the one singled out all those years passed to bring about Bhaal's return, then perhaps it was best that she did not survive. Could it be that she was the one thing He needed for his resurrection? The vessel He chose a lifetime ago; _her_ lifetime ago.

Perhaps all that was needed for this whole nightmare to be over was her end.

Goodness, the wine had not just left Eruna maudlin! Fritha shook herself crossly. She might not even be the Chosen One, or maybe such didn't even matter anymore…

That was the problem though, wasn't it? She didn't know anything - everything she had done so far could have been making things worse for all she knew of it. Fritha had visions of children being taught about her in centuries to come –mirrors to the lessons she herself had once had, sat in some dusty office listening to tales of those generals who should have pressed a battle when they held fast, the seemingly wisest course proved fatal error when their enemy's reinforcements arrived just in time. Or kings who exiled the _wrong_ uncle, and mages who spent their lives researching the spell that was to be their end -only those that came after able to see the cruel joke.

Sometimes she wondered if life was ever supposed to be anything more…

Fritha sat there in the half-light until she could stand the silence no longer, suddenly throwing off her gown and jewellery to pull on the tunic and trousers she had shed hours before. The hallway was empty now, the girl creeping along it and down to the tavern, though there was no need for such caution, the common room finally vacated by her friends, and Fritha stepped back out into the night.

She walked without any idea of where she was going; it did not really matter. The streets were busy with people all wending their ways home as the taverns closed up for the night, but the gown had been swapped for tunic and cloak, ordinary and inconspicuous, and no one paid her any mind as she walked, half-glad to be alone, half-wishing she would by chance meet someone, Solaufein or one of the others; someone who could tell her everything would be all right.

But there was no one, and she had reached the gardens before she had realised it. The windows of the Dovecote were dim now, the street dark and silent as she stepped through the wrought iron gateway, the gravel path meandering through neatly pruned trees, blooming flowerbeds and raked lawns, the gardens to that goddess holding the sort of engineered beauty of a plucked, coiffed and well-painted courtesan -not a hair, or leaf, out of place. In the centre rose the shrine in gold and marble, embossed silver door locked for the night. Which was probably for the best, since anywhere more sheltered would have been instantly snapped up by the women who seemed to use the gardens to sell what the shrine would have had venerated, the nearby bushes stirring with the grunts and well-rehearsed moans of a whore and her latest customer.

Fritha ignored them, moving a few paces away to linger before an alabaster statue of a young woman, perhaps Sune in one of Her guises; pretty face tilted slightly to the sky, all tossed hair and tempestuous pout. Fritha gazed up at it, seeing herself as that girl; the one she could be now had the Harpers not stolen her away, had she been raised by those women, taught of her power and her place in that prophesy. The most-exalted servant of Bhaal; Murder redivivus; the one chosen to wield magic and manipulate armies and bring a war to those lands that would resorted their murdered Lord to the heavens… At least, now she would know what she was supposed to be doing.

All that time she had assumed she could even make a difference, but perhaps it was as Brieanna had said; perhaps they were already fated to die and nothing could ever change that. Had anything she'd ever done mattered?

The rasp of footsteps behind her, someone was coming, and in that moment, alone there in a foreign land, Fritha just felt so lost, so miserable, she swore to the world and every god listening she would tell them, all the revelations and fears she had been bottling up for days now; she would tell them everything. The footsteps stopped, the presence halted at her back, her throat tight with her confession. _Please, let it be him…_

Fritha turned, breath catching as her gaze came to rest on that old, sagging face that bobbed unsteadily upon a swaying body, his dirty grey hair falling to his collar and hanging in a greasy curtain before his blood shot eyes.

'You for hire, love?'

The words hit her in a mist of ale. She stared back at him, silent in her disbelief. He blinked groggily.

'Well?'

'What do you think?' she snapped, shoving roughly past him.

It hadn't been him; it hadn't been any of them. But the world had spoken, and that in itself was a release of sorts. Fritha marched through the streets, brisk and full of purpose. She would face the future as it came, and she would do so alone.

Solaufein was in bed when she arrived back. Fritha knew he was awake, but he said nothing and neither did she, the girl stripping to her underwear to crawl between the sheets and let sleep claim her for another night.


	18. Hunters and Hunted

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: I would like to dedicate this chapter to one of my betas, Maje, who just happens to be celebrating her birthday today. She was the first beta to offer her services at the end of Sunrise (if anyone noticed the marked improvement in my spelling, then this is the lady to thank) and since then she can always be relied upon to catch the many errors and give enthusiastic feedback in a timely manner. Truly an alpha among betas; Madam, I salute you! (P.S. Hope you have fun in New Zealand _^_^_)_

_Also, this chapter begins a section where the story will deviate most from the game and I would find it really helpful if anyone has any feedback for me on how they're finding it _;-)

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Hunters and Hunted**

The first of Kythorn had dawned clear and warm, as expected for the beginnings of summer, the sun rising to bake down on that small stone town and it was relief when evening came.

The group had stayed close to the inn for the most part, everyone pairing up to take shifts watching the gates for the patrol that was supposed to be arriving any day now. Still, it had not prevented some of them from enjoying the sunshine, Valygar and Imoen going for a walk together later in the afternoon, and Jaheira herself had taken a long stroll along the river after her early shift at the gates. Athic had asked Eruna if she'd wanted to go similarly out with him, but she was still suffering for her excesses the previous evening, the girl spending most of the day sat with a very quiet Fritha on the veranda, allies in their solitude, the young mage seemingly grateful to her for something, though Jaheira could not guess at what.

Minsc and Imoen were on the last shift now, before the gates were shut for the night, the rest of their company gathering loosely in the common room for dinner. Jaheira leaned back against the smooth wooden counter, taking a quiet moment stood at the bar away from the friendly clamour of their table, Brieanna at the other end and trying to order a round of drinks from the overworked innkeep. Their meal was over, the remnants of it yet to be cleared, most of the group remaining at the table to begin a round of cards, Anomen and Fritha's civil conversation anything but, and providing surreptitious entertainment for the rest of them.

'Did you take a walk about the town over highsun today, Fritha?'

'No, I was on the veranda with Eruna all day.'

'Only, I noticed when she joined us for lunch, you were not with her.'

'How very observant of you, Anomen.'

'And you hardly touched your food this evening either.'

'I had plenty.'

'You _had_ half a bowl of soup.'

'Well, we can't all be as greedy as you.'

'Fritha!'

'Anomen!'

A sigh next to her, Jaheira starting to find Solaufein standing at her side and watching them with a puzzled frown.

'Their interaction is much changed from Suldanessellar.'

Jaheira snorted. 'I am sorry to tell you that _this_ is a return to form.'

'They are usually like this?'

'Well, there was a brief period towards the middle of their relationship where they seemed to call a truce of sorts, but yes, this is they. Do not worry,' she added at his deepening frown, 'it rarely lasts.'

A yelp snapped their attention back to the pair, Anomen vigorously rubbing his head where the spoon had bounced off it and both of them laughing. Brieanna watched from the bar with an unreadable look. Solaufein smiled as Fritha made her apologies, sitting back down in her chair to meekly take up her cards once more, face twisting as she clearly fought against her lingering amusement.

'I am glad he is here. I think she is glad, too.'

'Wotcha!' came the shout from the doors, Imoen bounding through with Minsc at her heels, her call like a rallying cry as all moved to rejoin the table, the group leaned in and voices low.

'So, is the gate locked now?' asked Brieanna. Imoen nodded grimly.

'Yep, but not before a company of twelve Tethyran soldiers marched through to head straight over to the gaol.'

'But the gates are shut,' reasoned Eruna, 'That means they won't be able to leave until the morrow now.'

Jaheira suppressed a snort- she hardly though that was the case and neither did some of the others it seemed, Valygar always to be relied upon to point out the unfortunate realities of a situation. Jaheira rather liked that it took the burden of such from her

'I would not rely upon that. This was probably planned; they will wish to be in and out of the town under cover of night.'

'Indeed,' agreed Athic, 'the less people who see them, the less questions will be raised -especially if they are escorting _prisoners_. The watch will likely let members of its own army pass whatever the hour.'

'So _we're_ going to be trapped here?' cried Eruna. Jaheira inclined her head in slightest dissent.

'Perhaps not. I may have a contact who can help.'

Fritha nodded, cards abandoned once more. 'The rest of you, get ready to leave. I'll go over to the watch gaol and keep and eye on them.'

'I'll come too,' added Imoen, and together they left. Jaheira took up her cloak.

'I must go and speak with someone.'

'I shall come, too,' said Solaufein. It was not an offer. Jaheira bit back a sigh; they did not have time for arguments now.

Outside, Imoen and Fritha had already disappeared, the cobbled street emptying as people hurried home with the sunset. Jaheira threw her cloak about her with sharp movements, her displeasure obvious enough to tempt a response, though the man next to her made no comment. She could not bear the silence a moment longer.

'Surely, you can trust me in _this_.'

But the drow shook his head. 'It is not that. We none of us should walk these streets alone now. We go to the Golden Garter?'

'No,' the druid conceded tersely, 'to the Oyster and Pearl.'

**…**

The sun had set and the twilight was drawing in when their group, at last, reached the gates. It had been a close thing, close enough to be attributed to Tymora's grace, Jaheira and Solaufein arriving at the Oyster and Pearl tavern to ask for the contact, Aleef, only to find the swarthy barkeep in the back with the man they actually sought. Temas had greeted them with his usual cheer, the man becoming graver as they explained they were not merely there to socialise. He did indeed know of a means to leave the city after dark, though it would take some preparation, their pair made comfortable by the kindly Aleef as Temas left to make the necessary arrangements. The Harper had returned an hour later though, good to his word, and Jaheira and Solaufein were back at the inn as the temple bells struck seven, the rest of their company ready and assembled on the veranda. The horses were to be left there in Marmont for now, Brieanna asking for another two tenday's stabling for them and leaving reluctant instructions should she not have returned by then, they could be sold to cover the cost as she and Anomen had agreed.

Ahead of them, the town gates were emerging from the curve of the street, two watchmen on guard either side of them, their mail glinting in the streetlamps.

'And there are Fritha and Imoen,' said Athic, nodding to where the girls were sat upon the back of an empty cart that was parked in the alley next to the local bakery, the pair noticing them at about the same time and hopping from their perch to join them, Imoen viciously knocking the dust from her clothes as they went.

'Look at me, bloody flour all over my trousers; I look like I've been manhandled by a baker.'

Valygar was frowning; perhaps he was worried she had.

'Any sign?' asked Anomen. Imoen nodded.

'Yes, they left about a half hour ago –empty handed.'

'Which is one thing, at least,' sighed Fritha, 'I hope they will still be heading back to this camp despite that. Imoen snuck up onto the walls and watched their lanterns travel west until we lost them. You can get us out?'

Jaheira nodded. 'I believe so.'

'I'm sorry,' came the first guard, the younger and shorter of the pair by quite a bit on both scores, his gnarled partner watching them with an undisguised dislike, 'but you'll have to halt there; the gates are closed for the night.'

'I have a pass here from Master Tobias of the Town Merchant's Guild- we have instructions to meet his caravan tonight on the main road ready to escort it to Darromar.'

She handed him the parchment. The man considered it with a frown and long enough for doubts to rise, and to her shame, Jaheira wondered if Temas had not betrayed them at Rahir's behest, when finally the guard drew a sigh.

'Well, that's an official guild seal… but why didn't he just send you out before the gates shut?'

'He did,' laughed Imoen, 'but we had a bit of trouble rounding up the gang; you've got some nice taverns here.'

'Ah, let 'em out, Cid,' sighed his partner, 'Less of their sort in here the better.' He spat at her feet; Minsc twitched. 'Damn mercs.'

The guard shrugged to himself, a hand cupped to his mouth as he yelled up to the gatetower, 'Open the gates.'

The heavy wood swung back, the rush of grass-scented air sending a calm energy through her body like nothing else could, Jaheira at their head as they stepped under the gates and out onto the plains.

They joined the road as they told the guards they would, Valygar taking them along that stone path until he was sure their dim werelights could no longer be seen from the town and they moved out into the plains, following the road west, the night closing in about them, when Solaufein's sharp eyes spotted it: the pinprick glow of a distant campfire.

And there they stopped, tents pitched and gathered by habit around an open circle where no fire could burn that night. Jaheira had volunteered for the first watch with Minsc, the man sat across the circle from her before his tent, his attention on the hamster scurrying about the ground before him. Jaheira smiled to herself, enjoying the tickle of the cool grass between her toes. It was good to be out in the wilds again, to feel the earth underfoot and the breeze in her hair, to feel part of something timeless. Wars and the other follies of men would come and go, but the stars and mountains, the plains and forests would endure forever – that was if _she_ had anything to say about it.

A long grateful sigh stirred the surface of the tea Fritha's magic had brewed an hour ago, the chipped porcelain still holding a comforting warmth even after the liquid within had long ago cooled, the woman watching the fire burning down the plains. Opposite her, Minsc smiled.

'You are glad to be away from the town, yes?'

'That I am.'

'I understand it, too. People are not made to be all closed up behind stone and wood, though many seem to disagree. And they say Minsc is mad, eh?'

He chuckled to himself, scooping up his hamster as the creature sniffed around the tent flap behind him, perhaps tempted to join the sleeping Valygar, the man's eyes still averted as he continued quietly, 'The other night, you met with the Harpers, yes?'

'Solaufein told you?'

'No, Boo did. He was worried –good Solaufein was wise to join you.'

Jaheira scowled, but made no comment at the hamster's pronouncement, that oily stir of worry heavy in her stomach as she admitted, 'It was fine, Minsc; strained, but I was greeted as a Harper and welcomed by some.'

_One_, her mind corrected brutally.

'Others, though, still blame me for Dermin's death. Rahir, the leader there, warned me my actions are being watched.'

It sounded more like a threat when she said it out loud, but Minsc was seemingly undaunted either way.

'Let them watch, we walk the path of honour.'

'Do we?' Jaheira sighed, unaccustomed to such doubts, 'They do not agree. They believe this camp will help more people than it will harm.'

'Men should not be taken and imprisoned for their blood; that is wrong, and you know this –you fought hard against that Fate for young Fritha.'

'Yes…' The worry writhed again. 'Minsc, did you know Fritha's mother was actually a priestess of Bhaal?'

Jaheira knew full well he did not, but the lack of subtlety to her question was lost on him. A pause as this information was processed, mind firing to body to move those broad shoulders in an unconcerned shrug

'I see this makes no difference.'

Jaheira did not agree. Fritha had spent almost five summers at that temple before Gorion had rescued her; what had happened in that time? Had she been hurt? Used in the countless dark rites for which that fell church was famed? Did Fritha even recall her time there? Even if she did not, the unconscious scars of such ordeals would be deep and affect a person still, the question was merely how…

'At this time, my thoughts are with Imoen,' the man opposite continued, suddenly frowning, Boo seeming to sense it as he stopped nibbling the man's bootlace. 'I am told she and Valygar have paired. I am not pleased, but all must be left to make their own paths- Minsc and Boo will be here should Imoen have need of us.'

Jaheira stifled a laugh to a smile. 'You speak as though she were your daughter, Minsc –you were just the same when Anomen and Fritha found each other.'

'And Boo says we were right then, too. No good came of that in the end.'

Jaheira just shrugged. 'Some relationships do not last, no, but it does not stand that _no_ benefit comes from the time together.'

'Perhaps, though I do not think a love lasting one but turning of the moon is could have yielded _much_.'

They shared a rather unkind laugh, slightly too loud to be considerate, but it felt good all the same.

'Minsc, you are becoming quite sharp in your old age.'

The Rashemi grinned, mirth twinkling in those beetle black eyes.

'Boo says, I have had a good mentor in you.'

xxx

For three days, they tracked those soldiers, the men keeping mainly to the road for that first day before they turned sharply south-west, taking a narrow little-used highway that skirted through the tamer western edge of the Mir, their own group keeping to the trees as they followed them.

Fritha was glad to be away from the town, just alone with her friends and nothing to tempt her burgeoning anger at the world, and she felt more herself than she had since her last visit to the Mir. She had a path to walk now, and, be it right or wrong, it always felt better to be doing something. Besides, she was _apparently_ the Chosen One, and in all the stories she'd read, they didn't usually make any horrendous mistakes, at least not until right at the very end. It wasn't much of a comfort, but there you had it.

The long days of walking had given her time to think on things –some would say dwell- but it was all the same in the end. Old memories were returning, brief flashes of her blessed life at the temple coupled with longer recollections of those first few years in Candlekeep, before Imoen had arrived, those years of silence and coldness, and a loneliness that had seemed without end.

Solaufein had been quieter, too, and though he had told her of the Harpers and his meeting with Rahir, she could not shake the feeling he was holding something back and those last few days were spent in a companionable silence neither of them saw fit to break. Solaufein had a secret, but then so did she, now: those hidden memories of a childhood all but forgotten.

At least, that evening had proved a pleasant distraction, the end to another day of walking finding them all gathered in a small clearing, far enough from the road to allow for a campfire, Fritha eating a sharp apple just on the cusp of ripeness as they waited for Valygar to return with whatever he could catch in those forests, the man sent away by Imoen with a kiss and a wave that the rest of them kindly pretended not to notice for his sake.

And her friend was still full of the cheer only mutual affection could afford, Imoen on form as she entertained the group with the story of how she and Fritha had broken into the High House of Gond.

'And this gnome, mad as he was, offered us five hundred gold to _acquire_ for him one of the latest exhibits, a telescope from farthest Lantan. Of course, we agreed in a shot.'

'Young Imoen,' sighed Minsc gravely. 'If we were in that city now, Minsc and Boo would be finding this gnome and showing him his error for leading our young girls astray.'

'I don't think these two need much encouragement,' laughed Athic.

'But _why?_' pressed Brieanna, in the same question she had presented to them since Imoen had begun the tale, 'Did you need the coin that badly?'

A glance between Fritha and her friend, Imoen raising her eyebrows. 'The truth?'

Fritha bobbed a shrug. 'Why not?'

'Well, because, _I_ wanted to show off to the boy I liked in the local thieves' guild.'

'And _I_, in my rampant jealousy, wanted to do something with Imoen without _him_ tagging along.'

Jaheira was laughing even as she shook her head. 'By Silvanus, I forget sometimes how young you both were.'

'So, anyway, the night comes and we're hidden in the gardens next to the temple awaiting our chance. There was a young acolyte who I'd spied earlier in the day who I knew would be easy enough to distract. He arrives on duty and our leading lady, here, makes her debut, flying up there with a squeal of, "Oh, help, help! I've been robbed. Brigands have-' A pause to the theatrics as Imoen turned to her friend, 'What d'you tell him they'd nicked again?'

Fritha quickly swallowed a mouthful of apple. 'My research notes into the Ulcaster ruins.'

'That was it! So off he goes to escort Fritha to the garrison to report the crime and giving me chance to sneak in to get that telescope. A quarter hour later, and us two are tearing back to the Elfsong like Gond Himself is after us!'

'I still cannot believe you stole from a temple,' tutted Eruna.

'Well, we did,' laughed Imoen proudly, 'and that telescope wasn't the only thing stolen that night; our young acolyte asked a certain damsel to meet him on the morrow.'

A round of laughter and good-natured teasing. Fritha sighed, Imoen recalling to her that venture's one regret.

'Poor Helith, I never did meet with him.'

Imoen was much less concerned. 'Don't tell me you _still_ feel guilty about that.'

'Only when I think of it.'

'Hey, what did happen to the five hundred gold we were supposed to get for that jaunt?'

Fritha couldn't help a laugh. 'You won't like it.'

'Try me.'

'I donated it to the temple of Gond.'

'Fritha!'

Athic laughed loudly.

'Ah, that reminds me of that time me and Vigo snuck out one night and headed the city crypts to try and find the lost tomb of mage Seveci the Blind. We'd been hired by some relative who wanted his old signet ring, and anything in the tomb else we could have as well as two hundred gold for the ring itself. Well, we found it in the end, but the tomb had already been looted by some luckier bastards than us. They didn't touch the coffin itself though, too many traps, and once Vigo disarmed them all, we got our ring. Course, I just threw it in our loot bag with the other junk and think nothing of it when Eruna comes by in the morning for the purse to get her breakfast. I eventually get up to find the priests had come round the inn collecting and you'd donated it to the Ilmaterans round the corner!'

'Well, you should have told me, shouldn't you?' giggled Eruna, 'They gave it back once we told them. Besides, you know I don't approve of tomb robbing. Honestly, despite the fact I would not appreciate anyone disturbing my remains when I am gone, between the extra equipment and the subsequent donations to the temple for treatments for _corpse rot_, they usually cost more money than they make.'

'Yeah, but think of the adventure! The treasure!'

'The interesting new diseases,' added Imoen.

Anomen was fighting against a smile. 'I am glad your excursion to the Athkatlan tombs was not so eventful, Fritha.'

'You went tomb-robbing?' cried Imoen.

'I wasn't _tomb-robbing_; I was looking for something specific. How did you think I raised that fifteen thousand: prostitution? And _while_ we're on the subject, I recall a certain knight being along for a couple of our more _interesting_ jaunts. I don't rate you much as a lookout, Anomen, but I never could have robbed that apothecary without you.'

Anomen was instantly scarlet. 'Fritha!'

Imoen was nodding slowly, looking the man up and down as though she'd never seen him before. 'You helped Fritha rob a man, Anomen? I'm impressed.'

'My lady, it was not so. I merely had a conversation with him and provided a distraction for Fritha as she took his receipt book –we suspected he was supplying a necromancer across the city,' he added hastily. Fritha grinned.

'Yes, and very well Anomen did, too; this great long tale about illicit activities and investigations by the Order -and you thought him beyond any falsehood,' she added to Brieanna. Anomen frowned.

'Well, appreciative though I am of this praise, I believe the true talent for stories rest with you, Fritha.'

'Indeed,' agreed Solaufein, fine smile gracing his fine face, 'she wove tales in the Underdark to fool an Illithid.'

'You were in the Underdark?' exclaimed Brieanna.

'That they were, their passage made with lies that would have pleased even the Spider Queen, had they not flouted Her very plans.'

'I would be very interested to hear the tale.'

'Perhaps that is a story for another time,' said Jaheira shortly. Fritha felt rather disappointed; perhaps the woman did not see the things done there anything to be showing off about. Brieanna smiled her acceptance, turning back to Solaufein to add, 'Well, as undoubtedly useful as such deceptive skills are, after watching you practise this morning, I am sure I would rather have yours with the blade.'

The drow just shrugged. 'Perhaps, you would not if you knew what was needed to forge them.'

'Maybe so. I was taught by the temple sisters and the militia, though I hold a fear that such informal training could have left yet untested gaps in my skills.'

'Boo says, you will find out soon enough.'

'Me and Fritha just got taught by the guards, and even then, not much -just enough to keep us alive really.'

'Looks like it worked well enough,' laughed Athic.

'What of you, Anomen?' asked Solaufein.

'I was taught at the seminary. We were trained in arms by years, the older groups teachers to the younger ones with the warrior-priests instructing only the eldest boys, and all devoting some time to train the year below them. At the seminary, the older boys could be a bit heavy handed during practise -until you were same size as them, of course. They were charged with instilling discipline in the younger boys, though some were overly zealous when it came to punishing breaches.'

'That's a bit mean,' cried Eruna. Anomen shrugged.

'I agree, but there were a few boys in each year who held no love for Helm or His teachings and had been sent to the seminary quite against their own desires. They were usually from noble families who saw some benefit to having a son in the church, and there was much resentment in them.'

'Poor lambs,' tutted Imoen, 'Still, I might not have minded taking a couple of beatings in place of some of our punishments at the Keep.'

'What on Toril did they have you do?' asked Eruna. The girls shared a look.

'Scribing,' groaned Imoen.

'Re-shelving,' sighed Fritha

'Archiving,' they chorused together.

'Scribing was the worst,' Imoen breathed, leaning forward to let the firelight cast eerie shadows across her face for her tale of blood chilling horror, 'hour upon hour in that dim room, every breath a mouthful of dust and the only sound the maddening scrit-scratting of a dozen quills…'

'I didn't really mind scribing,' said Fritha, casually sucking a spot of juice from her thumb and tossing the apple core into the bushes behind her.

Imoen was appalled. 'Are you off your head? It was torturous!'

'Only because the terms were,' clarified Fritha, striking the rules off on her fingers, 'you had to do a certain number of pages before you could go, and they had to be legible, and your handwriting is so appalling that you had to do it all at half speed.'

Everyone laughed, Imoen more than any of them.

'Still, it was quite bad, sometimes,' continued Fritha, with an absent sigh, 'it all depended on who was checking your work. Most days it was fine, but if you got one of the older sages in there…' She shook her head ruefully. 'No hope. Half blind as they were, they couldn't have read it even if you'd printed it out in letters an inch high. _"Illegible!"_ they'd croak at you, striking through the pages with dark red ink and sending you back to your desk to do it again, grumbling about how everyone was always in a rush nowadays and no one did anything properly anymore. But even then, it was still better than re-shelving.'

'I thought that was all right actually,' offered Imoen blithely.

'How can you say that? It took _forever!_'

Her friend snorted. 'Only if you did it in alphabetical order; I just used to shove them in where there was space!'

'I knew it!' cried Fritha, 'I bloody knew it! Every time I was sent to that storeroom the pile in there was larger. The monks must have just gone around after your sessions and pulled them all back off for me to do!'

'Well,' sighed Jaheira as the laughter faded, 'I am going to make my prayers while there is still enough light. Someone needs to stoke the fire ready for dinner.'

'Yes, m'm!' teased Imoen, Anomen rising as the druid did.

'I will join you, my lady.'

Minsc was eyeing the dwindling pile of twigs next to his tent. 'Boo says we will need more firewood.'

Solaufein nodded. 'I will help.'

And the others dispersed about them with mutters of prayers and chores, leaving only the four Bhaalspawn and Brieanna.

'Well, _I'm_ going to get some more tea,' announced Imoen, standing to throw a few twigs onto the fire in the most _cursory_ adherence of Jaheira's orders, and refilling her cup, 'd'you want some, as well, Fritha?'

'No, sod you! You likely owe me a tenday in those bloody archives!'

'We ever get back to Candlekeep and you can have them,' laughed Imoen, skipping back to her seat. Perhaps she thought the chance of them returning home so slim as to make this a _very_ safe promise.

Across the fire, Eruna sighed. 'Candlekeep… the mage who taught me used to talk about it from time to time –said he would give his beard for a few hours in the libraries- what was it like growing up there?'

'Quiet,' said Imoen promptly. Athic laughed.

'I can't imagine anywhere was quiet with you around.'

'You cheeky sod!'

'What d'you expect from your fellow Bhaalspawn? We're family, sis.'

Imoen laughed, Fritha letting her gaze travel that much reduced circle.

'It's strange to think we're all related. Well, all but Brieanna, that is.'

'Are we?' countered Eruna, 'Bhaal took many different forms to score His mortal progeny and ensure His return.'

Imoen was grinning again. 'We all go on about Bhaal's great plan for survival –him sowing his mortal oats. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he just found out he was going to die and he thought, "Sod it, may as well go out in style!" and then spends a decade or two whoring himself up and down Faerûn on an endless quest for warm ale and loose women.'

Fritha was laughing, flapping her hands in her delight. 'Yes, yes, and then afterwards the other gods are all, "Oh, Bhaal, you cunning swine! You've sown your essence all across Faerûn in a clever bid to cheat your death!".'

'You what?' questioned Imoen densely, doing a less than flattering impression of that dark dead god, 'Oh, yeah, yeah that's, er, _totally_ what I meant to do all along! Yeah, mortal progeny and that.'

'I do not find your mirth appropriate,' snapped Brieanna over their laughter, face flushed in her displeasure. 'Bhaal was a god, full of power which He put to great evil and no source for merriment!'

'Says who?' challenged Imoen.

'Says anyone who understands that His evils are still worthy of fear and revulsion.'

'Brieanna,' reasoned Fritha before Imoen could tell the woman just where she could stick _His evils_, 'to laugh at a thing removes the fear of it.'

'But should it? I believe it right to fear such evil. Bhaal's crimes were countless; that He raped your mother was surely the _least_ of His atrocities.'

'Who told you that?' demanded Fritha sharply. Brieanna looked surprised. 'Well, what lady would submit to such a thing?'

Fritha said nothing, feeling slightly nauseous as the old memories and her anger surfaced as one. Brieanna leaned forward, a hand held out and hovering over her own.

'However she came to bear you, Fritha, I believe your mother would have loved you very much.'

'Yes,' murmured Fritha, 'I imagine she did. I'm going for a wash.'

**…**

Anomen stooped, drawing a sharp breath as he splashed the cold water across his chest and neck, skin awakened in gooseflesh as he washed away the soap with the grime of a couple of days on the move. His temples were throbbing, scalp cold and tight from where he'd rinsed his hair, his feet numb and had been for a while, cold water rushing about his calves as he stood in the centre of the narrow stream, trousers rolled up and shirt off. His prayers had not held him long and the distant chatter of running water was more than enough to tempt him. He likely should not have bothered; a few more days travel and he would not have anything clean to wear anyway, and though such did not bother him as much as it did some of the others, a certain pleasure could be found in a fresh tunic.

'Oh!'

And Anomen whipped around to that familiar nest of copper curls, Fritha stood on the bank, her back already to him as she hastened to explain,

'Sorry, I thought you were making your prayers. I'll go-'

'No, it' is fine, Fritha, stay if you wish; I am almost finished now anyway.'

A long pause where every instant he expected her to make her excuses and leave, when she dropped abruptly to sit cross-legged in the grass, her shoulders slumped as she rested her chin on her hands, back still to him.

'You were hoping to have a wash yourself?' Anomen continued, mildly returning to his own. Above the stream's chatter, he heard her sigh.

'No… Brieanna started talking about Bhaal. Well, to be fair Imoen and I started talking about Him and…'

'Fritha, is something wrong?' he questioned, finally stepping, dripping, from the icy flow to see her face, mottled pink with an angry blush he was more than familiar with lately. She would not meet his gaze.

'I'm fine.'

Anomen swallowed any further questions, sure he had no desire to press her on it when she was already struggling against her temper. He turned to his pack, the towel waiting there thrown over his head and he was vigorously rubbing some life back into his frozen scalp when-

'We were talking about my mother.'

'Your mother?' Anomen repeated, his head emerged from beneath the towel, the man wracking his mind for the woman's name only to realise he had never been told it. 'The lady from Ashabenford?'

Fritha snorted, as cold as the water from which he'd just stepped. 'Yes, Lady Alianna of the court at Ashabenford. How _grand_ it sounded when Gorion told me; how different from that world of grey stone silence. Imoen and I used to have such games when we were younger, sauntering around in rich old curtains and linens we'd rescued from the attics, playing court; games, it seems, that were as real as the truths told to me.'

Anomen was frowning, the cold air on his bared torso forgotten as he tried to make sense of her scorn. 'Fritha, I do not understand. This Lady Alianna-'

Two dark eyes cut him dead.

'My mother was not a lady, Anomen, she was a priestess of Bhaal.'

'But-'

'When Solaufein and I went to the temple in the Mir, I had flashes; I saw where I had come from and I saw her. My mother: High Priestess of the Twin Temples.'

Anomen nodded, beginning now to see the root of her anger, towel discarded as he struggled into his shirt. 'She was going to sacrifice you.'

Fritha shrugged, the gesture not quite fluid enough to give the air of nonchalance it implied. 'Eventually.'

'Did Gorion know?'

'_Know?_ Of course, he bloody knew! He was the one who stood there and threw the spell that ended her life!'

Anomen was astounded. 'You- you are angry with _him?_'

Another bitter snort. 'I most certainly am, but not for that.' Fritha turned from him as she spoke, Anomen moving to crouch before her as she rooted a hand through her bag to withdraw, at last, her journal. 'I understand why Gorion told me my mother was just a lady of Ashabenford. The lie as you and everyone else knows it is a pleasant one, and the truth would have meant him telling me of my nature; something he did not want to do so early on in my life.'

Journal in hand, she flipped to the back where lived the scraps of poems, old notes and sketches she had collected over the years, Anomen unable to help a smile as his eyes caught on a blot of red, the dried flower he had given to her there still, nestled in amongst the other memories. A pause as her hand closed upon it, a well-fingered square of parchment, which she unfolded and passed to him.

'This is the letter I received posthumously from Gorion that first told me of my heritage. It does not suddenly tell the truth. Fair enough; it would have been a hard thing to explain in a letter. But it does _expand_ upon the lie…'

Anomen glanced down, his eyes flying over the unfamiliar scrolling hand until he found it…

…_Bhaal forced Himself upon your mother… _

When he looked up again there were tears in her eyes, her teeth clenched into a furious snarl.

'_Why?_ Why in the _Hells_ tell someone that? If he'd wanted it to sound less than willing on her part, there are a whole host of other options! Seduced, beguiled, but that…? That stupid, insensitive man! To suddenly learn you are the product of such a thing, it ate away at me! I had always known that she had died in childbirth, but to think that she hadn't even wanted me to start with, that I was forced upon her…'

Fritha turned away again, avoiding his eyes as she dabbed at her own, her voice quiet and unsteady.

'For so long it was there, this shadow over me. Others would talk of their mothers and I would get this flash, my stomach would clench as I wondered for the thousandth time how it had happened. Had she been asleep, had it been just a nightmare, the true horror of it only realised much later? Or had he come in a man's form? Had she struggled as he'd forced her? I would see her there in some darken room, beaten, crying; my poor mother! But it was a lie… all that time, all that worry and revulsion, and it was just something Gorion had plucked from the ether!' Fritha whipped back to him, ablaze again. 'And now I find the truth, and I prefer it! So my mother was a zealot who thought nothing of giving me up to death- at least she wanted to have me, at least she wasn't raped!'

Anomen just stared back at her, no words to give that could express the hollow feeling just opened in his abdomen. 'I… I am sorry, Fritha, I don't know what to say.'

She shook her head, scrubbing a hand across her face, almost laughing.

'My mother, the Lady Alianna; I'm so used to the idea by now, spent so many years imagining her life, her loves, I cannot quite believe that she is not real. It's as though I have two pasts, both as true as the other. Oh, damn him!' she cried suddenly, a fist thrown in frustration at her old leather bag. 'Why did he have to die? Would he was here now so I could curse him to his face for all this! Everyone who knew Gorion goes on about him like he was some _bloody_ _saint_, but was he so selfless? I was a child, barely five summers old and he brought me from the only home I'd ever known to Candlekeep of all places! Why? Because it was the safest place for me? How so, with all its people coming and going, and children such a conspicuous rarity? Would not some remote village have been better, with other children and a chance of a normal life? Of course, there would have been no rare books to study, no other sages with whom to pass the time. Gorion took me to Candlekeep because that was where _he_ wished to be! The other sages certainly didn't want me there; Candlekeep was no place for a child, and how I knew it, even then! The glares and the muttered disapproval, and the constant hiss of 'silence' whenever I dared to question or laugh or forget my place. _Little girls should be seen and not heard:_ it was repeated so often it was like being back in the sodding temple listening to the mantras!'

'Surely, Fritha,' Anomen reasoned, trying to inject some calm into her rising desperation, 'surely, you were not so unwelcome there. After all, they allowed Imoen to stay, as well.'

'Oh yes,' she sneered, 'Winthrop found some stray and was allowed to keep her. Was it their benevolence, or the fact that after three years there were worries I was going _mad_ with only two toys for friends!'

Her distress stabbed right to his heart. 'Fritha, I am sure that whatever his faults, Gorion cared for you.'

'You want any _more_ evidence?' she demanded, the parchment snatched from him and rattled furiously in the air between them, 'Then here it is, in his own hand! _Bhaal raped your mother_. I know he likely did it to set up a revulsion of it, to ensure the first thing I felt on discovering my heritage was not a thrill of power, but disgust at its source, but…' She trailed off, anger finally spent, and she just looked miserable as she folded the letter back along its lines and returned it between the pages of her journal. 'Gorion could not have loved me, not when he could do such things; even in his last words, he could not spare me from the lies.'

'Do you truly believe that?'

A deep sigh, the girl leaning forward, head dropped to her hands.

'I don't know; I sometimes feel I don't know anything anymore. The world is changing so quickly –I am changing, remembering, and the anger… Oh gods, I just wish this whole thing would hurry up and be over, whatever the consequences!'

For a moment, Anomen struggled with the desire to pull her to him. It was almost as if she seemed to want it too, sat there before him, still leant slightly over her bag as though just waiting to fall into the embrace. But perhaps it was imagined, or he hesitated too long, for after a moment she sighed again and rose.

'I'm going back to the others.'

'If you wait a moment, I will come with you.'

He thought she would pretend not to hear his request, but she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and waited while he pulled on his tunic and unrolled his trousers, the pair making their way back to camp together. They stepped into circle, almost unnoticed in the furore of Valygar's returning, Jaheira busying herself over the small wild pig he'd caught, while Imoen fussed similar over the hunter, and Fritha instantly left his side to join the drow seated before their tent, Solaufein leaning in to question her with his usually reverent concern.

Anomen felt a hard-suppressed twitch in his temple, forcing a smile as Brieanna passed him a cup of the ale Athic had produced from his pack, the woman eying his damp hair.

'Do you feel better for your wash?'

Anomen actually felt utterly wretched, though his state of cleanliness had nothing to do with it.

'Yes, thank you, my lady.'

'Come take a seat with me then, and stop gawking at those two.'

Anomen flushed, following the woman to sit before the tent she now shared with Eruna, Anomen and Athic cramped beneath the same canvas. Brieanna leaned back, eyes drawn up to the star-scattered canopy.

'I like the forests- the lands around Vallumscourt are so barren in comparison; just hills of stone and mud.'

'Do you miss the temple?' asked Anomen curiously.

'A little. Life there was hard, but familiar; you knew your place. Do you miss-' She cut herself off, looking embarrassed, 'never mind.'

Anomen smiled kindly. 'You can ask the question, my lady, and yes, I miss the Order, though mostly I must admit to missing my friends.' And for a moment he was back there, in some tavern with that pair, Simone laughing as Erick tried to disapprove above the smile. 'But that I am parted from them now does not always mean it will be so, even if the Order will not accept me back within their ranks.'

Now Brieanna looked curious. 'What will you do, if they will not?'

'I will return Athkatla. The temple of Helm there is where I was first sent as a brother and besides, my house is in the city.'

'Ah, yes,' nodded Brieanna wisely, 'I recall a certain young woman praising your estate to all who would listen the other night.'

Anomen snorted; Brieanna could twist the truth almost as well as the _young woman_ she so often brought up.

'My estate, or rather my house, for that is all that Fritha has seen of it, is a rundown old building, with an overgrown garden and hardly a stick of furniture in the place, and is nowhere near as impressive as the theatre she herself owns.'

Brieanna shrugged. 'Well, at least we know her regard does not stem merely from your wealth.'

Anomen enjoyed a burst of unexpected laughter. 'Brieanna! Look at them,' he sighed, nodding over to where Imoen was curled about Valygar's arm, little difference he could see between that couple and the pair sat next to them, Solaufein's hand resting on the small of her back as Fritha brooded into her cup. 'One pair courting, one pair allegedly _not_, and little to choose between them.'

'Or us two,' countered the woman bluntly. 'Anomen, as far as _I_ can see it, Fritha and Solaufein are friends, just as we are. Besides, I thought you had decided to offer her no more than noble camaraderie.'

'I have!' he snapped hotly.

Brieanna took no offence at either tone or lie. 'As you say, though I wonder if I can believe you, knowing now your talent for falsehoods,' she teased. Anomen dipped his head, the shame surfacing.

'You must think very poorly of me.'

The woman shrugged. 'You performed a small transgression in efforts to prevent against a much greater one – I know of more than you who would see it as a worthy trade.' Anomen noted she did not mention if she were one of them.

'Right,' came Jaheira, straightening from the cooking pot with a smile, her short hair almost blond in the fire's glow, 'this will likely be a half hour, at least. Let us have an ode, shall we, Minsc?'

**…**

The Rashemi had proudly obliged them, the words meaning little to anyone bar Fritha and their singer, though the undulating melody put Solaufein in mind of the dark mountains and still black seas of his home. It was a good half an hour later when the last note was left to fade in the air, more than one voice asking Fritha for a tune, Jaheira exclaiming bluntly she could not see the point of carting her lute about if she wasn't going to use it. But Fritha had refused all requests, and by then the dinner had been ready, the group sharing the rest of Athic's ale as they ate before, at last, retiring to their tents.

Solaufein slipped past the canvas flap, their bedding already laid out and Fritha curled within hers, her hair piled high upon the pillow behind her. There was a wall between them now, slight but it was there and had been ever since he had told Jaheira of the Mir and one of the many secrets Fritha had discovered within. A part of him wanted to tell her of his slip, that momentary lowered guard, but he had failed her and he could not bear to have her know it, too.

In the gloom, Fritha stirred, face dipped beneath her blankets and he heard her yawn.

'Did I wake you?'

'No, no, when are we on watch?'

'The fourth hour.'

Fritha sighed, shifting over slightly as he changed his clothes and settled under the blankets 'Well, at least it is convenient for your prayers.'

'Yes,' Solaufein agreed slowly, 'it is good to unburden one's soul; are you ready to speak of what upset you now?'

'Ah, it was nothing. Brieanna just reminded me of the lies that Gorion told me concerning my parentage, I stormed off, spoke to Anomen and we came back.'

Solaufein lay still, seeing the human's face behind his eyes and that soft, sad look he often wore when the girl's gaze was elsewhere.

'He is in love with you, you know?'

A groan in the darkness. 'Oh, not this, Solaufein, not from you! Gods, I think the only person who hasn't told me Anomen loves me recently is Anomen!'

'That he will not speak of them, does not change his feelings,' the drow pressed quietly. Fritha slammed a fist into her pillow with a ferocity that alarmed him.

'Well, I don't care! I don't want anyone to be in love with me, I just want everyone to bugger off!'

'I see… I can share a tent with one of the others, if you would rather be alone.'

Another sigh, though he could hear the warmth behind it this time. 'Don't be daft, Solaufein, you don't count.'

'And why is that?'

'You just don't. You make things easier,' a paused as she considered it, 'you're like a balm for my life.'

Solaufein smiled; she used that foreign tongue so nicely. 'I am glad. You seem happier, too, now we are away from the town.'

He felt her shrug. 'Just happy to be getting on with things –every Bhaalspawn we save makes Bhaal's return all the more distant- or so I'm content to believe.'

'Others do not share this view?'

'No, they don't. But Melissan, the self-proclaimed guardian of the Children seemed to think the same from the way she was trying to hide them, so perhaps we're right. I wonder if she's left Saradush yet. But what of you, Solaufein,' Fritha continued, glancing to him again, 'are you glad to be away from Marmont?'

Solaufein shifted to gaze up into the darkness, imagining the stars that hung beyond canvas and canopy.

'I suppose… it was hardly a trial.'

Fritha heard the unspoken doubts. 'But?'

'But…' And in his mind he saw it, playing boules in the park, hat hiding him only from the sun's eye, the group about him meaning onlookers dared to do little more than stare. And then later, walking the city at night with only Jaheira in company, swathed in his cloak and scurrying from shadow to shadow like a Svirfneblin. 'These places we visit, they are always the same. I must either hide my nature, or trust others' cowardice will keep them from engaging our company.' He turned back to her, 'I will never have a home up here, will I? Not as others will.'

'No…'

He smiled gently at her downcast look. 'Do not be saddened, Fritha. Perhaps I was not meant for that. I believe Eilistraee wanted me here, and in Her we must trust.'

The girl nodded, eyes still avoiding his as she asked, 'How did you pray to Eilistraee in Ust Natha?'

'Carefully,' he laughed, graver as he explained, 'In what private moments I had. But still then it was hard. Those muttered prayers, sometimes a rare dance or ritual and always with that feeling of being watched, of something larger that that whole city bearing down upon me, trying to find me in the darkness. Lolth is a jealous goddess, and will not let her children go easily – it is only my Lady's favour that keeps me hidden even up here.'

Fritha sighed wistfully. 'Do you ever wish you were back there, Ust Natha, I mean?'

Solaufein wondered if _she_ did, the yearning to her voice, though that was perhaps a question for another time. The drow shook his head.

'No… There are things I miss. Being different and wholly despised is a burden I doubt I will ever shake off, and I had a certain power in Ust Natha, but I would not swap it for the freedoms of this life.' He sent her a smile in the darkness, glad to see it returned on the pale face but a yard away. 'My place is here, Fritha. And after these troubles have been quelled, I will see more of this land –as you promised to show me.'

'Yes, and I will do my best to keep it.'

xxx

They were five days out of Marmont, their group halted on the path, this break in the canopy allowing the fierce Tethyran sun a rare opportunity to beat down on them without the shade of the trees, the borders of the path overgrown with ferns and other bushes that also appreciated this chance of sunlight. A tributary to the River Agis had proved too wide to ford, and they had been forced to break their cover and head back to the path the soldiers themselves were walking ahead of them, to cross at the narrow wooden footbridge. Their company had followed the path for a short distance, and they had been about to return to the cover of the trees when Valygar had noticed what he thought could be tracks cutting through the forest to the west, he, Minsc and Jaheira stooped over them now.

Anomen left them to their deliberations, the girls down the path paying little more attention to them as they downed their packs to spend a leisurely moment reclined against them sunbathing. Even Brieanna seemed to be enjoying the heat despite the cooler climes of her home, stood chatting mildly with Athic and the drow, Fritha the odd girl out and wilting in the sunshine, her expensive map of coloured inks rattling as she fanned her florid face.

He sent her a sympathetic smile that she wanly returned, nodding down the path to her friends.

'How can they be enjoying this?'

'Do you not have your fan?'

Fritha laughed. 'Oh, yes, wouldn't I look a picture, stood here in my chain batting away at myself with that. Perhaps, I could get you men to carry an awning over me –better yet, a palanquin!'

Anomen let his gaze travel pointedly across the similarly built figures of Valygar, Minsc and Athic.

'I believe this is the first time our company may be in a shape to oblige you.'

Fritha laughed again. 'I'll stick with the map.' She turned to the others, 'So, have we found some-'

A roar cut her off, the forest about the exploding with bodies, sunlight flashing on armour and blades, their green cloaks thrown back as the men leapt from the undergrowth. Imoen and Eruna were scrambling to their feet, Minsc charging to intercept the three men heading for them, Valygar and Jaheira already back to back as they fought.

Anomen pulled down his shield, no time to set it on his arm before the man was upon him, the knight awkwardly blocking the sword sweep with the unfixed shield, the blow rattling up his tensed arm. Solaufein was fighting beside Brieanna, no gap to her training apparent to Anomen as she wielded that blade with a skill to match her ally. Athic had joined Minsc before their mages, Fritha rushing to aid them as she ended her own fight with a brutal slash across the face. A thunderclap left his ringing, the spell from Imoen tearing through the air to fell three of the men, their two allies turning tail to run at the sight.

Anomen parried another swing, not trusting his loose shield, his mace useless behind him as the soldier dart forward with a quick thrust. With nothing else to do, Anomen braced his shield and slammed into the man with a force that floored them both, pain shuddering through him as his plate mail hit the ground and with a last burst of strength Anomen hefted up his mace to bring it smashing across into the soldier's face.

Another explosion of magic and all fell still once more. Somewhere above him, Fritha was venting her fury.

'_Besheba's Horns!_ Is nothing simple? How many- _Anomen!_'

Footfalls about him, the others clearly alerted by her cry, Brieanna reaching him the instant Fritha did. A glance between the women, Fritha suddenly pressing back into the onlookers.

'Well, tend him then!'

Anomen just caught Brieanna's fussing, heaving himself upright with a grimace.

'It is fine, my lady, the blood is not mine. I am fine, just winded.'

Above him, Fritha's attention was firmly back on the task at hand.

'How many escaped?'

'I noted three fled the path southward,' answered Jaheira. Eruna nodded.

'And one ran east.'

'Four? _Hell's Teeth!_ Right, well, check the bodies; I want them searched for any clue as to their final destination.'

Brieanna flashed Anomen a brief smile in the sudden activity, a hand reached down to haul him to his feet as the others dispersed about them.

'Mask's picks, I _hate_ searching bodies.'

'Why? It's certainly easier rifling through their pockets once they're dead.'

'Fritha, you know I don't do that anymore.'

Anomen paused, sheathing his mace and still trying to catch his breath, the others busy about him, searching through packs and pouches, Valygar beating through the undergrowth looking for their bags. Brieanna herself had crossed to the eastern side of the path the woman at the tree line, where a trampled fern seemed to have caught her eye. He watched as she brushed light fingers across the nearest frond, the woman frowning at the red that stained the tips. A glance to the forest next to her and she was off, turning suddenly to follow the beaten trail.

'My lady, you should not go alone. Brieanna-'

She did not hear him, the others distracted by their own searches. Anomen deliberated an instant longer and plunged on after her.

The forest was cool, the wall of trees softening the noise from path, and he felt much further from the others than he likely was as he followed that short trail, only to halt at the broad trunk of an oak tree, Brieanna just a dozen or so yards before him and stood over a body, the man groaning fitfully at her feet. Anomen took another step forward, about to call her name when she fell into a crouch, the dagger slipped from her hip with a practised speed, and the body moved no more.

Anomen felt his throat close, stunned to a momentary silence, when a shout made him start, the man darting back behind the tree next to him as Brieanna whirled at the sound.

'Oi, this one's alive!'

A moment to let the woman pass, and by the time Anomen was crashing from the trees, their captive was already up and surrounded, Fritha smiling coldly as she made a slow circuit of his knelt form.

'Well, what have we here?'

He was likely a tall man when stood, and narrow with it, his dark hair short and ruffled from the skirmish, his thin spectacles cracked and lopsided on his long aquiline nose, the faint lines at his mouth and eyes putting him near his thirtieth winter, tanned skin paling as he gazed up at them.

'Speak, soldier.'

'My name is Carstil,' he barked promptly, 'Enric Carstil, healer in the seventh battalion of the Royal Foot Corps of Tethyr.'

'Is that so?' Fritha considered aloud, 'And why, pray, would the seventh battalion be sending squads of soldiers to patrol the roads and ambush innocent travellers?'

'You were plainly following us! The captain-' He caught himself just in time, mouth a determined line. 'I will say nothing of this.'

'Fine then, tie him up. He's coming with us.'

The façade of resilience was wavering. 'I- I'm just their healer, a priest of -'

Fritha would not let him finish.

'Look, _mate_, you could be their camp follower for all I care - you picked your side in this, and guess what?' She leaned in, jaw clenched, 'It was the _wrong_ one. Bind his hands and bring him with us; I don't want to be here when and _if_ those four find reinforcements.'

**…**

They walked west for the rest of the day, trying to follow the scant tracks they had found while covering their own. But the trail went cold after a few miles and, with little else to do, they continued their course, making their way deeper into the forests, Valygar and Minsc on a constant lookout for tracks and hardly a word passed between the group as they escorted their captive, the man bound at the hands, but walking freely at their centre.

And, at last, as the canopy above was shot with red and the birds were dipping to their roosts, they halted. The trees were growing too close to allow for tents and Anomen watched as those about him set down packs and prepare the fire, Valygar distracted from his own task putting up the canvas by Imoen, the girl dancing about the clearing collecting firewood.

Their captive was seated in the roots of a large sycamore out of the way, Jaheira stooping to remove his bonds and pass him her flask, Enric receiving it with a grateful nod. Fritha watched the exchange with narrow, calculating eyes. No new tracks had been found, of soldiers or anyone else in that forest, and though time was hardly pressing on them, they had reached something of an impasse. The soldiers who had escaped knew of them now and had survived to warn others –following their quarry to the camp was suddenly a much less viable, perhaps even impossible task, while the men were on guard for them.

Anomen sighed, easing out the kinks in his back as he rose from the bedding he had been laying out and took a seat upon it, the small fire already taking the chill from the air as the others moved to settle about him similarly and all eyes seemed to flick to their so-far silent guest.

'Well, according to the map,' began Jaheira, straightening the parchment folds with a _snap_, 'we are four days south-west of Marmont and about the same from Darromar.'

'And goodness knows how many from our goal,' sighed Eruna.

Across the fire, Valygar's dark frown moved to Fritha. 'Perhaps we should give up this path- we have another to walk and as many lives may depend upon either.'

The girl remained firm. 'No, this is our path.'

'So what _are_ we going to do?' asked Imoen, slumping against Valygar's arm in her despondency, his squeeze of her hand going almost unnoticed. Fritha shrugged.

'Well, our plans are a bit put out, aren't they? Still, we could always just ask _him_ where they are taking them.' She turned to their captive, a humourless smile quirking her lips, 'What do you say there, sawbones? You going to let us know where this camp is?'

Enric dipped his face, more resigned than defiant. 'I cannot betray my fellow soldiers.'

Fritha sighed, seemingly expecting no less. 'Thought so… I say we torture him until he tells us.'

The man's splutter was hardly audible over the uproar about her.

'Fritha!'

'Gods, woman!'

'By Helm, Fritha,' Anomen cried, joining his own voice the protests. 'Do not even jest about such things!'

'What?' Fritha cried, indignant to their outrage, 'I'll do it – I've been on the receiving end enough times to have a grasp of the basics. And I'm _sure_ Master Carstil here will let me know if I'm doing it right.'

Enric had paled, his thirst not what it once had been as he silently lower the flask to his lap. Jaheira was shaking her head.

'By Silvanus, what happened to the girl I used to know?'

'She grew up, Jaheira! This is war, and decisions must be made! He clearly wasn't worried when he murdered those people and threw them in a stream to rot –hands still tied behind their backs!'

'Fritha, if you think _any_ of us are going to stand by while you-'

'I will,' said Solaufein calmly.

'Look,' cut in Athic before Jaheira could explode, 'I'll be the first to admit what they did was wrong, but _torture?_'

'There has to be another way,' added Eruna firmly.

Fritha sighed and made to stand. 'Well, we can band about ideas over dinner. Minsc, do you have the cooking pot?'

And about her, the others began to stir, Jaheira rooting through her pack for the dried meat they'd brought from Marmont.

'Do we have any of the garlic left, Imoen?'

'No, we used the last of it yesterday.'

'I _told_ you not to use as much.'

Fritha smiled grimly at their easy banter, gesturing to the man still seated in that throne of twisting roots and watching the surrounding activity in ashen silence.

'Put him under, will you, Eruna?'

'Right-o.'

And the last thing Enric saw was that young smiling face, a hand laid gently on his shoulder, his head growing heavy as the magic suffused him.

'Now, don't worry, sir, just close your eyes.'

**…**

Water, water, water. The map had said there was a small stream not far from there –Fritha hoped it was a more than the trickle the last one had been; yesterday's water had been half bark and fallen leaves.

Ah, simple plans were easily thwarted, as they said. So, they had been discovered and their plans thrown into chaos –what now? Return to Marmont and begin anew? Or cut their losses and head to Amkethran? How annoying they now had a captive to deal with, too.

Had she meant it when she'd threatened to torture him? Fritha considered it a moment without any real need. No, of course not. If it had come to it, she doubted she'd have been able to do anything more than tie him up and wave a knife under his nose. Acting in temper was one thing, but to stand before your enemy, to listen to his screams for mercy with a cold heart… She wasn't that person yet; Fritha had just said it to scare him. And perhaps to scare the others, too? A little hint at what could eventually be needed of them?

Fritha sighed and shook her head at her own wretchedness; why did she play these games?

But if Carstil would not talk, despite her threats, then Fritha could see no more options than to release him, undesirable though such a course was. Perhaps one of the girls could modify his memory somehow...

'_Fritha!_'

She recognised _that_ tone of voice, though she pretended she did not, Fritha turning back to greet the woman who was marching though the undergrowth after her with the sort of careless grace she could have never managed.

'Hello Jaheira.'

'Do not you 'hello Jaheira' me!' the woman snapped, 'What was that back there? _Torture?_ I would have hoped even the threat of such were beyond you.'

Fritha sighed inwardly- she wondered if Yaga Shura had had these problems, with his temple and his whole army of fanatical devotees.

'Well, I have clearly disappointed you, then. I doubt it was the first instance.'

'Oh no, you cannot play the martyr this time. We are not in the Underdark now; this is just you, Fritha, soul and all!'

'Not in the Underdark?' Fritha cried, bristling at the memories of her own struggles, made all the harder by their reluctance, 'Well, it certainly feels like we bloody are! You lot want to save Faerûn, as long as it doesn't stain your precious honour, and once again I am the only one willing to get my hands dirty!'

Jaheira swelled. 'Oh, yes? And just how low are you willing to stoop in this, Fritha? You will become as evil as those you are fighting to stop!'

Fritha shrugged, the woman's willingness to believe ill of her making her all the more eager to prove the druid right.

'Maybe _that_ is what is needed to win. What is the cost of failure here, Jaheira? How many will die if Bhaal succeeds? Or perhaps an easier question for you: how many people have the Harpers tortured over the years to save others?'

The druid dipped her face, unexpectedly cooled. 'I do not know.'

Fritha snorted, wasting this chance for reconciliation in her anger. 'Perhaps you can ask Rahir the next time you see him. The way I heard it, he and Galvarey had a lot in common –especially their views on us _Bhaalspawn_.'

Jaheira mouthed for an astonished instant, before-

'I need explain _nothing_ of this to you! You yourself suggested I renew my ties to the Harpers, and it has no bearing on now and your threats to torture an innocent-'

'_Innocent?_'

'He is a man!'

'He is a soldier! People have to deal with the consequences of their decisions. You're here, you're a soldier, you're fair game!' Silence, Fritha swallowing to add quietly, 'I am not the person you think I am, Jaheira.'

The woman was nodding slowly. 'Yes, I am being to realise as much.'

Fritha drew back, unreasonably furious as this agreement stabbed to her heart.

'You don't like it, then go! Go back to the Harpers, tell them to get that box ready for me- perhaps I'll deserve it soon enough.'

For a blinding instant, she thought the woman would strike her, Jaheira trembling in her anger, before she drew herself up and turned on her heel, the crash of undergrowth fading in the cool air. Fritha clenched her fists, knees buckling as she dropped to the forest floor.

'Oh, _bastard!_'

_Perverse, stubborn girl! _Why did she have to lie? Why did she want them to hate her?

'Fritha?'

'_What?_' she snapped, on her feet and whirling upon the stern young woman, 'Oh, Brieanna, it's you; I thought- never mind. You wanted something?'

'No, but I could hear you arguing with Jaheira from where I was making my prayers.'

Under normal circumstances, Fritha would have apologised; this was not then. 'Well, we're done now. Feel free to get back to it.'

Brieanna ignored this subtle dismissal. 'I would speak to you Fritha, of your earlier threats to Carstil.'

'Oh yes, and are you going to threaten to leave, too?'

The woman snorted coolly. 'Certainly not. This is war, and in such times, the hard decisions are left to those strong enough to make them. I may not agree with some of your judgements, Fritha, but that you step up to take the burden of them, that I cannot fault.'

Fritha frowned; Brieanna had an unfailing ability to make her feel desperately uncomfortable.

'You're not how I would have imagined a warrior of Torm.'

Brieanna quirked a wry smile. 'I suppose I am not carved from the same stone as many of my brethren, but I know what must be done and what my god would have me do.' Her dark eyes looked almost black in the gloom, alive with a light of their own as she leaned in. 'Trust in yourself, Fritha –the others will come round in time.'

'I can't share your optimism,' said Fritha bluntly. Brieanna drew back with a nod.

'You speak of the druid. She is a fine warrior and a good woman, but her loyalties are divided. In the west, we had a saying: a dog cannot have two masters.'

'I don't think Jaheira would appreciate that comparison.'

A bark of laughter. 'No, I expect not. I know of before – I know when the decision came the first time, she sided with her brothers.'

'Jaheira was mislead!' snapped Fritha fiercely, 'She had proved as much to me ever since!'

The rasp of plate mail as the woman raised a hand to soothe her. 'I understand and your own loyalty does you credit, but I am not the only one with concerns; Anomen himself commented on it. Fritha, I speak from experience when I say that the old bonds are the hardest to break.' Brieanna shook herself, seemingly as discomfited as her audience by this solemn turn, and smiling again as she added, 'But whatever happens Fritha, you must know you have my faith.'

And with that, Brieanna turned and walked off as serenely as she had come, Fritha just left to stare after her. Is that how people saw her now, a hard person who made the hard decisions? But that was not her. She was the one who would twist and flex and find away around her problems, rather than forging brutally through them.

But a war was there now, waiting on the horizon, should she still have to waste time dancing about? Surely as the stakes were raised, so could be the means? Fritha shook her head; she did not believe that now any more than she had done before. Perhaps war was an excuse for other people…

She wasn't other people, she was Fritha, and there she stood in that cool forest, breathing in the air, redolent with last year's leaves, trying to remember the person she was and what she did best…

xxx

Enric felt his eyes snap open to that darkened forest, his cry muffled by the hand that was clamped over his mouth, the man struggling futilely at his bonds, panic leaving him wild as all talk of torture returned in a flash, when a voice hissed, 'Calm down there, man, calm down.'

It was the warrior, Athic, his broad face grave in the half-light, and past him Enric could see the distant flicker of the campfire just visible through the dark trunks, the outline of figures laid about it, silhouettes against the glowing embers. He had obviously been carried from their midst and likely without their knowledge, the warrior loosing his bonds as he continued with a quiet urgency.

'Listen, man, you've got to get away. The girl's mad –they all think so, though none will say it. She thinks to fight the whole of Tethyr to save her _siblings! _And torture –she isn't the person I thought she was! I don't agree with this camp you've got, but we've got bigger evils to put an end to and time is running out_._ You've got to get away from here. I know you've an idea where your friends will have gone; go, get the rest of your patrol and bring them –we'll be heading east back to Marmont, towards the road. Track us. On the second night, I'll make sure to lead her away from the camp late on. You can take her; take her before she leads us to our deaths!'

Enric was nodding feverishly, heart still beating a frantic tattoo against his ribs.

'I will. Thank you for this.'

The warrior nodded once, clapping his shoulder and pressing a flask into his hand with the other.

'Here, water for the journey.'

**…**

He had run all that first night, the cold stiffness soon worn from his limbs and he had not even paused when the stitch had screamed though his side and his legs had quivered under him, the beat of his blood trembling through his skin. It had been nine miles to their muster camp and he had reached it with the dawn to find the captain there with Leff and Ambreen, the latter grateful to see him and have a healer tend the wounds the earlier battle had left on him.

The man was all but fully healed now, he and Leff crouched together as they waited in the woods just west of Marmont, the captain, Gravin just behind them. Their quarry's camp had been easy enough to find, Athic walking out into the forests an hour before to let them find him and arrange a place, and there they were. They had waited for no reinforcements, but the captain was confident four men would be enough to tackle one unarmed Bhaalspawn; the tales of battle and bravery could clearly be added later.

Enric watched them, three eager faces in the half-light; they sickened him. The crash of undergrowth drew is eyes back to the glade, the two figures clearing as they drew closer. She looked smaller than he had remembered, her voice high and filled with a childlike delight as she exclaimed to the tall man next to her, 'Really, a whole patch of sprite seat mushrooms? Our dinner is suddenly looking a whole lot more appetising!'

'Yeah, though I need you to be sure – they look similar enough to dragon caps and I'd rather not poison our lot.'

A ripple of laughter. 'No, but the difference is easy enough to spot, if they're the dragon caps they'll bruise yellow when-'

The captain gave the signal and she stopped the moment they stepped from their cover, face frozen in her anger and instantly whirling on the man at her side.

'_You!_'

'Take her!' shouted the captain, and she struggled vainly as Leff and Ambreen sprang forward to grab her arms, the girl still screaming abuse at her betrayer.

'_Dog! Wretch! I'll carve out your lying tongue!'_

Athic just shook his head. 'I am sorry.'

The girl stopped her fight just as suddenly as she had begun it, her expression one of utter contempt as she spat at his feet.

'You traitorous bastard, I'll see you _dead_ for this.'

And Athic watched as the men dragged her about and marched her off, their figures soon lost to the dark forest. A twinge of concern tightened in his stomach. He was not a man who worried often, but it was hard not to given the circumstances. He could see why the others put such faith in her -she was like a lion.

Back at their camp, the mood was grim, all glancing up as he stepped into the clearing.

'It's done, they've taken her.'

Jaheira nodded.

'And now we just must follow them.'


	19. Captive Interests

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Captive Interests**

'And stay there!'

Fritha let herself fall where they dumped her. That she was tired from a night of walking was true enough, and she felt it best to play up to such things; having them underestimate her now would only make matters easier in the long run. The forest was cold and dark, the hour well past midnight and the clearing was eerie in the light of their swinging lanterns, trunks looming about her only to be swallowed by the darkness of the canopy above.

Fritha had wondered if it were possible to find a plan that the others would have objected to as strongly as the torture of their tacit captive, but she had. She smiled faintly to herself, recalling the ringing silence that had greeted her suggestion, the way all had frozen mid-action, spoons paused halfway to open mouths and eyes unblinking; the calm before the storm as that wall of protests had hit her.

They had agreed in the end, though, and there she was. She had been brave to the point of nonchalance back in camp, telling them all not to worry and that she would see them in but a few short days. How different the reality, seated there on the packed earth in amongst twisting roots upon a carpet of last autumn's rotting leaves, her head lowered and avoiding the eyes of the four men above her, feeling very vulnerable without sword or allies. Not that she was without any weapon; there was always her magic for what little she could use it for, and of course, there was her _last_ resort.

That had been the thing that had cinched it really, the others' objections finally halted as she had played this trump card, though she had failed to mention that since the return of her soul she was no longer sure that taking the form of Bhaal's avatar was even an option. And _then_ there was the trick of actually turning back again. Still, perhaps she would not have to find out, and there were other reasons she had been so insistent. This plan, for all its inherent risk, as more than one of her friends had seen fit to point out, was what she needed. A challenge to the world to prove what was now still too steeped in uncertainty. She had doubts, in her path and her role there both, and if she was to know her part in the future and the prophesies, if she was the chosen one, then the Fates could prove it. She would walk into the dragon's maw, and she would return unscathed.

But her confirmation would have to wait, her mind back to more mundane matters as Fritha twisted her hands determinedly, trying to part her bound wrists and let the blood flow unhindered for a time. Her bonds were tight enough that circulation was becoming an issue, the last hour or so finding the tips of her fingers tingling unpleasantly, her activities ignored as the others talked above her, Captain Gravin giving his orders.

'Right, Leff start a fire. Ambreen and Carstil get the canvas up and pass out the rations. I am going to check for any messages at the dead letter drop; I will return within the hour and I expect to see all in order. Understood?'

Three pairs of feet sprang to salute. 'Yes, sir!'

A moment to let the crash of undergrowth fade and a decidedly more relaxed air fell over the camp, Enric moving to unpack the canvas. Fritha felt two malevolent grins open over her.

'Well, well, girl, seems it's just you and us now,' leered Leff, smile bright against his tanned skin, his pale hair jaundiced in the lamplight.

'Yeah,' piped up his younger companion; Ambreen was thicker in body and Fritha suspected, head, his colouring that of the usual Tethyran, neat dark beard clearly grown to make him look older than his years –it was not working. 'Not so tough without your friends, are you?'

'They're no friends of mine!' Fritha spat with the expected rancour.

It did not go unappreciated, Ambreen still chortling as his friend crowed, 'That they ain't, girl. How does it feel to know they hated you enough to give you over to us?'

'Leave me be,' she snapped sullenly, attention back on her feet; she was too tired to provide them with sport just then.

'Oh, no, I don't think we're going to be doing that. The commander at camp doesn't approve of his soldiers having any fun, but we ain't there yet.'

A round of grim chuckling. Fritha gazed up at them with cold, black eyes, a frisson of dread travelling her spine.

'You touch me, and you're dead.'

'Is that so?'

Hands shoved her back into the tree behind with force enough to wind her, lungs screaming for air as she gasped a 'No!', a hand already in her hair pulling her head back while other hands ran over her struggling body, her legs pinned under her, jagged fingernails scoring her back as they squirmed their way beneath her tunic to hook under her trousers.

'No! Get off- _I said get off her!_'

Pain exploded across her back, the root-twisted ground coming up to meet her abrupt release, Ambreen almost joining her as he was barrelled sideways by Leff, Enric suddenly above, panting liked he'd sprinted a league, his dagger drawn and held trembling before him. 'I might have stood by while you killed that prisoner, but not _this!_'

Leff looked furious, spittle flecking his chin in his outrage; Fritha scooted back from the shower.

'Get out the way, Carstil! That bitch killed Theren!'

'Yeah, and Niall!' added Ambreen. Enric held fast.

'You come any closer and you better learn to heal your own wounds, because I won't be helping you!'

A tense pause as this threat was weighed and-

'Traitorous dog…' sneered Leff, slapping Ambreen's shoulder as he turned to go, 'Come on.'

And the two slunk to the other side of the clearing to make a start on the fire. Fritha watched them go, her attention snapping back to the man before her as Enric crouched, sheathing the blade and taking a moment to loosen the ropes at her wrists, her fingers throbbing as life flowed back through them, pulse matched by the smart tattoo just beneath her ribs.

'Thank you.'

Enric just snorted, avoiding her eyes as he loosely bound her hands once more and made a final check of the knots.

'Don't thank me… You were right: I did pick the wrong side, and you'll know it soon enough.'

xxx

Cool dawn was creeping over the canopy, a weak, grey light breaking through the leaves to dapple lambent across the forest floor. Anomen lay still in the warmth of his bedroll, watching the glowing embers of the fire pit reflect in the eyes of those about it. Everyone was already awake, and he wondered who of them had even managed to sleep –he had not.

'Ah, it's no good,' sighed Imoen, heaving off her blankets and making to sit, her face pale and puffy, 'I'm getting up. Here, Minsc, throw me the tea.'

And there was a suddenly burst of activity as the others sat about her, Jaheira gathering the last of the night's wood to coax the fire back to life, the remaining water placed over it to heat. Anomen hauled himself up, beard prickling his palms as he scrubbed them across his face, the cool air rushing in as he swapped the blankets for his cloak and buckled on his belt. He felt half dead, corpse stiff and just as sharp, something clearly being suffered from by some of the others, though the remedies were questionable.

Athic was rolling his shoulders, taking a swig from a narrow bottle Anomen suspected held something very warming as he waited for the tea to brew, the man passing it to Minsc with a nod and grin. Valygar seemed more alert though, sat lacing on his boots and keeping half an eye on Imoen as she busied herself getting out the rations, Jaheira at the fire, a collection of cups at her feet. Behind her, Brieanna was pulling her fingers through her dark hair, taking out the worst of the knots before she made to rebraid it once more, Eruna seemingly giving up on her own as she twisted the scratty golden rope up and just secured it with a pin.

Anomen snorted to himself; at least he had not that concern, a hand run through his short hair all the attention it needed. Indeed, after five days in the wilds, he was surprised how tidy some of them looked; Solaufein sat a few paces from him in the circle, swathed in cloak and an immaculate blanket of long white hair that had yet to be tied back and covered by his hat, his brow lowered in a near-permanent frown. Strangely enough, it had been he who had objected most strongly to Fritha's plan -perhaps he had seen nothing so wrong in her first suggestion. But when Fritha had held firm, his protests had been the first to silence and he had hardly spoken a word since, the man still sulking now, a curt nod of thanks sent to Imoen in return to the cup she'd passed him.

'Right,' the girl sighed, handing the last cup to Anomen with a smile and settling in her blankets once more, 'well, that flatbread should be ready soon; we can take breakfast, get packed up and be off.'

'Indeed,' agreed Jaheira, 'though they will have likely walked well into the night –we should wait a few hours more here before setting out after them.'

Valygar drew a sip of tea, dark eyes surveying the forest about them. 'We must take care we are not discovered again.'

Eruna was looking worried. 'Do you think we should wait that long? What if the tracks go cold?'

'We can follow at a greater distance this time,' offered Brieanna, 'Fritha said she would try to leave us a trail.'

Jaheira nodded. 'Yes, though we should not rely on that- we do not know how much freedom she will have. Fritha cannot risk discovery- they have shown themselves quite ruthless enough in the past.'

Eruna started as a large hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

'Do not fret, young Eruna, Minsc and Boo will not lose young Fritha.'

'Yeah,' echoed Imoen, 'Fritha'll be all right- escaping's part of the plan after all. She lets them take her to this camp of theirs, then gives them the slip. We track them to the camp, meet up with her and then…'

'And then?' asked Athic, 'What exactly are we supposed to do against a whole camp of guards?'

An uncomfortable pause.

'We'll just have to decide that once we're there,' said Imoen firmly.

Another long pause, the breathy sips of tea and crackle of firewood the only sounds to lift the silence.

'I wonder if Fritha is all right?' murmured Eruna in the question no one had yet dared to voice.

'It seems a little late to be raising concerns for that now,' muttered Solaufein. Imoen frowned.

'She will be. She said she wouldn't let them hurt her, that if they tried anything she'd just, you know, _grrrr_, and then wait for us to catch up. And then we'll just have to work something else out.'

'If that is still to be a possibility,' hissed Solaufein, 'then perhaps we should have done so in the opening! You surfacers! You treat your enemies with more care than your allies!'

And before any reply could be made, the drow had risen and stalked from the clearing.

'Fritha will be fine,' said Imoen again to the stunned silence he'd left; it was starting to sound like a mantra.

'Of course, Boo says young Fritha is strong.'

Anomen sighed, draining his cup to pull on his boots and rise as well. 'I am going to make my prayers.'

And Anomen left them to their mutual reassurances, the familiar weight of the mace at hip chiming with each step against the blade buckled next to it. When the time had come, she had just discarded most of her belongings in a pile, but perhaps Fritha had sensed his unspoken worry, for she had made point of giving her sword to him, telling him to keep it safe for her and that she would be back for it. He halted, his hand closing unthinkingly about the scabbard, the blue enamel cool in his palm, the leather-bound hilt worn and moulded with use by a grip much smaller than his own as he half drew the blade, the weak light catching on the hatching of nicks and scratches. It was scarred –just like its owner.

She had told them she would be fine, had even managed a laugh as she had assured them she would not put up with any _nonsense_, but what now would Fritha count as worth the sacrifice? She had already once walked blithely into torture in order to serve as mere distraction; what would she do now to maintain her act and reach that camp? Would she let them hurt her? Starve her? Would she let them…

A wave of nausea, his hand tightening about the hilt until it hurt, the pain the only release he could find for the overwhelming anger that burned for his own folly. He should not have let the plan go ahead; he should have just refused, demanded they find another path. But he had not, kept silent by his ongoing pretence against feelings he was no longer supposed to hold. Heavy footfalls, Anomen turning back to see Brieanna arrive behind him.

'Ah, Anomen, forgive me, I was just looking for a place to make my worship… as you were.'

Anomen said nothing, just sheathed the blade once more, Brieanna continuing kindly, 'so many making prayers for her, the heavens must be ringing with her name. She will be fine, Anomen; her destiny shines brightly, it will not be extinguished at so early a juncture.'

'I am not worried for her end; I am worried for her.'

'She is strong,' pressed Brieanna.

'She is careless, in that she cares little for her own well being! I should have refused, demanded we find another path.'

Brieanna had little sympathy for this pointless regret. 'Well, we did not, and this is the path we agreed to walk, fools that we are. We had an alternative, though none, it seems, would take it -would have pressing that man into telling us have been so terrible, I wonder.'

The cool air felt sharp on the back on his throat. '_What?_ You would have had us torture a captive?'

Brieanna scowled. 'And what would you prefer? We can control our own actions. Now she is at their mercies. At least we know what _we_ are capable of –can you say the same for them?'

'Do not tell me that!' Anomen roared back, 'And who are you to speak of what _we_ are capable? The last captive at your mercy did not live long enough to be offered any threat!'

Brieanna was defiant in her surprise. 'I- I brought him justice!'

'You slit his throat!'

'He was a murderer and our enemy; had we returned him to any court not biased to the fact he is a soldier of this land, he would have been hung!'

'Are you so blind? Such lawless murder is not Torm's way any more than it is Helm's!'

Her eyes were dark and unrelenting, though her tone was softer, a hand reached out to rest lightly on his wrist.

'I am sorry, Anomen; I know sometimes I am not the paragon of my brethren, but I try. Had that soldier been left alive, Fritha would have been forced to leave him to die slowly or pressed to tend him, to bring him with us, slowing our pace and possibly placing our group in further jeopardy should reinforcements have pursued us –I could not place that choice upon her. I had an instant to make the decision and I made it.' She sighed, finally dipping her face as she added, 'I… I understand your objections though. When we return to Marmont, I will seek out the High Father at the temple and make whatever penance he decides. You will not speak of my failure to the others, will you?'

Anomen sighed and shook his head. 'No… and I understand your struggle. But, please, Brieanna, guard against your anger; it is hard coming back on that road once it has been started upon and I cannot be the support to you as others were to me.'

She nodded, smiling weakly, his wrist suddenly cold as she released him.

'Well, I'll leave you to your prayers. Thank you, Anomen.'

They set out a few hours later, as Jaheira had planned, following the trail back south-west through the gloomy forests, the drone of insects and the song of birds mere accompaniments to all-pervading thrum of life in that rich wilderness, though the druid was finding it difficult to take pleasure in the sensation.

Even though they had had the two day journey back towards Marmont before Fritha had left their company, they had never really found the chance to speak outside of the girl offering her a brief apology for their argument, Fritha blandly taking all the blame for it squarely on herself and putting it down to a bad day.

But it was not as simple as that, and Jaheira's own fears on the matter were not so easily dismissed. The druid shook her head. It was becoming clearer to her that Fritha was remembering her time in the _care_ of the Bhaalites, recollections of these past abuses manifested in this anger she seemed to hold for the world –and all who dwelled within it. Actions she would have once baulked at, now put forward as viable options and Jaheira just wished she had managed to talk to the girl without it descending into the usual argument. To make Fritha see that her worries were not for what she _was_, but what she could become, Jaheira seeing so clearly the girl losing herself in her effort to save everything else.

But it always came out wrong, like an accusation, and there in the back of her mind the Harpers always lingered, a doubt she could never quite quell. Jaheira wanted to believe, but so many had to be wrong for her to be right. Perhaps Fritha sensed as much – the druid knew well the pain of being distrusted by those once named _friends_.

'Hold,' came Valygar ahead of her, the man stopped at one of the many shallow rivers that wound through the mangroves, 'Minsc, a moment, please.'

'What's wrong?' demanded Imoen, instantly between them.

'The trail stops here, and I can see nothing of it on the other side. I wonder if they haven't walked along the river itself; a precaution against anyone else attempting to track them.'

'Hmm, Boo says those ferns look disturbed,' offered Minsc, the man stepping down and wading to the opposite bank for a better look.

'We can't lose her!'

'We will not, young Imoen, but we will need a moment to be sure.'

A frustrated sigh as the girl whipped back and left them to their task, those about her bearing delay little better, Athic and Eruna muttering quietly, Anomen stood, nervously adjusting and readjusting his left bracer, Brieanna closing to murmur some comfort at his shoulder. Solaufein was apart from the others, leaning back against a tree, hat pulled low despite the forests' gloom, his mouth a grim line beneath the brim. Jaheira recalled his outburst that morning- they must have all seemed so strange to him, the woman catching his eye to send him a nod and close the gap between them.

'So, are you feeling better now you have vented your temper?'

'No,' he answered bluntly. Jaheira frowned.

'If you thought this such a poor plan, why did you not raise some objection to it?'

'I did, but once Fritha was decided, what can I do but follow her orders? Someone among us has to show some faith in her.'

Jaheira ignored this not so subtle gibe. 'And I suppose you would have preferred we torture our captive?'

But the drow just sighed, and shook his head.

'Not at all, but Fritha was right. This is a war you are fighting, and I would have gone along with that course if she had thought there no other way.' The silvery eyes locked with hers, 'I would have volunteered to take up the task, and save her from its trauma.'

'She never would have let you.'

'No…' he conceded grimly, to the truth they had already known. 'Perhaps this course _is_ the better one. Such things can leave scars that never heal.'

At the river, a decision had been reached.

'Vals is sure of the way; come on.'

And, once more, they set out.

**…**

They walked until the twilight was so deep they could no longer follow the trail, Valygar more than aware such restrictions would not hold back those they were following. There was no room for the tents, but he preferred it this way, the sky clear enough that they even dispensed with the canvas in the end, all taking a quick meal together before bedding down under the stars, Valygar awoken by Eruna a few hours later to take his watch with Solaufein.

The drow was off doing a walk of the perimeter now, though Valygar wondered if this was not just to allow his eyes some time away from the fire, where they could enjoy the darkness properly. The ranger understood it, too, the wilder places always filled him with a sense of peace that had once been alien in his life of servants and expectations. He wondered how the estate was faring in his absence. It was more than probably fine – it had always managed well enough without him before. The corn would be ripening in the southern holdings, Nentat likely down there checking the yields. Back at the house, the men would be working in the gardens, keeping them verdant in the rising Athkatlan heat, Mab with all the kitchen windows thrown wide in that sweltering kitchen, all the servants gathering outside at the end of each day, taking their suppers in the herb garden in the evening's cool – for a moment he almost missed the place.

Valygar glanced down to the girl laid sleeping in the bedding next to his, Imoen writhing in her blankets as she no doubt fought with the demons of another nightmare. He had first noticed them when they had left de'Arnise Keep, those nights they slept outside their tents finding her the same. Initially, he'd put it down to her worries for her missing friend, but Fritha had returned after Saradush and the dreams had continued without abatement. It had not been his place to question it before, but now…

Valygar leaned forward, brushing the hair from her face in a gesture he would have found too awkward had she been awake. He had been concerned at first, their talk in the inn revealing their very different approaches to relationships, but they had found a middle ground over the last few days, the ranger accepting the fact that there was nothing so terrible in sharing an embrace or glancing kiss before those you knew well, while she seemed to realise there were many things that did not need words. It seemed strange, especially considering their dissimilarities, but he was with her, for the first time in a while, he was happy.

A sharp gasp beside him, Imoen suddenly sat up in her blankets and panting wildly.

'Are you all right?'

She spotted him immediately and nodded, flopping back down into her bedding with a weary sigh. 'Yeah, just a bad dream.'

Valygar watched her reach under her pack for her flask.

'It may help if you speak of it.'

'Nah, it's fine,' she dismissed, a little too easily, throwing the canteen back under her bag. 'I am due on watch yet?'

'Not for another hour. Are you sure you are well, Imoen; you seem to have the same nightmares every night.'

'I told you, Vals, I'm fine. Where's Solaufein?'

'Doing a walk of the perimeter.'

'Ah, off to enjoy a brood all to himself,' she snorted, 'Honestly, he's been walking along with a face on him all day.'

Valygar sent her a shrewd look. 'He is worried, as are you; he merely does not bother taking pains to hide it.'

Imoen forced a laugh that ended more of a sigh. 'Damn, I thought I'd fooled you, too. But what are you to like me for, if not my happy-go-lucky charm?'

Valygar quirked a smile. 'I will no doubt find something.'

Imoen snorted, patting his leg and turning over to nestle down in her blankets once more

'Well, I'll leave you to that. You can tell me what it is when you wake me for my watch.'

xxx

Fritha kept her head down and her feet moving –it made things easier for everyone. They had been travelling for three days now, southwest through the forests, that morning finally finding them break from the Mir's gloom for the sun-baked plains, the Marching Mountains looming at their backs, and though she could not see it, she knew the River Agis would be travelling its course westward before them, Fritha waiting for her eyes to catch on that silver sliver as they continued their march north towards it.

She had been leaving what trail she could, tearing leaves and dragging her heels, as well as more obvious signs: a tuft of wool from her cloak, or some symbol scratched into the dirt. It was hard to find her moment, though; even at night, someone was always awake, watching the forest, watching her. Fritha could still feel Leff's gaze boring into her back, as though he was just waiting for her to close her eyes. She knew he was doing it to frighten her –it worked, too.

Enric stayed close by, especially once the sun had set, and she was grateful to him for it, the man the sole reason she had managed to get any sleep at all, curled under her cloak as cold stars wheeled above the canopy. And yet, for all that, unexpectedly, the worst thing was the silence. Outside of occasional comment from Enric, no one spoke to her, the girl just led along behind them or tied on the edge of camp like some sort of animal – perhaps that was how they saw her.

But, with any luck, it would all be over soon. They would be arriving at their destination shortly from how the men were talking, Fritha carefully scanning the horizon for some large fence or fort and slowly working on loosening her bonds in anticipation, though their arrival was not as she had been expecting.

'Here we are,' sighed Ambreen, Fritha watching as a small collection of buildings crested the slight slope before them. And there it was, the broad waters of the Agis a rippling white in the sunshine, neat wooden houses clustered before it, intermingled with warehouses and corrals of horses and cattle, and, for one comical moment, she thought that this was the camp; some small community where Children had been hidden for their own safety. But as they closed, Fritha saw her mistake. It was a village, likely sprung up from trade around a ferry crossing, and Fritha wondered if they were about the cross the river when-

'Is the boat in yet?' Gravin shouted, as they closed to an outlying corral, the man straightening from the horse he had been tending to bob a respectful half-bow.

'No, sir, but shouldn't be long now.'

Boat? _Boat?_ Fritha felt her muscles tense, her step faltering, this moment of indecision of whether to stay or flee an instant too long, strong hands clamping about her arms.

'Come on now, petal,' sneered Leff, breath sour at her ear, 'we don't want to be late.'

Their arrival was clearly not something out of the ordinary, people nodding politely to the surrounding soldiers as they made their way down the main and only avenue, children pausing in their games to watch their passage, Fritha suppressing the temptation to try and force the change- in such a place the result would have been no less than a massacre. They had reached the river by now, the men bringing her to a halt at the end of a wooden jetty and Fritha's vain hopes that they would just be taking the ferry across died then.

'Ah, and here it is,' crowed Leff, Fritha watching with a growing dread as a large, single-sailed barge rounded a bend in the river and slowed to pull up at the quay before them, a few of the soldiers milling about the deck throwing ropes down to the waiting men. The gangplank hit the wooden boards but a pace from her feet.

Fritha stared up at it, the horror of realising that where they were about to take her she could not be tracked leaving her legs weak and she let her knees buckle, anything to delay that moment when she was forced aboard.

'Come on, you!' snarled Leff, the man hauling her to her feet, he and Ambreen huffing as she was practically carried up the gangplank – they could work for their victory!

On deck, and she found her legs once more, the pair handing her over to another soldier who marched her to the stern hatchway and hauled it back, wooden steps disappearing down into the gloom.

'There, get inside.'

The smell hit her like a physical wall, instinct forcing her to draw a breath through her mouth that instantly made her gag, the reek of stale sweat, urine and unwashed bodies cloying in her nostrils. The hold was packed with people, all wearing the same miserable grey expression, hunched and broken. A few turned to take in the arrival; most didn't bother – this was nothing new.

The soldier a few rungs above encouraged her forward with his boot. 'Go on; women are on the other side.'

The other side of a large cargo net was to what he was referring. There looked to be only five women within the score or so there, a net sectioning off a separate section of the hold for them, though for whose safety Fritha did not like to guess, a hulking half-orc women scowling at their passage.

The soldier seemed to be pressing her to the corner where a sleeping woman had been given as wide a berth as was possible in the cramped conditions, the girl curled upon her side, pale and sweating, her short blond hair plastered in thick clump to her face and neck.

'There's room enough here. Shift you lot- I said shift!'

A strong hand on her shoulder forced Fritha to sit and finally her bonds were removed. The woman next to her muttered feverishly in her sleep, though she did not awaken.

'Here, a cup for your water. Don't lose it.'

'What- What's wrong with her?'

'What does it matter? Just pray you don't get it, too.'

The soldier was already gone, no desire to linger down there to catch some disease or shank. Fritha wiped the first beads of sweat from her brow, the heat and stench combined enough to leave her faint. A slam of the trapdoor, cheerful shouts from the jetty as the ropes were throw back up, and her stomach lurched with the hold as they slowly pulled away.

xxx

Imoen sat upon her bedding, legs forming a ring in which a slightly muddy handkerchief, a tuft of blue wool and a black thong necklace holding a jade stone, key and ring to Gond were being glumly scrutinised. The end to another day had come, the third spent following the trail and Imoen was more than tired of feeling like that, so sick with a worry that never quite left her. Why was it always Fritha buggering off into danger and leaving her behind to worry about it? A small part of Imoen reminded her that she herself had been the one in danger in Saradush, and it was Fritha who had been the worried one once she'd known, but Imoen was not feeling particularly reasonable just then. She was anxious and fretful and tired to her bones, every night spent in dreams that seemed only to get worse. Imoen shook herself, pulling her mind away and focusing on the talk of those about her. After all, it was bad enough she had to spend the time she should be resting struggling with them, without letting the visions torment her waking hours, too.

'There's a river not far from here, right?' questioned Eruna of no one particular, the girl making attempts to comb out her greasy hair before bed. 'I might go for a wash before we break camp tomorrow.'

Brieanna was nodding, eyeing her own dark braid with a displeased frown. 'I may come, too.'

'I don't know why you girls bother,' laughed the man between them, 'You've nothing clean to put on, and you'll only get dirty again –I say, just go with it.'

'Athic, you only used to visit the bathhouse once a week even when we were in town.'

'There's nothing wrong with smelling like a man.'

'There is if you're a woman,' corrected Eruna archly. Even Solaufein managed a laugh.

'So,' offered Imoen cheerfully to the silence that followed, 'what's the plan for tomorrow?'

Jaheira sighed, taking up the map she had been reading only moments before. 'Well, we are about two days from the forest's edge. I suspect the trail will head south then, towards the mountains. The River Agis lies to the north and the area will be too populated to keep anything the size of this camp hidden for long.'

'The mountains themselves are only a few days from here,' added Anomen; perhaps he sensed her unease, 'I suspect we will not have to follow them for much longer, my lady.'

Imoen smiled and nodded, the conversation turning to more domestic matters as the group bedded down for the night, Minsc and Athic on the first watch.

Valygar was in his usual place beside her, slowly unpacking his bedding next to hers, the distance between them closing over the last few days to now mere inches, the man frowning as he held the corner of some blanket up to the light to examine the wear. He was not a handsome man, not like Solaufein or Anomen or even Niklos had been, Mask bend his picks! But he had a presence to him, a certain confidence that was stirring. And though he did not kiss or play as she would have once said she preferred, ever since Marmont he had taken the time to help her pack or warn her of some hidden stone or root as he walked a head of her, just small things to show his regard, and Imoen found she rather liked this quieter sort of affection.

She studied him now, the broad forehead that never seemed far from a frown, the full, determined mouth and the dark eyes where she would often spy the smiles he would have preferred to keep hidden. After almost a tenday away from Marmont, his beard fuller than it had been, the short black hair looking almost fluffy; a thought that yielded a snort of amusement, the man glancing up to catch her watching .

'Is something the matter?'

'You've got food on your face- Just joking!' she laughed as he briskly wiped a hand across his jaw. Valygar frowned, but she could tell he was trying not to smile.

'So,' Imoen continued blithely, settling down amongst the blankets, the man next to her still sat as he rooted through his pack, 'out of the forests tomorrow and then maybe south; at least we'll be out in the sunshine.'

Valygar looked suddenly rather sad. 'You do not have to pretend, Imoen.'

'Yeah, I do,' she snorted; part laugh, more sigh, 'I half fool myself sometimes. Gods, I would give anything for just a decent night's sleep.'

'It may help to talk of it.'

He had not said of what, but they both knew what troubled her. Imoen hesitated for only a moment.

'I am somewhere dark, under the sky though it is not night. There is fire everywhere, engulfing the walls around me, the buildings… sometimes me. People are screaming, running everywhere, so frightened, and -and there's this voice, this horrible voice, low and growling like some sort of demon, and its roaring, its telling them they're going to die. I had dreams like this before; before we even went to Saradush, I saw the siege, well, sort of, in that I saw a city on fire and this huge wave of blood. Valygar, I think, I think might be dreaming of the future. What do you think I should do?'

'I know little about the divination schools of magic. Perhaps Eruna-'

'No, please,' she cut in, aware of how pathetic she sounded, 'I don't want the others to know. It would only worry them and they'd ask questions, and I don't want that. We've all got enough to be fretting about at the moment.'

Valygar held her gaze for a long while, but, at last, he nodded, lying down behind her.

'Come, we should get some sleep.'

Imoen smiled, burrowing down beneath the covers. It did feel a bit better now she'd talked about it, perhaps she should have listened to him the first time. She would have to mind that stubborn streak –the group couldn't afford two like Fritha. Valygar shifted closer, the blankets bunching between them as he scooped an arm loosely about her, feeling of his forearm flex filling Imoen with less of a thrill and more a comforting warmth. He would be there for her and whatever was coming, Imoen knew she wouldn't have to face it alone.

xxx

Fritha let her head loll against the narrow bulkhead, the women laid out next to her stirring fitfully in the afternoon's heat, and Fritha mustered just enough energy to fan her with the handkerchief she'd found in the woman's pocket, Fritha's own one left under a bush somewhere in the Mir, a clue for anyone able to find it.

About her, similar scenes were being played out in the cramped hold, people slumped in the stifling reek, though the smell did not bother her as it had once had- Fritha doubted she smelt any better now. Her first day on board had dragged, but it had been nothing compared to last night, Fritha curled against the curving side of the ship listening to the lap of the water, her dreams nightmares of drowning that had not haunted her since the Gate. She had awoken late, ill-rested, thirsty, and utterly devastated to find she had missed the morning's round of bread and water –though perhaps that was for the best; facilities down there comprised of a single bucket which was only emptied once a day, a filthy curtain of sail cloth slung across it in an attempt at privacy.

The woman groaned in her sleep, Fritha using the handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her face.

'Soon,' she promised quietly, brushing the pale hair back and straightening her old blue cloak, the bundle of wool serving the unconscious woman as pillow.

A brief examination the day before had yielded nothing more than the woman was gravely ill and with something that was probably not contagious considering no one else down there had yet to contract it. That Fritha had no skill there was frustrating enough, but the knowledge a cleric could have likely healed her in an instant was more infuriating still, Fritha's whole being railing against such needless suffering.

The woman had been no better that morning, and it was then Fritha had enjoyed a brief spark of insight, the girl gently searching her body to find the cup each of them were issued on arrival; fear of infection had kept it with her, it seemed. Fritha went back to her fanning, a burning sense of urgency keeping her in motion even as tired muscles whimpered in protest; she was not dead yet, there was still a chance.

The clatter of the trapdoor was the sound she had been waiting for, the press about her all seeming to start as she did, another faceless soldier clattering down into the hold. Perhaps it was her state of mind, but Fritha was beginning to think those men all looked the same, this one carrying a large bucket of water, which he set on the steps behind him.

'Right, line up. Women first - bring your cups.'

Fritha rose with a speed that surprised even her, snatching up the woman's cup along with her own to pick her way eagerly across the press of bodies, the girl holding steady the cups he was filling even as she begged, 'Please, someone is ill. If I could just get a message to Carstil-'

It was as though she had not spoken. 'Next.'

'She might die!'

'I said next!'

'Just move will you, girl!' shouted someone behind her, others growing restless, and Fritha felt something inside her break, the lump in her throat rising as she realised not one among them cared. She turned away, head bowed as she made her way back, a broad chest suddenly halting her passage, the once cream tunic now stained and grubby, sweat ringed in fetid yellow tidemarks around the arm pits and collar. It was undone almost to the navel, revealing a crop of dark hair and a much emaciated chest beneath. Fritha glanced up, the face above her young and terracotta-skinned, the youth likely a Turmian by his colouring, dark eyes narrow and almost lost to the bushy brows above, a good tenday of growth darkening his chin. He smiled, showing both rows of white, if crooked, teeth.

'All right there, flower?' he greeted, his accent broad and placing him closer to the Gate, than the Sea of Fallen Stars. 'I wouldn't bother asking anything of that one, lass, that bloke wouldn't give you the steam off his piss. Here,' he continued kindly, 'I know how this sounds, but that woman is dead anyway. It's just a waste giving her anything. Listen, you give me her ration, and I promise to keep an eye on you in camp.'

'No,' said Fritha flatly, the man backing up a step as she made to push past, a hint of urgency creeping in.

'Come on now, pretty girl like you, you're bound to catch the eye and perhaps by _friends_ you ain't keen on making. It will pay to have an ally or two-'

'I said no!'

He let her pass that time, Fritha almost spilling the water in her blind haste to be away from them all and back in her little corner of Hell.

'Here, I've got our water,' she whispered, setting down her own cup to gently ease the woman's head up, the second cup to her lips. The eyelids fluttered but did not open, the water spilling uselessly down her chin.

'Please, just swallow, _please_.'

A couple of mouthfuls was all she managed to get down her, half a cup of water poured out before Fritha gave up for the moment, the girl bent over her own cup and drawing the occasional sip, the tears dripping from her chin to ripple the liquid within.

xxx

It was dusk when they at last broke from the Mir's canopy, the rolling plains golden under the sinking sun, the Marching Mountains rising to the south, great brown columns to the sky, supporting the tiers of pink and amber. All had assumed that they would be turning to head south towards those smoking peaks, but, faint as it was, Minsc was sure the trail turned north, something Valygar concurred and the first violet fingers of evening were reaching over the forests they had left when they arrived at that village.

It was a tiny place, small enough to not even warrant a tavern, just a huddle of small livestock farms all gathered about a single dirt track street that led straight to the river, such villages often closing with the day, and their passage was marked by the slamming of shutters and rasp of latches, Jaheira feeling the wary frowns follow them as they passed.

'Friendly, here isn't it?'

'_Imoen,_' the druid hissed, raising her voice as she called out to a man who was busy securing his barn for the night, 'Your pardon, but did you see a group of soldiers pass through here a few days back?'

Worn eyes were instantly narrowed with suspicion. 'Who wants to know?'

'We are mercenaries hired by the Tethyran army – we were told to meet a contact here to receive our assignment, but the Mir delayed us.'

Jaheira had thought it an open enough lie, but it clearly had not been the thing to say, the man dropping the bar down across his doors and immediately marching for the nearest house.

'I don't know nothing.'

'They were here, then,' murmured Eruna. Jaheira nodded.

'Indeed; the only question being, where did they go?'

'The ferry would be the most probable choice,' offered Valygar, 'though, if this camp is over the river it cannot be much further; these lands will only become more populated as we head north.'

The river was molten under that sky, rushes and reeds cleared for the narrow wooden quay that ran along the bank almost the entire width of the village, the ferry station at the eastern end, while a few stout-hulled barges were docked at narrow jetties to the west, huge sails brought in for the night, like birds at roost.

'What do we think?' asked Athic, eyeing the moored flat-bottomed ferryboat with an appraising frown. 'I reckon a bit of coin could convince the ferryman to delay his dinner.'

'Well, I don't fancy just going across without being sure,' sighed Imoen, her eyes catching on something sat a little further down the quay, 'just wait here a moment.'

'All right there?' she called, friendly grin hitched in place ready as the swarthy young boy started back, the fishing rod he was holding almost dropped in his alarm. 'How are they biting?'

A shrug was her only reply, Imoen ambling casually down the wooden jetty to crouch beside him, his dark eyes fearful as she continued, 'Hey there, my name's Beth. I was just looking for some friends of mine. You might have seen them: shiny armour and green cloaks.'

'I'm not supposed to talk about the soldiers,' he mumbled hastily.

'No, I know and it's really good you're being careful. We're here to help them, you see, but we got here late and now we don't know where they've gone.'

A slight frown, the boy giving her as penetrating a stare as he seemingly dared, as though trying to assess her honesty, before the gaze shifted and he was staring down the quay to the group she'd left, his eyes lingering on the brightly pained shield that hung at Anomen's back.

'Is- is that man a knight?'

'Yes, yes, he is,' said Imoen eagerly; she had a bite. 'And the lady next to him is, too. They fought in the big battle at Saradush -did you hear about that? I know you're doing what you're told, but we just need to know if they got the ferry here.'

A nervous bob of that scrawny throat and-

'They- they sometimes get the ferry. But they have their own boat, too. It usually docks over there at the last jetty, behind Kahl's barge.'

Imoen followed the hand he had thrown to the other end of the quay, a high call from the house behind starting them both.

'Milt, come in now, your supper's ready.'

'Coming, mam.'

They followed the boy's gesture, walking back along the quay, past all four of the moored barges to the last jetty, the narrow wooden berth shared with another boat, the gangplank lowered, a cargo of flour and wools stacked neatly either side. Imoen ignored it, walking right to the end to gaze down the amber river as it wound its way west into the sunset, the breeze stirring her hair with the scent of grasses and woodsmoke. Was Fritha down there somewhere in those golden plains, or was she north, where the twilight was already creeping across the sky.

'So which-?'

'She was here.'

And Imoen turned to see Minsc straighten from a crouch with it held fast between his fingers: a single hair, gossamer fine and rippling in the air, the silk line of some tiny amber spider.

No one spoke, the tense silence suddenly broken by a jaunty whistling. The slam of a hatchway, and he appeared on the deck next to them, the man of middling years, but still spry enough with it, a last sack of flour over his shoulders as he strolled down the gangplank. The tune died on his lips the instant he saw them, the man suddenly halted but a pace from the jetty and frowning. Jaheira raised a hand in greeting.

'Pardon, friend-'

'I ain't yer friend, half-elf,' he cut in, pointedly dropping the sack to land with the others just at their feet.

A long pause, Imoen continuing brusquely, 'You Kahl? We heard from a bloke in the village that you're the one to speak if we need to get a message to our contact in the Seventh Battalion.'

But the man just laughed. 'You never heard that from anyone! I know what you're looking for, and I ain't speaking of it to outsiders -whatever side they claim they're on!'

Brieanna sighed tersely, the woman frowning as she stepped forward. 'You are right, sir, and I am sorry we lied, but our companion has been taken and we have been searching for her since. We would be happy to reimburse you for any information you could give us- either in coin or service.'

'You got nothing I need.'

'Please,' cried Eruna, 'we just want to find our friend!'

'I'll tell you nothing - I hope that boat sinks and drowns the lot of them, filthy Bhaalspawn!'

Minsc lunged forward, about to try to persuade him otherwise -at least he would have, if he had reached him first, Anomen's fist suddenly around the man's throat.

'Tell me! _Tell me now, or by Helm!' _

'_Anomen, let him go! Ano-'_

'_Help! Get off! Get off me!_'

'Someone, do something!_'_

Solaufein had the solution at his hip. A deft blow from his sword pommel and the man fell limp. Anomen dropped him as though he burnt.

'Did you kill him?' gasped Eruna. Solaufein nudged him with a careless foot.

'No, but he will not be awakening for a while.'

Brieanna's concern was with their knight, the man turned from them, his head in his hands. 'Anomen-'

'Leave me!'

The distant bang of a door. A pause as everyone waited for the shout that did not come. Jaheira whipped to the boat next to them, something sparking in her eyes.

'Everyone, get onboard! Valygar cast off the mooring ropes-'

'We- we're just going to leave him here?' asked Eruna, seemingly transfixed by the body at her feet.

'No. Minsc drag him behind those crates. We should be away before he is discovered.'

Imoen suspected it was not quite what the girl had meant, but it was too late, Minsc hiding the body behind the goods he had just finished unloading, the rest of them piling aboard, Jaheira at the tiller as the sail was raised, Valygar and Athic poling it away from the quay and they were away, the village soon far behind them, swallowed by the dusk.

It was a small barge needing a crew of no more than two to hold the tiller and man the sail, but it was a boat built for cargo and there was enough room for them all, the tiller braced as their group gathered before the single mast, Anomen sat alone in the bows, head in hands and silent since his outburst.

'I can't believe we've stolen a boat,' cried Eruna, 'and left that man for dead!'

'He was not dead,' corrected Solaufein coolly.

'They'll follow us for sure!'

Brieanna snorted. 'That village was a hive of cowards –they will make no pursuit, though they may inform the next patrol; we must act quickly.'

'So, what now?' asked Athic. Jaheira nodded, glad to be moving forward once more.

'Well, it is most likely anyone who took Fritha travelled down stream, the Agis has its source in the Mir, the ways too narrow for a barge of this size.'

'But where do we go from here?' cried Imoen; her friend could be anywhere _–again!_ 'We can't track them. There are villages just like that one all along this river. They could stop anywhere, pass her to another patrol and we wouldn't know. We don't know where they're going!'

'One of us might,' came that grave voice, Imoen whirling to the man sat next to her. He could not mean… Jaheira was frowning, impatient for her explanation.

'Valygar?'

'Imoen has been-'

'I'll tell them myself!' Imoen snapped, angry she had no time to be furious with him just then, 'I've- I've been having dreams; before Saradush I saw the city's siege and now, now I've been dreaming of a place, some buildings with a high wall around them. I- I suppose it could be this camp.'

'You knew where to go all along?' demanded Solaufein.

'Of course I bloody didn't! I don't know now.'

'But you could give us an idea from your surroundings,' concluded Jaheira. Imoen dipped her head – it seemed it was the only way.

'Yeah, I could try.'

Eruna was sure she could modify her sleep charm for the task, the girl's voice mellow and almost soporific in itself as she laid a hand upon her shoulder encouraging her to lie back upon the makeshift bed of cloaks that had been hastily arranged beneath her.

'Just close your eyes and relax; let it come to you gradually.'

A soft numbness was easing through her limbs, leaving her almost weightless as Imoen slipped back into the void -And then fire everywhere! Flames engulfing the buildings around her, catching at her clothes, blistering her skin and she could feel the hands restraining her as she fought to beat them out, Jaheira's voice steady at her ear.

'Calm, Imoen, it is just a dream; now tell me what you see.'

Imoen gritted her teeth against the fear, forcing herself to look up, past the burning walls, the choked sky broken by those ominous black peaks.

'Mountains, there are mountains very close by; two are higher than the rest, with a small one between them.'

She let her attention drop once more, determined to get all she could from this, ignoring the screams and the inhuman roars, her eyes drawn to a break in the walls, where the fiery reflections were dancing across the darkened plains.

'And- and a river, there's a river nearby, too. There,' she gasped, feeling the spell fade as her own magics pushed it back, many hands rushing in to steady her as she made to sit, 'That's all I can see.'

Jaheira was already poring over the map and Imoen almost did not want to know the answer.

'Did it help?'

The druid's smile left her in no doubt.

'Yes. The camp is somewhere beneath this stretch of river here; it is a tributary to the Agis –this map does not give the name- but it is the only river to flow beneath the Talos's Trident, the mountains you saw; they are famed for their storms.'

'Minsc and Boo will bring them a storm!'

'Indeed, well, we have to get there first. Sailing will have to be taken in shifts- all those who do not know, gather before the tiller now and I will show you how to steer. Then will come the sail.'

Imoen let them go; she had learnt enough on her voyage to Balduran's Isle, her gaze drawn to the map the druid had left, the thin blue line squiggling beneath the uneven row of mountains, three larger than the rest and labelled as Jaheira had said. But they did not look like a trident to her; they looked like horns.

xxx

Fritha awoke with a start, a jolt running through the ship and, in the darkness, she could just make out the bodies stirring around her, the hold suddenly flooded with light as the trapdoor opened, a soldier clattering halfway down the steps.

'Come on, get up; we're here.'

Fritha glanced to the body next to her, the face discoloured and bloated by the hold's heat. She had stopped drinking on the third day, no amount of pleading parting those chapped lips and the follow morning had found her dead. And there she had lain since, staring up at her with milky lifeless eyes. Fritha had thought the smell would have been unbearable; truth was, she hardly noticed.

She would be in the river soon – water enough to quench her very soul.

'You women first. Come on, I said move!'

She stood, legs unsteady after so little use, Fritha trying not to trip as she stumbled after the woman in front of her. A pause at the hatch while manacles were closed about their wrists and each woman was linked to a rope, the five of them snaking from the hold in one long line.

That first gust of cool night air hit her face like the breath of heaven, the deck rocking gently underfoot and Fritha tipped her head back, eyes drinking in that vast field of stars, smoke from the distant mountains curling up to a smiling half moon. And there beneath, it stood, dark against the plains. It looked to have been a building of another sort once, long ago, the crumbling stone ruin now fortified by two high wooden walls, a watchtower set on each corner of the inner one, the guards stationed within grim statues in the orange torchlight. It was impenetrable and quite enough to keep out a small army, let alone the handful of people following her.

Things were not going to plan.

The solid thud of the gangplank, their group marched down on to a narrow jetty, a few soldiers further down the quay unloading the supplies the boat had brought. The high banks of the river were set with a wall that looked much older than those docks, the lanterns at the far end glinting on the metal of a solid iron door while beyond the jetty, a large waterwheel turned with a sloshing creak.

The men were being led off the boat behind them in three groups, at least two soldiers escorting each as they marched them up from the jetty and across that small plain, a half dug moat leaving the air rich with the scent of fresh earth. The outer gates were already open, and Fritha felt it prickle across her skin as she passed under the shadow of the inner wall, and those two sets of gates swung shut behind them.

Fritha turned her head back and forth, trying to get a good look at her surroundings past the tall woman chained in front of her. They were standing in a large, square courtyard from what she could see, a collection of long wooden buildings set about it, while the centre was left clear -though perhaps not for long, a half built stone wall silhouetted towards the western end. Fritha hoped her cell was a little more finished.

'Come on,' came the sigh, all wrists feeling it as the soldier tugged on the rope, 'Women are in North Block.'

And they were off again, their chains chiming merrily as they were hurried over to the long building that lined the right of the courtyard, Fritha glancing back to see the men being marched towards the buildings on the opposite side. Two soldiers were on guard at the doors, one stepping down as they arrived, the man short and weasely-looking, his voice holding a smooth almost nasal quality that made Fritha feel sick.

'Hello there, ladies, welcome to North Block,' he greeted, jangling a large ring of keys at them and clearly amused enough by his own wit that it didn't matter what the rest of them thought, the man unlocking their manacles one by one as he continued.

'Home to the beautiful daughters of Bhaal-' He grinned widely as he got to her, 'And just opposite the barracks, should any of you get _lonely_.'

Fritha forced herself not to react, the metal cuffs finally taken from her wrists and she was free to turn from his leer, the soldier from the boat dumping a rough woollen blanket into her arms and shoving her towards the doors.

'There, now find a bed and keep quiet.'

The room was long and dark, two rows of woman lain either side on beds that were little more than thin rush mats. The windows had shutters rather than glass, ones left open here and there, and moonlight fell in shafts across the rough floorboards. The other new arrivals were dispersing about her trying to find places of their own, and Fritha moved further along that central aisle, some of the women still curled as though asleep, others watching her pass, the light reflecting in their eyes.

'Oi, you there,' rumbled a voice before her, a footstep forward into a shaft of moonlight revealing a tall, hulking woman who looked like she had more than a bit of giantess in her blood, ugly, grey face framed by two curtains of lank black hair. She was flanked by two others, a stout dwarven woman with fists the size of Fritha's head, and a wiry, dark-haired elf who looked to have seen more than a few battles, scars lightly hatching her bared arms and face. The giantess sneered. 'This end ain't for you, _newcomer_; get back to the doors.'

Fritha remained silent, taking a couple of steps back before she turned cautiously, a hushed call piping out of the darkness.

'Here, there's a place here.'

Someone about halfway down the room was waving to her, Fritha closing to see a young woman of her own age sat up in her bedding, her cocoa-coloured hair cut short and tied back, the smile bright against her tanned skin. She was wearing a long linen slip that had seen better days, robes neatly folded next to her bed with her boots, green, almond eyes curiously watching her approach.

'Thank you,' murmured Fritha.

'Not a problem,' the girl whispered, Fritha sinking onto the thin matting next to her, 'It's been strange having an empty bed next to me, since, well…' She trailed off, silent a moment before plunging blithely on. 'That was Vagness, she's in charge here in the north dormitory. She was the first woman they brought to the camp.' The whisper dropped to a breathy hiss. 'They say she had already killed a dozen of our kind when they captured her. You'd best stay out of her way.' The smile was back. 'I'm Jeollé.'

'Freya,' Fritha offered, hauling off her tunic and boots to throw them down next to her bed.

'Nice to meet you, Freya.'

'Quiet in there!' barked a voice from the doors, the slam making the shutters rattle. A reassuring smile in the darkness.

'We'd best get back to sleep. Night then.'

Fritha just nodded, lying down to pull the thin blanket over her head, unable to help the tears as they began to well.

Oh, what had she done now?


	20. Imprisoned

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Imprisoned**

They were awoken with the dawn, Fritha throwing her blanket off with a start as the doors banged open and a deep voice boomed, 'Right, ladies, you know the drill: form up and file out.'

Next to her, Jeollé was hurriedly pulling on a dusty green robe, Fritha crinkling her nose to pull her fetid tunic over her head and join the queue of women already snaking from the doors.

Outside, a table had been set up just on the edge of the courtyard, a man who did not look like one of the guards filling the few tin cups with water as fast as they were being emptied, each women taking one to knock it back and move straight over to the soldier a few paces on, while across the courtyard, lines of dishevelled men did the same. Fritha downed the water in one gulp, the liquid tepid with a coppery aftertaste, Jeollé already in line for the guard, the man glancing up from his tablet as they arrived before him.

'It's Jeollé and-'

'Her name's Freya,' the girl supplied helpfully, the guard finding their names on the list.

'Right then, you two are on Building today. Go and take your places.'

'Building?' questioned Fritha as they left him, the pair hurrying across the courtyard to gather at the northern end of that half finished wall, 'What are we building?'

'Shush, you'll see.'

Crowds of Bhaalspawn were milling about the courtyard now, under the watchful eyes of the soldiers, some there with them, others gathering similarly about the other end of the wall a hundred or so yards away. A smaller group was stood about a collection of wooden barrows, while before the gates two rows of men were being chained together, one of the soldiers with them pushing a small cart of picks and spades, and Fritha counted about hundred of them in all – almost as many who had found their refuge in Saradush.

Vagness and her two friends were at the other end of the wall laughing with a couple of the men, the elf muttering something to the giantess as she noticed her watching and Vagness glanced up to send her a sneer. Fritha shrugged mentally, turning back as the shout rang over the courtyard.

'Right, get to it then! All start!'

And all about her movement, Fritha watching as Jeollé stooped, taking one of the stone bricks from the small pile behind them to place it on the wall and Fritha followed suit.

'So, what are we building? I hope they don't expect it to stay standing long without any foundations.'

Jeollé laughed humourlessly. 'Don't worry, they don't.'

'What?'

'Look down the other end,' the girl huffed, taking up another rock, Fritha following her hand to where men and women were slowly heaving stone bricks from a section of wall that was almost as tall as they were.

'They, they're _dismantling_ it?' cried Fritha. Jeollé nodded.

'Yes, and those on Collection gather it into the carts and move it along here, where we build it, and round and round we go.'

'And this is _it?_'

'Pretty much; I suppose they don't want the risk of arming us with tools. Some days you'll be on collecting, some days on dismantling. I think building's the best though. It takes some thought and the time goes faster.'

The crash of falling stone, one of the men dumping a cartload of squared-off rocks behind them with a flushed grin. 'Another load for you there, girls.'

'Thanks,' Jeollé puffed, setting down another stone and straightening to nod to the building just before them. 'If you're lucky you get to work in the kitchens. There, you cook for the whole camp and do laundry and sewing for the guards; the work's a lot easier and you get the leftover scraps to eat, but only the most trusted prisoners are allowed in there. Still, could be worse; out digging the moat with the other men foolish enough to give lip or stare or show a bit more spirit than is wise. They get no more water for their labour -you see them brought in with heatstroke all the time. One even died last tenday.'

Fritha frowned. 'Why does this place even need a moat?'

'Why does it need this wall?' Jeollé countered, 'It's just another pointless task to keep us exhausted, half-starved and too weak to cause any trouble…' The girl trailed off, a longing look lingering on the long wooden building but a few tantalising yards away.

'Oi, get back to it, you!'

Jeollé started, hastening to crouch for another rock. 'Yes, sir!'

xxx

Imoen leaned against the deck's rail, the heat on her face tempered by the cool breeze as she watched the world drift slowly by, the rippling green plains broken here and there by villages and farms both distant and near, while to the south, the mountains loomed, a great wall of stone that marked the border between there and the desertlands of Calimshan, the sun sinking before them as they headed west.

They had taken it in shifts last night, guiding that barge along the darkened river, and that day had gone smoothly enough, their passage steady as they drifted past villages and occasional fishing boat or barge, that river the main highway for trade in southern Tethyr. Supplies were running low after so long in the Mir, and Jaheira had found a likely village on the map, she and Minsc going ashore a fair distance upstream to walk in and get what was needed, the pair meeting them a half mile or so later. They were all able enough when it came to sailing, but the druid had thought it best they avoid trying to dock and proving their unfamiliarity to the locals –it would only raise suspicions.

A high shout below her, Imoen glancing down to a small fishing boat where a whole family was at work, lines of small fish strung from mast to bows to dry, the mother and father still busy dragging in the nets as the two young boys paused in their gutting, Imoen raising a hand to the waving children as they passed. If news of their theft had preceded them, no one seemed particularly concerned.

According to Jaheira, they would reach the tributary by noon tomorrow and then would come the real work, tacking that boat southward against flow. But until then, all they had to do was drift along and enjoy the heat, those about her barefoot and stripped to tunic and trousers, Eruna in just her sleeveless under-robes as she sunbathed on the cabin roof. As for the others, -only Anomen and Solaufein still hiding below, Jaheira at the tiller, while gathered under the canvas that had been strung from mast to bows, Valygar was paired with Athic and Minsc with Brieanna as they played a round of whist, that morning's laundry hung drying over the canvas cords and fluttering like brightly coloured flags.

Imoen watched as Valygar took his turn, the frown never easing. She felt strange at the moment, still cross with him from the day before and unreasonable for it. He had only been trying to help find Fritha, something they all wanted; she just wished he had let _her_ tell them, rather than wading in there, blurting out things told to him in a confidence reluctantly given.

'Why don't you just go and sit down next to him,' came that gentle voice, Eruna back from her sunbath, tanned skin dewy and glowing.

'Because I don't feel like it.'

'Ah, still not speaking?'

Imoen glanced back to where he was scowling into his cards, 'We're not "not speaking", I just don't want to talk to him right now. What about you, planning to pull Athic aside for another chat now you're sober?'

Imoen thought her teasing would at least elicit a giggle, but the girl looked grave, turning to gaze out at the rolling green plains.

'No, I've decided just to let it lie. We can reason it away with this and that, but if he wanted to be with me he would have certainly said something by now –Athic isn't one for secrets. And I think a part of me liked loving him when I knew nothing could happen –it was safer that way. But it is selfish to tell him and ruin our friendship. I think after this I'm going to move on and try to find a love of my own.'

Imoen smiled. 'Sounds like a plan -I bet you can't get one as moody as mine though.'

'I'm not so sure; Valygar has rather been put to shame of late. Are Anomen and Solaufein still below?'

Imoen nodded, eyes flicking to the dazzling blue sky. 'Yeah, though, to be fair, at least one of them has an excuse.'

A ripple of laughter, that commanding voice cutting them off, Jaheira taking a break from the tiller to join them, tunic sleeves and trousers rolled up in the heat.

'So, what has you both so entertained?'

Imoen shrugged. 'The usual: just talking about boys.'

Jaheira sent them an indulgent half smile and rolled her eyes. 'Of course, the Children are gathering and war threatens the land, and we are still diverted by idle gossip.'

'It's not idle; we've been quite diligent about it,' quipped Eruna. Jaheira laughed.

'Very droll, I am glad you are feeling better.'

The young mage frowned, Imoen recalling her melancholy displeasure on that first night.

'I wasn't happy we hurt that man or took his boat, but sometimes these things happen in the course of pursuing something greater. I just hope it is not all in vain.'

Jaheira looked surprised. 'You don't agree with the plan?'

'No, I thought it too dangerous to Fritha and those guards both.'

'Don't look at me,' said Imoen, 'I thought it was a rubbish idea, too.'

The druid sighed tersely. 'Was there _any_ of us who actually believed in this course?'

'Well, what were we supposed to do?' cried Imoen, frustrated she had not raised more of an objection, 'As Fritha presented it to us, we had two choices: torture that bloke or let her go with him.'

'Fritha wouldn't have tortured that man,' laughed Eruna, 'She was just saying it scare him.'

Jaheira seemed little convinced. 'Eruna, you do not understand, you were not with us when we were in the Underdark; present her with an obstacle, and Fritha has a determination that borders on ruthlessness. She said as much to me.'

But the girl would not be swayed. 'Fritha is nice,' she pressed, her gaze drawn unconsciously to Athic, 'she cares about the little things, even when all this is going on. She wouldn't torture anyone.'

Jaheira's silence told Imoen all she needed regarding the druid's opinion. As for Imoen, she just wasn't sure anymore –of what Fritha would have done or whether the course she had proposed was the wrong one anyway. They had all changed so much… It was as though Jaheira had heard her thoughts, her sigh deep and almost wistful.

'You have both changed so.'

'Yeah, _gentle_ Fritha's now harder than a goat's knee-'

'And you are an oracle of the future!' added Eruna rather dramatically. Imoen just snorted past her discomfort.

'Maybe, but it's not like I can tell us anything useful, like where this Sendai women is, or who'll win the war. They're just dreams of places I've never seen, usually on fire and half-drowned in blood -and scary enough to keep me awake for half the sodding night.'

'They may have helped us find Fritha,' reminded Jaheira. Imoen quirked a slight smile.

'Yeah, I guess it was worth it for that.'

'I've got a book on divinations and the reading of signs,' offered Eruna, 'you can borrow it if you like. Might help make more sense of what you see.'

A groan from the group behind them, Minsc and Brieanna's twin smiles indicating the winners, Athic leaning back as he called to them.

'Here, Eruna, come partner with me. Valygar's mind is elsewhere today.'

The girl smiled, skipping over to be dealt in, Valygar ducking from under the awning, seemingly planning to take her place. Imoen breathed an audible sigh.

'Well, I think I might go and make a start on that book.'

Valygar watched her go, pink bob bouncing as she clattered down the cabin steps to be lost to the darkness. 'She is still angry with me.'

'I do not think she is angry,' offered Jaheira, 'just hurt.'

'I acted in the best interest of this group -and her friend, too.'

'And I imagine Imoen agrees with you, but you also betrayed her trust. Perhaps she would have preferred to tell us herself, rather than having you make that decision for her.'

A frustrated sigh. 'As though such matters when-' Valygar cut himself off, 'It matters to her...'

'Yes,' Jaheira agreed sharply, 'it _does_. I make it a point to stay out of these affairs, so I will say my piece and have done with it. Imoen is young and, for all her talk of boys, not quite as worldly as she is happy to have people believe, and I would ask you to end it now, should you have _any_ doubts about your feelings.'

**…**

The barge's only cabin was cool and gloomy, hidden from the sun's eye, the single high window opened upon the sparkling river. Imoen was where he had expected her, sat cross-legged upon the bedding that was still lain out from night before and apparently absorbed in a small tome.

'Anomen and Solaufein are in the other side,' she offered coolly, with a nod to the dark hold behind him.

'I am not looking for them.'

Imoen's attention was firmly back on her book. 'I'm reading.'

He took another step forward, closing the door behind him to take a seat on the bedding next to hers.

'I can wait.'

A snap as the book was closed, Imoen laying it in her lap with a sigh as she finally faced him, the girl looking pale despite the recent emergence of her freckles.

'I know what you're thinking: that you acted for the best and I've no reason to be cross with you for telling them. And you're right, and I'm not angry about it, not really. It had to be done.'

'Yes, but I should have let you make that decision.'

The girl shrugged, long fingers idly playing with a loose thread on the book's binding.

'It's fine… It's just difficult. I don't mind the magic, or any of the other Bhaal stuff because it feels, and I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but it feels natural, like a part of me. But these dreams… they're coming from a place I don't want to look. What will I see next: another city destroyed, one of us dying? The night I told you about them, it was the first night I think I even admitted to myself that they weren't just the usual nightmares, and I would have liked a bit more time to get used to the idea, before everyone else knew, too. But,' she continued, drawing a great breath and sending him a very forced smile, 'it's happened now, and it's fine, because it kind of has to be.'

Valygar frowned; she made it too easy to forget she was of the Children, and the burdens that came with it. He placed an arm about her shoulders, face laid against the top her head, her hair silken against his cheek and rich with the scent of magnolia oil. 'I am sorry.'

'It's all right. At least we know where to find Fritha now.'

'I did not mean about that.'

Her smile lessened into something entirely more genuine, and she shifted closer, their bodies melding seamlessly like two halves of a whole.

'I'm glad you're here.'

He felt the warmth stir under his ribs; that pleasant feeling of being needed for something more than just a sword arm.

'As am I.'

xxx

Fritha thought the sunset would never come. The sky was rusting to a deep amber when the doors to the kitchen, at last, swung open, two large tables brought out to be set up just there in the courtyard with an agonising slowness, and Fritha found she was not the only one gazing longingly at the huge pots and laden baskets that were being carried out, all waiting for the signal which would mean an end to their backbreaking labour, if only until the dawn. They had only stopped once all day, when the sun peaked above them, her hopes of lunch dashed as she'd lined up to receive another cup of water before being sent back to her work.

Next to her, Jeollé was crouched and resting under the pretence of searching through the rock pile for her next brick, so far unnoticed by the bored guards. Fritha set the rock she was holding onto the wall and spared a glance for her stiff hands, fingers grazed and dusty, blisters bulging white on her palms and She had to resist touching them and feeling the revolting swell of liquid within. Everything ached; back, arms, even her head, her temples throbbing fiercely, each movement sending dull waves of pain through her limbs. The air was enveloping, cloying against her slick skin, the high wall before them radiating the heat it had absorbed through the day.

But even this was better than the noon, when the sun had beat down without mercy, the dusty ground reflected in dazzling white, her head aching with the squint she'd worn for nearly two hours and Fritha had spared a thought for Solaufein –was that how he had first found her world? She stooped for another rock, feeling her camisole slide unpleasantly up her back, the thin cotton soaked through. A dart of her tongue took the salt from her chapped lips, Fritha's throat so parched she wondered how disgusting it would be to suck the garment dry.

'Right, that's time!' shouted the voice all had been yearning for, relief sighing over the whole courtyard as stones were dropped and backs stretched out. 'Form up over there. North block first, then south.'

Fritha followed Jeollé, the pair joining the long queue that was winding up to the tables to collect the tin cup of thin vegetable broth and flatbread cake that would be the only meal she would get that day. Fritha stared down at the paltry offering; she really should have made more effort to eat when she'd had the chance. Jeollé sent her an encouraging smile.

'Come on, we can get a place in the shade of-'

'You there,' came the grunt, Fritha whipping back to find Vagness's uneven face squinting down at her, 'your bread, give it to me.'

A defiant pause.

'I said-!'

'I heard you,' Fritha snapped, her scowl lowered as she handed over the coarse misshapen breadcake. Vagness was half-turned to go, a smirk twisting her thin lips, 'My thanks.'

A hand tightened about that battered tin cup. 'Here, take my soup, too!'

And it was as though the world had slowed, the cup bouncing off the back of Vagness's great, round head with a faint thud, the thin broth sparkling in the air as it exploded over her and the line next to them scattered with a chorus of horrified shouts. A scream that was more anger than pain, Vagness whirling, a fist already throw out before her, Fritha dodging past it to slam into the woman and send them both barrelling into the nearest table, only the cook's quick thinking saving the rest of the camp's dinner, the thickset man dancing back, huge pot in hand.

Fritha hit the dusty ground next to her opponent, a fistful of hair left behind as she rolled away and a handful of sand covered the attack as she flung a punch into the woman's kidneys. A grunt of impact, Vagness's fist driving through the gritty cloud and pain exploded across her jaw, Fritha sent sprawling, helpless to watch the woman grab a rock from the wall next to them, an inhuman roar echoing over the courtyard as she raised it above her head to blot out the low sun. Fritha tensed, ready for the blow, when-

'No you don't! Maxid, get her arms! Algar-'

'_Get of me! Get your hands-!_'

'Come on, you!' snapped a voice above her, rough hands heaving Fritha to her feet, the soldier taking her arm and she glanced around to find Enric encircling the other, the pair frogmarching her after the still cursing Vagness.

The barracks were cool and extremely tidy, the regimental order to their surroundings enough to silence even the rabid Vagness, and they were walked into the small office to only the beat of marching feet. And there he was: a small, grey-haired man with a lined, determined face sat in his neat uniform, behind his neat desk, this man charged with such a filthy, corrupted duty, and Fritha was suddenly aware of how she stank, clothes she had travelled and slept in for over six days now torn and dusty, her face throbbing painfully as she swallowed a mouthful of blood. The guards about them saluted.

'Commander Merenc, two prisoners brought in for brawling.'

The man sighed tersely, the disappointed tutor, giving the pair a stern appraisal over his steepled fingers. 'Brawling, eh? Well, who started it?'

Fritha sent the woman next to her a sidelong glance, the narrow, piggy eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment; the silence was very loud. Another long, paternal sigh.

'Well, if neither of you will confess, then-'

Enric hastily cleared his throat. 'Sir, I saw the fight from the barracks; Vagness began it.'

This was clearly news to Vagness. _'What?'_

The commander nodded. 'I see. Take her out the back.'

'_No!_' the woman roared, struggling against the hands that had suddenly grabbed her, 'It was her! That bitch-'

A sweep of the cosh, and all fell silent. Fritha tried not to look as they dragged her limp body out.

'What- what is going to happen to her?'

'She will be executed, as per the rules here.'

'For _that?' _cried Fritha,_ '_No! Stop! You can't kill us! Don't you understand, the Children have to survive, if Bhaal is to stay dead!'

The commander frowned, receiving her outburst with a cool detachment.

'I understand these widespread concerns, but really, the superiors set up this camp with the best of intentions, and then abandoned us here with an impossible task. Executions are all I have to keep order. Be grateful Carstil here spoke up when he did, or it would have been both of you before the block. Samid, take her back to the dormitories.'

The last guard left stepped up, Enric forestalling him.

'I'll take her; I'm going that way.'

Outside the chaos of the courtyard had already been subdued, the dusty square empty save for that half-built wall, Enric marching them past the barracks and behind the storehouse where he stopped, the man fumbling in his bag for a cloth and a bottle of clear alcohol.

'Here, tip your head back.'

A cool rag was being dapped against her grazed cheek; Fritha could barely feel its sting in her shock.

'They- they just killed her?'

Enric sighed, his tanned face holding the sort of resigned regret she often saw in men who thought themselves bound by _orders_.

'I am afraid so. It is as the Commander said. They send more Bhaalspawn every tenday, but no more guards to hold them. We are outnumbered here three men to one; it is the only way they have to keep order. Here,' he continued, lowering her chin and moving a finger back and forth before her eye, 'focus - any pain or black spots?'

'No. How many have they executed so far?'

'I don't know; I haven't asked. How is your jaw? Any loose teeth?'

Fritha probed her tongue about her mouth and shook her head. Enric tried a smile.

'Well, that is something, at least, and there's no concussion. You're lucky, there's only so much I can do here. There are wards on the perimeter towers that prevent any magic within the fort, divine or otherwise. The commander thought it best; too many of you have your talents there. How are you feeling?'

'A lot better than Vagness, I imagine,' she muttered sullenly. Enric sighed.

'Listen to me, I don't know what you did to have that group of yours so ready to be rid of you, but I heard what you tried to do for that woman on the ship. Please, stay out of trouble; I won't be able to help you next time.'

Fritha gravely held his gaze, feeling the words down to her soul. 'I won't forget this, Enric.'

He seemed frustrated by her resolve. 'Just keep your head down, will you? Vagness had it coming to her, and I don't want to see you out there in her place.'

Enric left her at the dormitory doors, a polite nod to the guards seeing her inside, Fritha ignoring the stares and the whispered mutterings as she crossed to her bedroll, Jeollé darting up at her arrival, seemingly beside herself.

'Oh, Freya, I thought you were dead for sure! Hana said she already heard the guards talking about Vagness; apparently it took four of them to carry her body down to the river.'

'Hey, Jeollé, I-'

The measured thud of approaching footsteps cut her off, Fritha glancing up to see the wiry, dark-haired elf who had once been Vagness's shadow, the woman marching over to dump an untidy crate at the end of Fritha's bed mat.

'There, Vagness's stuff- it's yours now.'

'I don't want it.'

The woman ignored her, turning to march back to her companions at the other end of the hall, more than a few wary glances thrown her way. Fritha sank onto her matting with a sigh.

'Will you want that blanket?' ventured Jeollé hopefully. Fritha bestowed it on her with a careless sweep of her hand.

'Take it.'

Jeollé smiled, snatching it from the box as though worried she would change her mind, the girl folding it carefully over her arm as she sank down next to her.

'Thanks… They'll come round; they're just scared.'

Fritha snorted darkly, gaze on the windows and the incarnadine sky beyond. 'I'm not the one they should be frightened of.'

**…**

Fritha lay still, watching the shaft of moonlight creep slowly across the room and listening to the unhappy grumble of her empty stomach, the acidic gurgle barely noticeable over the ache of her jaw and the sore throb of her palms, blisters burst on that first punch.

Had the others reached that village yet? Would someone tell them about the boats, or would the same fearful silence hold them as it had those of the caravan?

Fritha turned over, trying to shake off the anger before it could rise. This, as with most of her problems lately, was of her own doing. She had thought herself so clever, so willing to ignore the glaring flaws in her plan in place of some misplaced confidence that the world somehow wanted her to survive. And even if the others did find her, what could they do? Her first glance at that darkened fortress had told her only another army would be able to take it. They would have just had to admit defeat and slink off to Amkethran as first agreed -that plan, of course, relying on the fact _she_ was not trapped within.

Stupid, arrogant girl! When had her careful plans become foolhardy challenges to the uncaring Fates, and Fritha prayed her friends were all well and unharmed. If they were hurt in their search for her… And what then, if they actually arrived there?

Another pang of worry, the idea that they could be killed trying to get her out more than she could bear. Fritha shook herself; let all fears have their place in reason. Jaheira was sensible, as was Valygar, as was Minsc if you caught him in the right mood; surely they would advise against such a course upon seeing that place… wouldn't they? She had her doubts.

Perhaps she could get a message to them, through Enric or one of the other guards willing to take a bribe. Let them know she was there and well enough, and that they should just head straight to Amkethran before it was _really_ too late. Her plans had almost distracted her from her hunger; Fritha's stomach gave a particularly disgruntled growl.

'Oh, shut up, will you?' she hissed, giving it a poke for good measure. A murmur of laughter rippled through the darkness.

'Can't sleep?' asked Jeollé, turning over under her blankets to face her, 'I'm not surprised, it's probably only the ninth hour; they make us bed down so early.' A flashed smile, the girl propping herself up on an elbow. 'So, where are you from?'

'Beregost,' lied Fritha promptly.

'I've never even heard of there. In the north, is it? What was it like?'

Fritha gazed up at the silvery beam of moonlight, trying to picture the quaint little town she had visited only once.

'Quiet, small.'

'Do you miss it?'

Fritha swallowed tightly, thoughts suddenly awash with memories of Candlekeep.

'Yes.'

'Do you have family there?'

'Not any more.' Fritha sighed, more than ready to turn the conversation from her, 'What about you?'

'Oh, I'm a local,' Jeollé announced almost cheerfully. 'I'm from Yuen, a fishing town north of Zazesspur, near the Starspires. It's a small, friendly place -too small, so I once thought. I left to join an adventuring band a year or so back. Now all I long for is to return.' For a moment, her face held a painfully broken look, the smile back as she added, 'Still, I'm going to keep out of trouble here, and maybe I'll get to go back after all this.'

Fritha said nothing.

'So,' the girl continued, 'what were you doing so far from home?'

'I came to investigate rumours of a guardian for the Children.'

'Ah,' nodded Jeollé wisely, 'you and half the souls here. So, do you know anyone else here at the camp?'

Fritha blinked- did she think that her day of labour had left her with time to make friends?

'Sorry?'

Jeollé sighed another laugh. 'I mean, were you captured with anyone else? Most of the people from Saradush arrived in small groups.'

'Oh, no, it was just me. I had other companions in Saradush, but I lost them when the city fell –I don't know where they are now,' Fritha added truthfully. Jeollé smiled gently.

'They must have thought a lot of you to come to Tethyr with you.'

'I suppose so.'

'My companions abandoned me to the guards at the first sign of trouble. With little other choice, I came here willingly. By then, the camp was already up and running –the first of the Children brought here were forced to help build it.'

'Better than building that endless bloody wall all day,' muttered Fritha angrily. Jeollé gave a lopsided shrug. 'Not as safe though. Quite a few died in the construction- safety is not as much of an issue when your labour is expendable.'

'But we're not expendable!' cried Fritha, angry at how everyone seemed happy to ignore the true danger, 'None of us are! Every death, every single one brings Bhaal a step closer to His return! Don't they understand?'

Jeollé looked alarmed by this sudden explosion of noise, raising her hands as though she would have liked to 'shush' her, but did not dare.

'I know, and I expect some of the soldiers do, too, but when your entire country could be swallowed at any moment by a war between the Bhaalspawn, I suppose they'd rather chance it. Is that why your friends came with you, to stop Bhaal?'

'Yes.'

Jeollé smiled, seemingly glad she was whispering again. 'What were they like?'

'What?'

But the girl was not listening, her gaze distant as she offered, 'My companions were such a strange mix. All locals like me. We had Treven, a tall lad who'd decided long ago labouring on his dad's farm was not the life for him –he swung an axe like he'd been born to it. Then there was Jedire, a mage's apprentice from Zasssepur. He said his master had sent him to learn more of the world, but Hella told me he had been dismissed for stealing magical components. He was so jealous when I told him I was a sorceress- no studies for me! Hella was from the city, too, born to this huge halfling family who lived in the slums. She was a cutpurse by trade, though she knew enough about traps to help us avoid them.

'And lastly, there was Brigunt, an older soldier from Darromar. He used to be part of the Queen's Guards, but he left after a tavern brawl saw his foe dead. No charges were brought, but he left anyway -said he hadn't wanted to tarnish the Guards' name. So, there we all were, travelling the length of Tethyr, guarding caravans or investigating leads on behalf of the latest noble house who had become set on being the one to discover an entrance to the old Shanatar ruins. We would sometimes find an old lost cache or rare enchanted weapon out in the wilds, but most of the time we just rolled along, making enough coin to keep us in wine and our landlord at bay.'

'Sounds like a fine enough life,' offered Fritha. Jeollé heaved a wistful sigh.

'Yes, it was, but I always had the feeling we were just doing it until something better came along- we weren't friends, we were just people who worked together. I don't blame them for leaving me to the guards. They were good people, but we were outnumbered and it was too much to expect them to die for me. But what about your friends? What are they like?'

Fritha swallowed; after hearing the girl's casual account of her betrayal, her worries of her own friends facing certain death to save her seemed horribly poignant.

'Well, there is a warrior from the northern lands who has the might of a red dragon, and a druid woman, who has the temper of one; they've travelled with me a year or more- since the iron crisis brought us together. And there is a mage who I've know much longer -in fact, we grew up together in Beregost. I hope she's not worried for me… Maybe she can distract herself in her new sweetheart, a woodsman -he doesn't talk a lot, but she talks enough for them both, and he likes her, I can tell. I would catch him looking at her sometimes,' Fritha smiled, 'it was nice.'

'Anyone look at you like that?' asked Jeollé quietly.

For an instant, he was there smiling behind her eyes. Fritha shook her head.

'No. So, who else… there were two knights of Helm and Torm respectively, an elven warrior most recently of Suldanessellar, and two travellers from the frontierlands who we fell in with in the city - they could even be a couple by now.'

'So many,' laughed Jeollé, 'you travel with an army!'

'Would that I did,' sighed Fritha, 'at least then I wouldn't have to worry for them.'

Jeollé young face was suddenly gave. 'Do you think they are dead?'

'No, but I think they might believe I am.'

Hushed voices broke the pensive silence between them, two women whispering to each other as they crept down the room.

'Where are they going?' asked Fritha.

Jeollé sighed, rolling onto her stomach. 'Over to the men's compound. Some of the women bribe the guards to let them across.'

'With what?'

The girl sniffed primly. 'They make _friends_ with them.'

Fritha frowned, following their passage to the doors. 'Why go over there anyway?'

Jeollé shrugged. 'For a bit of male attention?'

'I have thought they'd have had enough of that from the guards.'

'Yes, well, there's access to the washrooms over there, as well. The wash block is just behind the south dormitories; better for the river, I suppose.'

Fritha felt a nervous quiver in her stomach that had nothing to do with her hunger.

'Really…'

Jeollé nodded, not noticing her tone.

'I'd love to go –they only allow access once a tenday and you can never have a proper wash, not with the guards leering at you. But I can't see the point of buying my way over there, not like that –you come back dirtier than when you'd left.' The girl glanced to her, sitting hastily as she found Fritha up and already pulling on her boots. 'Freya? Where are you going?'

'For a wash.'

And Jeollé was still trotting nervously after her when Fritha reached the doors, the two guards glancing up with matching leers.

'Out of bed, girls?' chuckled one, 'The commander won't like that.'

'We want to go across to the south dormitories.'

'Oh, really,' grinned the other, 'and what have you got for us in return?'

'This.'

And she felt a twist of delight as the two faces went slack in their surprise, Fritha drawing a hand from the depths of her tunic to produce a single pearl earring. 'For both of us,' she added with a glance to Jeollé, letting it hover above the nearest guard's eager palm, 'for the rest of the tenday. Then perhaps we can make a deal for the other one.'

She let the jewel drop, the guard snapping his fingers closed upon it with a wide grin. A handshake sealed the thing.

xxx

The night sky was a clear inky black, a crescent moon hanging high above him. The fields and mountains beneath were bathed a thousands shades of grey, the Wastes of Hades in its meagre glow, their boat the only point of light as they drifted on through that dead land.

Anomen leaned back against the ship's rail and stretched his legs out before him. His calves were stiff after a day of too little use, though he ignored it, his eyes on that vast heaven of glittering stars, tracing over those constellations he knew and the many more he did not, the patterns merging and changing to create countless shapes. He and Simon had often sat similarly the night before a battle, when the morning held a chance of death, his friend telling him that their fates were written somewhere up there, and that the learned men of Kara Tur could have told them the morrow's outcome –before he would smile and admit that, since neither of them could, they may as well try to make their own fates.

A faint melody rose and fell somewhere below him, the others gathered in the cabin singing rounds to pass the evening and perhaps distract themselves from darker thoughts. Eruna had invited him to join them, but he had refused, finally leaving the gloom of the hold for the silent darkness of the deck, the single lantern throwing a ring of light out from the mast where it hung, rocking gently as the boat ploughed on through the black water.

Anomen dropped his gaze once more, the heavy golden pendant glinting in his hand, an unblinking eye that stared right into his soul. The day alone had given him the time he had needed to think and, at last, a decision had been made.

Her approach was loud enough not to startle him, the creak of the steps changing to the slap of bare feet against the smooth deck, Brieanna emerging from the cabin hatchway behind him, long dark braid swinging as she crossed to his side.

'You have retreated up here to continue your brooding, have you?' she asked, just the hint of a smile creeping in to soften the admonishment. 'Oh, such a scowl, Anomen. But you forget, I tested my blade against the orc tribes; if you mean to frighten me away, I fear you will have to try harder than that.'

'I would rather be alone, my lady.'

The woman just sighed and shook her head, sinking down to take a seat beside him. 'So stubborn. I do not know how you and Fritha ended up paired in the first instance with both of you as you are. You have been alone now for over a day to little improvement. Let us try some company.'

Anomen snorted; how easily they all assumed he would be there sulking over his failings like some scolded boy. She sent him a smile, nodding back to the hatchway she had just left.

'I could not bear another moment down there. I know they only mean to keep their fears at bay, but…'

'You are anxious,' he concluded. The woman drew back with a sigh, long hands scrubbed across her face.

'I am concerned for Fritha.'

'_Truly?_' he enquired rather callously, glad to see another wracked by the sick worry he had been suffering for days, 'And what of before? You did not seem so troubled when she was first taken.'

'It has been longer than we had anticipated, and Imoen's dreams of fire and blood disturb me.'

They disturbed him, too, the knight relenting to remind her, 'Imoen said they are often so -the essence within her corrupting them. Saradush met with no tide of blood despite her dreams.'

But Brieanna seemingly took no comfort from this, and a silence fell between them, the woman finally breaking it with the question that had brought her there.

'Do you want to speak of it, Anomen?'

'I am surprised you would even wish to talk to me after what I did.'

'Why, because you were angered by a man's spiteful refusals to tell us where our friend had been taken and lost your temper?'

'You think my actions were justified, my lady?'

She smiled gently. 'No, but I think they were understandable. You are not a saint, Anomen, and neither am I, and all we can do is try each day to be better than we are.'

Anomen refused to be soothed in this. 'My actions were not justified. I would have killed that man had I not been stopped -and I would do the same again given the chance. You are right, Brieanna, I am not a saint. I am not a good man either, nor am I a wicked one; I am just a man.'

'Oh, yes, I quite agree,' snapped Brieanna, 'let us just ignore the small fact of you earning your place in one of the most respected knightly orders in this land!'

Anomen heaved a sigh, wondering for a moment if everything would not be better had he passed by the Coronet on that distant summer afternoon.

'The Order. Perhaps they are not as good as judge of a character as I once believed; how can they be, when they have welcomed such men as Sir Elquist into their ranks?' He gave the woman no chance to voice her shock, Anomen plunging on, 'But I do not speak of my duties to them, but as a priest of the Watcher.'

He let his gaze return to the stars, wondering if somewhere in that glittering field, this story could be read.

'It was said in the Time of Troubles that Helm was given guardianship of the path to the heavens, and when his lover, Mystra, sought to pass, he struck her down. When I first heard the tale, I thought it showed the nobility, the unwavering strength of my Lord that he could make such a sacrifice. But more recently, I find myself wondering, not if he should or should not have acted so, but if at any time since he has regretted it. In Helm, I am charged as guardian to the weak and vulnerable. But in Helm, we of the faith also must uphold the law as it is written. So what then must we do when to protect that which we have sworn to, we must break it?'

'Anomen,' Brieanna reasoned urgently, 'I have learned enough of your faith to know that Helm values loyalty to those you have sworn to follow. You are as we Tormites in this. _Always obey orders as given_-'

'_As long as they do not contradict the dictates of Helm,_' he cut in sharply; the seminary had done its work well. 'Ever since I met Fritha, I have broken the law, each time telling myself it was for a greater cause, and now I know it for certain – there is nothing I would not do to keep her from harm. When I seized that man, as I choked the life from him, I realised what a part of me has known all along: I cannot serve she and Helm both.'

Brieanna eyes were alight with the passion any mention of their errant leader always seemed to stir.

'Anomen, do not lose faith! If Helm has not turned you aside yet, why should He now? Great things are happening, Anomen, things that will affect the whole of Faerûn and perhaps He, too, sees the gravity of our cause!'

'My Lord is not known for his leniency, my lady; I know my path in this.'

'So what then?' Brieanna demanded, 'You will abandon Fritha to her fate? We go to break into a camp that is here under the laws of this land and defended by soldiers of Tethyr; do you plan to remain on the boat, while we act for you?'

Anomen could have laughed. 'No, I do not. I am Fritha's guardian, I swore this long before I loved her, and I will remain so until the end, _whatever_ such a role demands of me. I sense we are at the line, Brieanna, and, if I have to cross it to save her, then so be it.'

Brieanna drew back, her face flushed in the lamplight, thin lips formed to a perfect circle. 'Anomen, I- I do not know what to say.'

'I do not seek your approval, my lady. I will do all I can to keep in His Sight, but if I should move too far from His teachings and lose His favour, then it was my decision and I will not regret it.'

Brieanna was staring at him, her breathing coming quick as dark eyes gravely locked with his own.

'You are strong, Anomen, stronger than I had ever realised. I- ' She shook herself, suddenly on her feet, movements sharp and dismissive. 'Athic is waiting; I should take my turn on tiller.'

Anomen sighed and turned back to the stars; sometimes the world was a desperately confusing place, though he had not much chance to deliberate it for long, the reedy broken tune snatching him from his thoughts and the knight glanced back to find him sat in the darkness of the bows, white hair bright against the black sky. Whether Solaufein had been there all that while or had just arrived, Anomen could not say, the drow leaned over the open case before him and carelessly plucking a thin tune from the lute within. It seemed unlikely Solaufein would touch her things without her permission, Anomen's mind drawn back to the sword he had left next to his bedroll in the cabin below –had Fritha entrusted her lute similarly to him?

'It is losing its tuning,' the drow greeted at his approach, Anomen halting to sink down beside him.

'She can rectify that upon her return.'

'The Dark Maiden favours those with talents here; Fritha offered to teach me before she left.'

Anomen smiled, for a moment back on that windswept deck, her warm presence nestled between his arms.

'She showed me once –I hope you are a better student than I was. I confess I did not pay much attention.'

Solaufein gazed down at the strings, spun gold in the lantern's glow. 'You hold memories of a woman I never even knew, and now the one I am a friend to may already be lost to me.'

Anomen almost choked on the words. 'You think Fritha is _dead?_'

'No, but I fear she will return to us even more broken than she was before. I should not have let her do this.'

'It was not your responsibility to stop her.'

Solaufein fixed him with an unrelenting frown. 'No, it was yours. You love her.'

'And what of you?' Anomen accused hotly. 'Do not think I am blind to how you treat her.'

'I regard Fritha as I always have.'

'As a mistress to be served?'

'As a friend to be worshiped, Eilistraee pardon the blasphemy!' Solaufein sighed, his temper fading to offer more kindly, 'Anomen, I thought once I was coming to love her, but it is not like that.'

After nigh on a month of Brieanna telling him the same, Anomen was reluctant to believe it. 'You are telling me you do not favour Fritha?'

'Anomen, I think her the divine embodiment of everything that is good and worthy of this world you have up here –how does one fall in love with that?'

'Very easily.'

The drow quirked the faintest of smiles. 'Perhaps, and perhaps I could had I let myself, but she does not need a love, she needs a friend, a brother, and that is what I became. To change it now…' He trailed off, Anomen left unsure as to whether he considered such a change a possibility or not. Solaufein sighed again, smile lingering as he closed the case and made to his feet. 'Ah, I should have more confidence in her; she knows her own path in this. Have faith, knight, she will return to us.'

That she would, and Anomen would be damned before he let Fritha leave their company at such risk again. He watched the drow go, disappearing into the cabin as Brieanna had, before he returned his attention to his hands, a finger hooked in the chain as he held that holy pendant aloft.

Damned? Anomen smiled grimly, light catching on that all-seeing eye as it span slowly on its chain. He hoped it would not come to that.

**…**

'Evening there, girls.'

Fritha nodded her response, ignoring the guards' twin smiles as she stepped through the doors they had opened and into that long bustling hall, the place a stark contrast from the women's dormitory, beds rolled up to make more room for the men thronging about them, some sat and stood alone, others in small groups playing cards or talking quietly, a handful of women scattered between them and seemingly enjoying the attention their rarity gave. Fritha did not recognise any of them, men or women, though all seemed to know who she was, narrowed eyes glancing up to watch them pass.

'Freya,' hissed the girl at her elbow, gaze fixed warily on a nearby man who was chanting into his knees some prayer of blood and death, 'Freya, I am really not sure about this.'

Fritha ignored her. 'So, how do we get over to the washrooms?'

'Er, well, I'm not positive, but I've heard that the men have an arrangement with the guards. They are allowed to take women over there for a bit of _privacy_. I imagine the soldiers feel it is safer to keep the men sated, at least in that area. Freya, do you really want to do-?'

'Shush!'

Fritha had just spotted her prey lounging alone against the far wall, the man tall and bulky, though more with fat than muscle, and the conditions there were slowly robbing him of that, skin hanging loosely on his bones, his shaved head sunburnt to a glowing pink, which, with his narrow eyes and trembling jowls, served only to make him look even more like an overgrown pig. Fritha smiled –he didn't look half as hard as Vagness, the girl taking Jeollé's arm to close them to him, the man looking them both up and down with an openly appraising smile.

'Well, what have we here?'

'Just two girls who were hoping to get over to the washrooms.' Fritha reached a hand up to curl it about a fleshy bicep, her smile just right mix of coy and knowing. 'We'd be ever so grateful if you showed us.'

The man's face split with a grin that showed every brown, rotten tooth. 'Well now, right this way.'

The guards let them pass with a knowing leer -apparently this was not so rare an occurrence, and the vainer part of Fritha rather wished she had picked someone a bit better looking, the man leading them past the men's block to the small building behind it, the wooden hut nestled between the dormitories and kitchens, right up against the inner wall. He ushered them through the door with a grin, the three of them suddenly huddled before a thin reed screen, the rest of the room hidden beyond it.

'Well, here we are, girls.'

'Quite,' agreed Fritha, 'now if you could just stand guard while we have a wash…'

'I don't mind you dirty.'

Fritha squealed a giggle that would have done Imoen proud, dancing out of reach as two thick hands grabbed for her.

'Now, now, we won't be long.'

Behind the screen, the room was dark and thankfully empty, the stone tiles echoing with their creeping footsteps. There was little by way of facilities, just a long wooden trough dug into the floor and running the room's length, the narrow channel divided by grooves where low wooden partitions could be slotted to make shallow sinks, a stack of the boards currently piled below the single pipe that was coming through the northern wall, a simple metal faucet plugging the end.

'I can't believe we're in here,' hissed the girl next to her, sounding both overjoyed and petrified. 'What do you plan to _do_ with that thug?'

Fritha snorted. 'Disappoint him. Now, where's the main drain?'

'Oh, Freya…' Jeollé sighed anxiously, attention already down the hall as she moved to her question, 'The drain? Er, over there in the far corner, there's only one.'

Fritha nodded, leaving the girl struggling out of the top half of her robes, hand already sliding a wooden partition into place before her and reaching for the faucet.

She had pointed to the south-west corner nearest the river, a thick iron grill hatching the open drain and bolted into the stone. Fritha leaned up to crack the nearest shutter, the narrow shaft of light catching on the glimmer of stagnant water, not a single ripple to disturb that obsidian mirror. There was no outlet to the river as she had prayed, Fritha feeling her vain hopes of some bottled message to the others fade to leave her stomach even emptier that it had been before. She crouched, letting light fingers graze the algae covered stone work. It was a large opening, about three feet along each side, a neat circle worn into the nearest edge where the ring to a trapdoor had likely once lain, and Fritha concluded it had been left from the ruins before. She leaned closer, something catching her eye as the water Jeollé had poured finally made it to the drain, and Fritha held her breath she saw them: the ripping outline of stone steps descending into the murk.

A hasty moment spent stooped over the trough to wash her face and neck; Fritha saw little point in more without any soap or clean clothes to put on, the girl drying her face on her filthy sleeve as she stepped from behind the flimsy reed screen, their guide whirling to give her a lecherous smile that made her glad her stomach was empty.

'So, petal, ready to show me how grateful you are?'

'Certainly,' Fritha nodded, 'Thank you _very_ much.'

The man blinked owlishly. 'What? Look, are we going to rut or not?'

Fritha snorted; who said romance was dead? 'Not. You going to try and press the issue?'

For a moment, she wondered if he would, his face twisting with an angry sneer as he spat his frustrations at her feet.

'Frigid whore.'

Fritha rolled her eyes. 'Oxymoron.'

'What did you call me?'

She ignored him. 'Jeollé, you done?'

'Coming!' sang that high voice, the girl hurrying from behind the screen still struggling back into her robes, and they walked back to the men's block in a bristling silence. The pair left their guide at the entrance, one of the guards taking them back across to their own dormitory, the doors clicking shut behind them as they moved down the silent hall.

'Oh, feels so lovely to be properly clean,' Jeollé sighed, flopping down into the jumble of blankets, 'Thank you, Freya.'

'Well, we Children have to look out for each other, don't we?'

A ripple of laughter, the girl examining a damp, tangled tress with a smile. 'I don't imagine that man saw it that way. Now if only I could brush my hair.'

Fritha rooted a moment in the small box now beside her bed.

'Here.'

Jeollé caught the rough wooden comb with a matchless delight, setting to her task as Fritha crawled under her blanket, eyes trained on the ceiling high above her.

'Jeollé?'

'Yes?'

'You said some of the prisoners here helped build the camp- do you know who would have laid the foundations?'

The girl frowned, comb paused midway through her rich brown hair as she considered it. 'Er, perhaps Lessel, he was one of the first they brought here –had a hand in nearly the entire camp's construction, though I imagine he regrets it –a collapsed scaffold on the outer wall crippled him. The commander has enough of a heart to allow him to work in the kitchens from then on – Lessel might know of someone, if he doesn't know himself. Why d'you ask?'

Fritha smiled for the first time in days.

'No reason. Goodnight, Jeollé.'


	21. With Tempest’s Howl

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: I almost didn't post this week; Mass Effect 2 has taken over my life, lol. But I found some time in the end and, at the risk of inviting lots of comments to the contrary, I rather like how this chapter came out. So, if anyone has any feedback, I'd be glad to hear it. _^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

**With Tempest's Howl**

Fritha ran, trying to deepen her breathing past the stitch as she threw herself behind a twisted four-armed statue, her eyes straining to find her next point of cover in those rolling, chequered plains, broken columns and grotesque effigies sticking like ugly grey fangs from the tiles. A frantic moment to tie back her hair, that roar carried to her on howling winds.

'_You are MINE!_'

'You are his, you know?'

She managed to stifle the scream to a modest shriek, Fritha whirling to find her ghoulish twin stood at her back, though gone was the skull now, a tight layer of grey skin stretched over the bones, and she looked like Fritha imagined she would after another tenday at that camp. 'Why do you deny him?'

Fritha didn't dignify _that_ with an answer, hauling the girl roughly behind the statue, as well. 'Where is Sarevok?'

The girl smiled. 'Oh, the would-be guide? He is not welcome here. He hides from us, but we will find him in the end.'

The slow boom of approaching footsteps, Fritha whipping back, desperately searching for somewhere to run; the girl next to her leaned in.

'He comes for you. He knows you're here… He can _smell_ you.'

'I'm not surprised. I haven't had a wash in-'

Rubble exploded over her, Fritha ducking to cover her head as the statue above shattered with a hammer's strike, and there it was looming over them, that twisted mix of man and monster, a clawed hand reaching down for her.

Oh, _fu-!_'

'Freya?

Fritha's eyes snapped open, her immediate reaction to kick off whatever was shaking her reined in as she found Jeollé's tanned face above, the girl already up and dressed, the hall about them opened by the milky dawn light.

'Freya, are you all right? You were thrashing in your sleep.'

'I'm fine, just a bad dream.'

'Well, you're awake now –not that it's much consolation.'

At the end of the hall, the doors were opening, the two guards finishing their conversation as they stepped through.

'Up you get then, time to be out.'

Fritha sat stiffly, easing out her aching arms and back, her face giving a painful throb as she wrestled back a yawn. Thank Sune, she didn't have a mirror; things always seemed to hurt more once you saw the damage. Next to her, Jeollé was running the comb through her hair, looking more cheerful for her wash, and Fritha stood as well, reaching down for her tunic, the garment stiff with dried sweat - it was a shame there was not more of a breeze; it would have made a very good kite.

The shutters next to her were ajar, opened upon a sliver of the bright courtyard where men were already lining up before the gates, chains jangling merrily as they were bound together for their day out digging the moat. There looked to have been an addition to their company that morning, the Turmian from the boat shoved into line by one of the soldiers, something he clearly protested against, a gloved fist his answer as the guard punched him in the stomach with force enough to double him. Poor bastard -perhaps she should have given him that water.

Back at the doors, the guards were still chatting, the pair laughing at some joke of their own as one turned to chivvy them along.

'Come on, ladies; let's not keep the wall waiting.'

**…**

Fritha had given up wiping the sweat from her face, the salty water stinging her eyes as she stooped for another rock, her hands bleeding and raw where the burst blisters had been worn open by another morning of labour. A high sun was beating down on her aching back and she thanked every god listening for the hundredth time that she did not suffer from sunburn –being a child of Bhaal had some useful, all be they, overshadowed benefits. Jeollé was dismantling today, the girl at the opposite end of the wall and working at a slow but steady pace, though whether by her own diligence or the proximity of two guards, Fritha did not like to guess.

'Right, all stop,' boomed the voice all had been yearning for, 'Line up there for your water. North block first, then south.'

Jeollé found her in the slow moving press towards the kitchens, the tables of cups already waiting for them, Fritha's eyes scanning the men and women serving behind rather than the welcome treasure they held.

'Hey, Freya, how was your morning? Gwillan said you were getting on all right.'

Fritha ignored the pleasantries. 'Jeollé, you said Lessel works in the kitchens; is there anyway I can get in there to see him?'

'Into the kitchens?' the girl repeated with a frown, 'No, no, I don't think so. I suppose you could go over to the men's- oh-'

'What is it?'

'That's him there, collecting the cups in.'

He was a short man, much worn by his time there, craggy, tanned skin all the darker next to his sun-bleached hair. He looked better than his fellows who spent their days at the wall though, his tatty green tunic clean beneath the apron, one twisted leg dragged uselessly after him as he hobbled to the next table, gathering the cups back into the basket he held.

'Jeollé, go and talk to that guard.'

'What? What about?'

'The sodding _weather!_ Just make something up!'

And she left her there, still dithering, Fritha drifting casually over to halt the man with a word.

'Lessel?'

The man frowned, brows brought low over wide-set eyes. 'Who wants to know?'

'Freya. I understand you were one of the first to come here.'

Lessel snorted gruffly. 'Aye, for my sins. What of it?'

'I wanted to ask you who built the foundations to the washrooms.'

'Well _now_,' he considered slowly, 'no one built them, as well you likely know. The washroom was built over an old cellar that was already here as part of the ruins. I know what you're thinking and you're mad to even try.'

She shrugged – stupid seemed a fairer assessment considering her recent actions. 'Perhaps. So where is the harm in humouring me?'

The man snorted again, and shook his head. 'All right then, but not here- can you get over to men's block later?'

Fritha smiled, feeling that tiny bud of relief begin to blossom. 'Count on it.'

**…**

The day had passed at an agonising pace, though Fritha suspected it was only because she was desperate for it to go faster, thin soup thrown down her neck at sunset with a foolhardy haste –as Jeollé had scolded, you got more benefit if you ate it slowly. And no dull and dragging evening in any tavern had found her more eager for her bed, even her exhausted body kept from sleep by the eager chatter of her mind, the girl laid there watching the shaft of moonlight from the open shutters above creep across the beams as she waited for the hour to come.

'Freya?' murmured that voice next to her, Jeollé turning over to find her sat and pulling on her tunic.

'I'm going over to the men's block; do you want to come?'

Fritha did not need to see her to hear that frown.

'Why though? What do you need to speak to Lessel about? Freya, I don't want any trouble.'

'And neither do I,' Fritha huffed, pulling on her boots; she doubted she would _ever_ get the smell from them. 'I just need to ask him something. Stay here if you want.'

An instant of hesitation, and-

'I- no, I'll come.'

The men's block was crowded with its usual hushed throng, the man they'd engaged the previous evening watching them pass with a tight-lipped sneer as they made their way slowly down the hall. Whether his customary place, or he was trying to make himself obvious, Fritha could not say, but Lessel was easy enough to spot, the man sat upon an upturned crate near the back of the room, twisted leg stretched out before him.

'You came, then,' he confirmed in greeting. 'We can't talk here, come into the back.'

He hauled himself up with a grunt, catching up his crate and to lead the way, the group walking right to the end of the hall, a curtain sectioning off the back of the room just as it did in the women's block, Lessel peering round before nodding the 'all clear' the three moving behind to where four tin buckets served as latrines.

'So, you want to know about the foundations?' sighed Lessel, taking a seat on his crate once more, the girls bobbing to a crouch before him.

'Yes, under the washrooms,' pressed Fritha eagerly, 'it's a flooded basement, isn't it? Where is the outlet into the river?'

'How did you know there is one?' gasped Jeollé.

'Because they'd hardly let the water from the drain keep pouring into a room that would eventually overflow back into the camp. We'd all get cholera and die before the summer's end –the guards included.'

'You're a clever one, aren't you?' Lessel assessed coolly, 'Let's see how that pans out for you. But, yes, there's an outlet to the river under there. That cellar used to be part of the old ruins and there is a passage that runs all the way from it down to where the soldiers now have their jetty, for all the good it will do us.'

For a moment, Fritha was back there, moonlight silver on the rippling water, lambent reflections thrown against the dull metal surface.

'The iron door.'

'That's right, and don't even think that's the only obstacle you'll face. The trapdoor they've made into a drain is sealed by a grill, as no doubt you've seen, but even if you were to find your way past it and down there, the passage to the jetty is sealed by an iron gate. Even if you found it in the darkness, picking the lock would be nigh on impossible under the water.'

'Don't worry about the dark; I can see enough to get me there. As for the gate, where is it? How far from the camp?'

'Well, at a guess I'd say just past the inner walls, outside the paling…' He paused, her plan suddenly clearing behind his eyes, 'You a mage then, lass?'

'Not exactly, but I've magic enough to open that lock.'

Jeollé was frowning, seemingly worried things were running away with her. 'But how will we even breathe down there?'

'Well, last time I noticed, the first step was just submerged, so I imagine there's about a half foot or so left before the cellar roof, anyone going should be able to use that air to make their way. At the end of the passage there are steps up to the iron door, just low enough that when the water reaches the cellar roof it will overflow under the door and into the river, rather than back up through the drain. I warn you now, though, the end of the passage will likely be completely flooded; anyone wanting to get to those steps up to the door will likely have to swim for it.'

'So we've just got to get past that grate, find the gate in the darkness when we can barely breathe and then swim under water to break out onto the jetty,' Jeollé ran through shrilly. Fritha nodded.

'That's it.'

'We?' repeated Lessel, 'And what makes you think I'll help you?'

Fritha just shrugged. 'Don't then, but as I see it, this camp took something from you, something more than your freedom. Even if you don't want to escape, getting one over on the guards might make the next tenday here more bearable.'

Lessel chuckled. 'I'll buy into that. I don't know if I'll join you yet, but I'll help you get past the grate, though I imagine we'll need some sort of prying bar.

'You leave that to us.'

'Aye, fair enough, but either way I won't be able to do this alone; my leg wasn't the only thing ruined by this place and the work will need a stronger back than mine, someone who can come and go without the notice you girls'll draw.'

Fritha nodded once. 'I may know just the man.'

The Turmian was almost at the doors, a little apart from the others surrounding him and seated alone upon his bedding, the candlelight defining every rib in that emaciated chest as he hunched over, tearing long strips from the bottom of the cream tunic that was laid in his lap. Her shadow fell over his work.

'You still alive then,' he offered in greeting. Fritha nodded.

'Yes, and so are you; I was worried a day out digging the moat might have finished you off. Still, there's always the rest of the tenday to go yet.'

He laughed grimly, smile soon lost to a grimace. 'Cheery little thing, aren't you? No offence, flower, but you weren't so keen on making friends before.'

'I'm not now. I've a proposition for you.'

'Oh, aye and what might you be offering in that? Yourself?'

Fritha snorted –the men in there really needed to rethink their priorities. 'Something _much_ better: my soup ration.'

This piqued his interest. 'For how many days?'

'For as long as it takes.'

The dark eyes narrowed. 'And why come to me with this offer?'

'Well, with you out digging the moat, it seems to me you might have a bit more cheek than is wise in the place like this, though perhaps that same sort of nerve would serve a man should he want to make an escape.'

He said nothing, just smiled and reached out a hand as worn and bloody as her own, both wincing as their palms closed together.

'Kuri.'

'Freya.'

**…**

'Right,' came Lessel, voice hushed as he leaned in, Kuri, Jeollé and Fritha grouped eagerly about him, 'here's the plan. Me and Kuri will spend the next few days working loose that grate. Now, I wasn't part of the team who put it in, but I imagine we're looking at iron pegs that have been drilled into the stone and then filled in with mortar for strength. I can smuggle a few things from the kitchens to chip away at it, but it will be slow work, and I don't know we'll be able to do more than a half hour a night before the guards I'll get suspicious.'

'And where are we going to put those tools once you've got them?' questioned Kuri, 'They decide to search us going to or from the washrooms and we're caught.'

'Can you leave them in the washroom?' asked Fritha, 'The guards don't use the place, do they, and we've got another six days before they troop everyone through there for a wash.'

But Jeollé was shaking her head. 'No, the guards wash in the barracks, but they go by to inspect them every morning.'

A pause, all minds working furiously through this hitch when-

'You can put them through the grate!' hissed Fritha triumphantly, 'Just put them on the steps under the water. No one will see them, the water's filthy.'

'Yes,' agreed Lessel, 'and I'll bring some flour from the kitchens. Any mortar we can take out we can fill with dough paste. That should fool anyone as long as they don't look too close.'

Kuri shifted his weight, a smile quirking his thin mouth. 'Good, that sets my mind at ease, though there'll only be so much we can do there without some sort of prying bar. I can't get one; even if I had somewhere to hide it, they count the spades and that back in each night.'

'They'll be some in the storeroom from when they built this place,' offered Lessel. Fritha frowned.

'That's where they store the spades you use, isn't it? Leave that to me and Jeollé.'

The veteran among them nodded. 'Right then, once we're past the grate, someone is going to have to get down there and find that gate. Freya's elven blood will let her see better in the dark, so she's volunteered for that, though for the rest of us, I'd feel better if we'd some sort of rope –when it comes to it, we may not have a lot of time.'

'I'll get that, too.'

'All right, lass, now once the gate is open, Freya can tug on the rope to signal us and we can start down after her, while she goes to open the last door and then we're out.'

'And then what?' hissed Jeollé, 'We're fugitives, with no coin or equipment; where are we going to go?'

Fritha stopped to consider it. Where could they go? She had no idea where her friends were, or even if they had managed to find her, all she knew was where they _should_ have been heading before she'd mired them in this mess.

'We'll go south to the mountains and then head west. I know of a place on the border with Calimshan; I've a friend there who'll help us.'

A brief farewell and the girls were back in their own beds but a few moments later, Fritha staring unseeing into the darkness above as the plan whirred through her mind, that urgent hiss breaking through her thoughts.

'Freya_?'_ And Fritha turned to the girl next to her, Jeollé's face a mask of hopeless fears. 'Freya, are you really going to go through with this? I mean, do you trust those two for a start?'

'Yes, I do. I have to; we'll never get anywhere if we don't.'

Jeollé looked almost tearful in her frustration. 'Freya, _please_, think about this! I've been here for months now; do you honestly think you're the first person who tried to escape? No one had ever managed it! The guards caught them every time. They hung the bodies of the last lot up for days; staked out on the walls and left to rot in the sun and flies- what makes you think you can just arrive here and get out within a tenday?'

Fritha sighed, shifting onto her back if only to avoid those desperate green eyes.

'I don't know, but someone once told me I have a way of making things happen, and I'm going to. But I will need help, Jeollé, so if you want to stay here, say now and I'll find another to replace you. Come on,' she continued more gently, turning onto her side again to nestle under her blanket, 'you'll feel better after some sleep.'

xxx

Getting a couple of battered spoons had been easy enough for Lessel, the man proudly showing them his loot in the latrines the following night, Fritha and Jeollé staying there in the men's block for a reasonable length of time so as not to arouse any suspicions, joining a game of cards while he and Kuri left for the washrooms. The prying bar had taken a little longer to find, yesterday afternoon finally providing their opportunity; a vociferous argument between Kuri and Fritha in the courtyard, in which even some of the older guards likely learnt a few interesting new insults, proving distraction enough for Jeollé to slip in and out of the open storeroom before the spades were returned for the night, a thick crowbar hidden under her robes.

Fritha turned from the west where the low sun was setting the sky ablaze, the mountains looming dark against burnt orange clouds, the girl closing her eyes until the wave of faintness had ebbed- a few more days on just bread and water and she'd doubted she'd even reach Amkethran, escape or not. At least another day's labour was finally finished, Fritha lingering in the emptying courtyard, bread already eaten and soup cup cooling in her hand, her stomach giving barely a grumble as she waited for the manacles to be removed from that line of sagging men. Kuri stooped, rubbing each ankle in turn to amble unsteadily over to the tables with the other men just arrived back from the moat, all eager to get their meal, the Turmian fetching his own soup before wandering across to join her.

'Another day over,' Fritha sighed, Kuri nodding tiredly.

'And I'm glad to see it. Nazeem wasn't so lucky; they carried him back just after high sun. I wonder if he's still with us.'

'I heard one of the guards saying he was still passed out on his bedding, but he's alive – I think Carstil's going in to see him after dinner.'

'That cleric, eh?' Kuri confirmed _very_ casually, 'How d'you know him, then?'

'He was with the company that brought me in.'

'Is that all? Just I heard a rumour he might be sweet on someone, seen as she started a brawl on her first day and he jumps straight in to her rescue.'

Kuri was grinning, his teasing smile drawing out her own.

'Enric is very kind; I don't think he likes what happens here.'

'No,' Kuri sighed, eyes on the barracks as he drew a hand distractedly across his stubble-blackened chin, 'still goes along with it though, doesn't he?' The rubbing at his jaw became more vigorous, 'Damn, this stuff itches.'

Fritha thanked the Fates she was born a girl. 'You need a shave.'

'Aye, apparently couple of the guards lend out a few blunt old razors come wash day to the more _trusted_ prisoners. Suffice to say, I doubt I'll be one of them.'

Fritha shrugged evenly. 'Come wash day and you won't be here.'

He grinned. 'No, and neither will you. Lessel thinks it will just be another day or so to go now we've got that bar. Still, it's a shame one of you girls can't come along to keep us company of a night; with me and Lessel always disappearing off there on our own, the other men are starting to talk.'

'At least, with that in mind, you won't be disturbed.'

Their laughter warmed her, Kuri's dark eyes shining fondly. 'I knew it when I first saw you, you were a fighter.'

'Aye, I could always pick a lost cause. Here, before it gets cold.'

He raised a hand, forestalling the cup she made to pass him.

'Nah, you keep it. Seems to me, this is reward in itself.'

They raised a toast of lukewarm soup; the richest wine had never tasted as fine, or admittedly as lumpy, the pair smiling widely as they lowered their cups.

'Oh, looks like you're wanted,' said Kuri with a nod behind her, Fritha turning to see Jeollé beckoning to her urgently, the women lining up behind her as they filed into the dormitories. 'Best go before your sister there gets herself in a tiss.'

'Aye, you and Lessel take care.'

And she left Kuri in the courtyard, the hall that familiar bustle of women stripping from dusty clothes to settle on their beds to chat and laugh and try to forget for a few hours, before sleep would take them into the next morning. Jeollé was already ridded of her robes, the girl lingering at the window, seemingly unmindful of the cold as she stood there in only her worn slip, and Fritha closed to her, her skin bristling as she pulled off her filthy tunic.

'What's wrong?'

Jeollé pressed her lips together, not daring to voice her fears. 'This plan – do you really think it will work?'

'Yes, I do.'

'I was nearly caught the other day getting that pry bar, and we've still to get hold of a rope.'

'And we will.'

'Well, Lessel was saying earlier that the guards were in the kitchens the other day, asking about those missing spoons.'

'Which cannot possibly be traced to him.'

Jeollé looked little reassured. 'The guards are already suspicious; if they find out…'

'And what's our other option?' Fritha hissed impatiently, 'To stay here and wait until the next Bhaalspawn army arrives?'

'That might not happen. The walls and guards-'

'Will do nothing! And even if this whole thing does just blow over and we survive, what then? They took us against our will, imprisoned us, abused us, executed us at whim –do you really think they'll just let us go, so we can run back to the capital to tell Queen Zaranda how her army have been disregarding her orders?'

Fritha watched the truth of it dawn on her, Jeollé's voice breaking in her horror.

'You- you don't know that…'

Fritha snorted grimly. 'Then, I suppose the question comes down to whether you want to risk spending the rest of your life out there building that wall.'

And the girl turned at her gesture, eyes falling on the scene just beyond those shutters, the wall a silhouette in the fading light, uneven and halfway through the building -just as it was at the end of every day. Something about her expression hardened.

'No, I don't.'

xxx

It was an hour she rarely saw. The pre-dawn sky was marbled in lilacs and blues, the merest silver of gold highlighting the eastern horizon, while the dew-speckled grasslands shimmered like the iridescent fish that swam about the hull, a solitary heron stood further up river patiently awaiting its breakfast, and Imoen considered they could be moored upon the lush banks of the Oceanus, were it not for that dark shape to the west, an ugly black tooth rising from the misty plains.

Solaufein had seen it first, his sharp eyes finding it on the grey horizon before the coming dawn had stolen much of their strength, and they had sailed only until Jaheira could make it out as well, the camp still little more than a dark outline to Imoen's gaze when they had moored.

Imoen turned from away, the foothills just to the south rising up into those smoke-wreathed mountains, Talos's Trident looming over them, clouds hanging dark over the peaks, untouched by the approaching dawn. It was the twenty-second day of Kythorn according to Eruna's almanac. They had been seven days on that boat, the journey taking much longer than the mere distance would have suggested. The narrow tributary they had taken from the Agis was shallow and sandy, tacking against the current making the journey all the harder, and they had run aground a few times, poles bending to almost breaking point as the men had pushed them clear.

That presence behind her, the warmth of his body making her realise just how cold she was, and they stood together a moment, Valygar drinking in the scene with her, her voice hoarse as it broke the silence.

'You're away soon?'

'Yes, we need to be over there before the dawn proper.'

'Who's going now then?'

'Just who was first agreed: myself, Jaheira, Minsc and Solaufein.'

Imoen snorted coolly. 'Brieanna finally given up trying to convince you she should come, too? What'd she want to go for anyway? Fritha's not her friend.'

'I understand she sees her as leader though; Torm is known to value loyalty.'

'Been trying to convert you, has she?'

'I do not need to worship the gods to know of them.'

Imoen had no rejoinder to this, eyes drawn from back to that speck of black, her stomach trembling as a hand landed lightly upon her shoulder and slipped down her arm in an imperceptible caress.

'She will be fine, Imoen; you can say much of your friend, but that Fritha is strong, not one among us can doubt.'

Imoen smiled, at last turning to him, her eyes poring over his face, bathed in the dawning light, as though she had never seen it before.

'Yeah, I know.'

She leaned up, about to kiss his cheek when that surge of emotion and lingering dread pressed her forward, catching his mouth to taste the bitter tea that had been his breakfast, the short kiss leaving them both unduly breathless.

'Come back safe, Vals,'

Valygar was gazing down at her, his lips still parted, that frown he so often wore softened to a half-smile, a large hand raised to gently hook some hair behind her ear, the man seemingly embarrassed by his own tenderness as he gruffly patted her arm and stooped for his quiver, and Imoen turned back to the plains; that heaven which held a hell.

**…**

Those few hours seemed some of the longest of her life, even the days at the asylum not as drawn as Imoen gathered upon the deck with those others left behind, just watching as the sun rose behind them and made its slow arc across the sky. It was hung right above now, a blazing eye upon their game as they talked over a round of cards that had been all but given up on half hour ago, Anomen and Athic sweating on the sun-scorched deck and allowing the three women to lounge in the shade of the awning, Imoen not even bothering to hide her cards as she lolled in the heat.

Eruna shifted upright, cards in her lap as she lethargically rearranged her skirts. 'How long as it been now?'

'About another half hour since you last asked,' sighed Athic.

'Do you think they could have been seen?' asked Brieanna. Imoen frowned into cards that had long ago lost her attention.

'No, they'll be careful; that'll take time.'

It seemed no one wished to ask that most pressing question: what they were going to do if that camp proved impenetrable, and the talk died once more, Athic taking his turn merely for something to do, the whine of the damsel flies and lap of the water a languid lullaby. Eruna's sigh broke the spell, the girl heaving herself up and suddenly vivid as she left the shade of the awning. 'Well, I'm going to get some food prepared for when they return.'

Brieanna rose as well. 'I shall help you.'

Anomen glanced up from his cards.

'Should I-?'

'We will be fine…' Brieanna trailed off, cool dismissal dying as her eyes caught on something in the western plains, Imoen instantly on her feet to see those four dark shapes approaching through the long grass.

'Here, they're back. What news?' Imoen demanded, at the boat rail and yelling out to them, 'Did you see Fritha?'

'No, we saw little inside the camp,' explained Jaheira at a much more reasonable volume as she stepped from the gangplank onto the deck proper, the three men fanning out behind her, 'though from what we saw outside it, we can assume those within are engaged in some sort of labour.'

'Outside? What are they doing?'

Valygar's frown told her it wasn't anything good. 'About twenty or so men are being forced to dig what looks to be a moat.'

'In _this_ heat?'

Solaufein's hat hid nothing of his scowl. 'Those we saw look half-starved.'

Anomen wanted to know only one thing. 'What is the plan?'

The question was their cue, the group all moving to settle there, Jaheira taking a rough piece of chalk from her pocket to draw straight upon the foot-smoothed deck.

'We will split into two groups. The camp itself is surrounded by two walls, both with gates to the east and about ten or so yards between them. The inner wall has four watchtowers set at each corner. The walls are high; someone from the first group will have to help the second over the outer wall, the northern one will be best, and then the first group will move to the main gates where they will request to speak to the camp commander concerning a certain Bhaalspawn they have been tracking.'

'I will do this,' volunteered Anomen, 'I can use the Order's name and claim to have tracked the fugitive from Saradush. Perhaps Brieanna would concede to add to the tale?'

The woman frowned, but nodded all the same. 'As it is needed.'

'Good. Then, Minsc, Valygar and Athic can join you.'

'No, wait,' interrupted the warrior, Athic uncharacteristically urgent, 'that leaves just you girls and Solaufein to go inside alone.'

The drow quirked a cool eyebrow. 'You doubt our skills?'

'Not a bit. But I still want to add to them. This is a dangerous undertaking.' Dark eyes flicked unwillingly to the girl opposite. 'I promised your mam I'd bring you back safe, Eruna.'

'Athic, we'll be fine.'

A pause, Imoen expecting the druid to dismiss his worries, when at last she nodded.

'Very well, Athic will join myself, Imoen, Eruna and Solaufein inside. We will head to the nearest watchtower. From there we should have a good view of the camp and, gods willing, be able to narrow our search for Fritha. Eruna and Imoen will then cause a distraction, and under this cover Solaufein and I will use the rope to climb down and find her. We would hope to bring her back the same way, but should this route be unavailable, the men will give us a second chance at escape.' Her gaze seemed to linger on each of them. 'I would rather do this cleanly, though I understand there is a potential for violence.'

'Such men as these deserve no less,' rumbled Minsc, 'though Boo tells me there are times for caution.'

'When do we strike?' asked Brieanna. Valygar spared a glance to the bright blue sky.

'There would be many advantages in waiting until nightfall.'

Solaufein bridled an instant too late.

'And leave Fritha at their mercy until then?' demanded Anomen. 'I know rumours of what happens after dark in such places; I will not wait a moment longer than we must.'

'Then we will move at dusk,' resolved Jaheira, 'when the men are brought in from the moat. All should be returned to their cells by then and, if we time it right, many of the guards may be distracted by their evening meal.'

'Boo wonders what we plan once we are all escaped.'

'We will head back here to the boat,' answered Valygar, 'We can turn it about before we set off; at least the current will be with us.'

Eruna was nodding eagerly. 'I've been studying on a smoke spell to mask our escape, though I haven't had a chance to try it yet.'

Jaheira smiled. 'Good. I myself may be able to call up a fog, should Silvanus bless me with the power.'

'So we move at dusk,' affirmed Athic, 'What are we doing until then?'

'I think a meal, and then for any who can manage it, a sleep may serve us well.'

Sleep? Imoen snorted; who said Jaheira wasn't an optimist?

**...**

Fritha moved down the hall with a nonchalant haste, the women about her distracted enjoying those few hours between the end of their work and lights out, gathered in small knots on their bedding, tidying their hair and comparing blisters, one kindly soul from the kitchens completely surrounded as she mended the many clothes brought over to her with the needle and thread she had snuck out under her apron. Fritha reached her bedding to drop immediately to a crouch, a hurried glance ensuring all immediate attention was elsewhere as she drew the prickly coil of rope from under her tunic and quickly stashed it under her blanket; she would hide it in a better place later. A nascent thrill of hope trembled in her stomach. Everything was coming together; just a couple more days and they'd be able to make the attempt.

'Assemble beside your beds! Now!'

Fritha whipped back, trying not to look guilty as two guards strode through the doors, Jeollé ushered before them and for one ironic moment, Fritha worried the girl was in trouble. A flurry of movement as the women around her hurried to take places next to their bedrolls, Fritha watching as the three advanced up the room. They halted at her bed.

'You, draw back your blankets.'

Fritha stared at them, Jeollé unable to meet her eye. One of the guards was growing impatient.

'I said-!'

'I heard you!

And Fritha bent with a tight resignation to reveal that thin coil of rope.

'Well now,' the second guard sneered, 'what are you doing with that?'

'I was planning to hang myself.'

His companion snorted. 'You may soon wish that were true. And the rest of it?' he barked, but the question was not to her. Jeollé's voice was high and quite unhesitant.

'The tools are hidden under the drain in the washrooms –she bribed the guards to let her over there with a pearl earring.'

'So, going to leave us, were you?' accused the second guard, 'You couldn't have planned this alone –who was working with you?'

'No one.'

The fist caught her across the face hard enough to floor her, hot blood gushing over her chin from her burning nose, the guard blurred behind a constellation of fizzing stars.

'Don't lie to me, bitch! Who were you working with?'

'Please,' cried Jeollé, fighting to get in front of him, 'Please, she was alone - she told no one but me.'

The first guard laughed. 'Aye, and I bet she's sincerely regretting that. Come on, Len, let's get these two before the commander.'

A guard on each arm, Jeollé left to hurry freely in their wake as the guards hauled Fritha up and marched her from that room of whispering women.

The barracks held their usual disparate air of spotless calm, the distant rumble of soldiers in the refectory the only noise to break the stillness. The guards brought them to a halt before the commander's office, one entering, supposedly to announce them, and Jeollé slipped forward to take his place at her arm, her voice a hiss of worthless regret.

'I'm sorry, Freya, I really am. But your plan, it never would have worked and I don't want to die. I knew if I told the commander he'd let me work in the kitchens -I just can't spend another tenday building that damn wall!'

Fritha glowered at her, the pain of her still dripping nose merely fuelling her hatred, and she just hoped all the contempt she felt could be conveyed in that blistering glare. 'I _pity_ you. Your weakness has _doomed_ this land!'

Jeollé looked stricken. 'Please, Freya-'

The door before them cut her off, the two straightening instinctively to be escorted inside, the guards taking up positions behind them, and there was silence as Commander Merenc's pale eyes came to rest upon Fritha. He leaned back with a deep, disappointed sigh.

'So, we meet again. It is a shame to see you before my desk once more, and under such circumstances.' He leaned forward, the frown deepening, 'You were planning an escape.'

Fritha affected an even shrug, to angry to even weep and beg, and try to squirm her way out of it. 'You keep me here against my will, why should I not?'

The slam of his fist made them all start.

'We keep you here for the safety of Tethyr! Ah,' Merenc sighed, calm once more, 'there is no point reasoning with you; I cannot hope to change such selfishness.' He glanced to the guard behind her, 'Did she have accomplices?'

'No, sir, she says she was working alone and the girl confirms it.'

The commander exhaled in what could have almost been a laugh. 'Well, I don't quite believe that… An example will have to be set. Take her outside, bring everyone from the barracks and dormitories; it will serve best if the whole camp sees.'

Jeollé looked suddenly wild. '_What?_ No! Please! You promised if I told you, she would be spared! She just wanted to leave. _Please,_ sir!'

But the commander was shaking his head.

'I am sorry; you may still have your place in the kitchens, but an example must be made. Guards.'

**…**

Imoen landed lightly on the other side of the wall, her limbs tight with a nervous energy as she crept forward, moving just in time as Athic landed more heavily behind her, and she could hear Anomen's arrogant tones drifting back to her as he summoned the guards to the main gate. Solaufein was already at the north-eastern watchtower, Jaheira at his heels as he slipped though the open doorway and Imoen felt that frisson of anticipation shiver over her as she stepped in after Eruna, Athic pressing in behind them, all crowded about the ladder. The hatchway was open, two men sat on the boards above them, backs to the opening and Solaufein pressed two fingers to his lips in a signal to the rest of them as he stepped noiselessly upon that first rung. Imoen waited, feeling the bodies twitching restlessly about her, that cramped tower plunged into an instant of darkness as Solaufein filled the hatchway above. A strangled gasp, two thuds dislodging a shower of dust and the drow landed amongst them again with barely a sound.

'It is done.'

Jaheira nodded. 'Right, Imoen and Eruna, you are first, quickly now.'

A flurry of movement as bodies shifted and squeezed past one another, Imoen first to the ladder, Eruna's squeak somewhere behind her.

'Watch your hands, Athic!'

'Sorry, flower.'

'When you get up there, put their helmets on and keep low,' said Jaheira, her orders coming muffled as Imoen cleared the hatchway, eyes avoiding the two bodies in favour of the camp laid out before her, a square of buildings set about an open courtyard, though all was not as she would have expected at the moment. There was some sort of commotion going on, the guards keeping order as their prisoners filed from the surrounding buildings.

'Here,' came Eruna, the girl at her side and passing her one of the two helmets. It was far too big, but Imoen put it on anyway; hopefully the right silhouette would be enough to keep those below them fooled for long enough.

'Something's going on,' the girl continued for the three still below them, 'people are being brought into the courtyard.'

'They couldn't already be searching for the Order's fugitive…' murmured Jaheira. Imoen watched as a line of ragged women was marched from the building but a stone's throw away.

'It looks like the women's block is just beneath us, and –Oh Hells, the barracks is right next to it.'

'At least we are close –any sign of Fritha?'

'Not yet.'

'What about the men?'

Eruna threw a glance behind them. 'The front gate looks to be open.'

'Right, we need our distraction now.'

'There,' said Eruna, hand thrown to the other side of the bustling courtyard, 'that building has a chimney. A fire starting in the kitchens would be common enough. Ready?'

A nod between them, Imoen drawing a breath as she delved for the magics that thrummed within –and delved –and delved…

'Well?' came that impatient hiss below, Imoen opening her eyes upon Eruna's ashen face.

'I- I can't; nothing's happening!'

'Imoen?'

'I- Nothing's there.'

'Oh,_ no!_'

And Imoen followed Eruna's gaze up to the flat roof but a few yards above them, ring upon ring of runes scorched into the wood. The young mage was aghast.

'There's a paling, here –a ward against magic!'

'_By Silvanus!_ The men will be inside soon -we need another source of disturbance. What is going on out there?'

'I'm not sure,' hissed Eruna, 'It looks like the whole camp is just gathered around the edge of the yard.'

Solaufein's patience was finally spent. 'That will be distraction enough. Let me up; I am going over.'

'Solaufein, wait-'

Imoen shifted, making way for whoever managed to fight their way up, when she stopped, her eyes catching on a blot of orange but a building's width below them, and Imoen felt the dismay rise gurgling from her throat in the only word she could mange.

'Oh, _no, no, no…'_

Seven days! She couldn't have kept out of trouble for _seven sodding days?_

'What is it?' demanded the druid, Eruna the only one with a voice left to answer.

'It's Fritha; she's being led from the barracks.'

That was a colossal understatement, the girl stumbling as the guard wrenched her before him by her hair, her face swollen about her purpled nose, blood splattered down her tunic and smeared across her chin where a careless sleeve had wiped it away, Eruna's commentary relaying the scene for those below.

'They're making her kneel.'

'_What?_' came that fraught chorus. Muffled shouts and a scuffle below them as Jaheira scrambled up to see for herself, tawny head appearing in time to meet the mage's cry.

'Oh, good gods, I think they're going to execute her!'

**…**

The fine gravel of the courtyard was sharp under her knees, the evening air cool with a hint of rains she would never feel, a few young stars peeking through that lavender veil to watch the spectacle, Merenc's voice echoing about that still square.

'You are brought here to bear witness firsthand to what happens to those who would so brazenly defy the rules of this place-'

It had not taken very long to gather everyone, Fritha brought from the barracks to find the courtyard already ringed four men deep, guards here and there keeping the shifting sea of bodies back. Fritha let her eyes scan the faces now surrounding her, some looking away, others watching with a morbid fascination, and in the press she caught a glimpse of Kuri, the man sending her nod of grim respect; they both knew why she was there alone.

They had not even bothered to bring the block out for her in the end. Captain Gravin had been given the honour of the kill -she wondered if she should be offering him her other pearl earring in return for a clean dispatch, Leff and Ambreen stood with the rest of the guards before the barracks, laughing and eager for their revenge, Enric a pace or so from them, his eyes down as he made a melancholy examination of his hands. Poor man –he had warned her.

'In a conspiracy to ignore wilfully the danger to this camp and Tethyr as a whole, this woman planned-'

She wouldn't even die under her own name… Fritha wondered briefly if she should harness her anger and try to force the change, but then she would likely kill them all - the exact opposite of what she had come there to do. Perhaps it was just better to accept her fate as it was. She could have almost laughed. It seemed her arrogance had made a fool of her again, the girl a sword's sweep away from proving was she wasn't chosen for anything more than this empty death.

'And she will now face the penalty. Captain.'

Fritha felt the blade above her rise. She wondered if it would hurt.

A shadow rippled over the sun, too sudden for any cloud, the strangled cries from the onlookers her only warning as fire suddenly engulfed the northern watchtower and the prickle danced across her skin as the paling dissipated. Gravin was still above her, sword aloft, their eyes meeting for an instant of searing clarity.

Fritha had once listened with youthful disbelief as some sage had told her that human bodies were half water…

A surge of her will and his scream filled her senses, blistering hands clawing at his face as his eyes burst, scalding blood spattering the ground in a grisly rain. His hilt was warm in her hand as Fritha straightened, and Merenc's lined face did not even have time to change its horrified mask as she ran him through the stomach. Another blast of fire, flames consuming the kitchens. People were running about her, guards fighting to regroup in the chaos, shrill screams drowning the bellowed orders to open the gates.

Fritha ignored it all, head thrown back to find them wheeling in the sky above her, sleek, lithe bodies twisting in the air with every effortless sweep of their wings, scales of blue and green catching the dying light to burst with colour, and a fierce whoop of angry joy rose in her throat even as fire exploded around her, because they had confirmed one thing in that world of uncertainty. She was alive, she was saved –she was _chosen!_

**…**

Imoen ran on, air pounding with the stampede around her, Brieanna in the lead as the two groups converged to tear towards the inner gates. It was just like her dream, the fire, the screams, the sky above her black as storm clouds seethed and eddied with smoke. They had seen them in time, but only just: three dragons, two young and one much older swooping over them, the group scrambling from the tower a mere instant before flames had engulfed it. Brieanna had reached the inner gates, Anomen but a step behind her, hoarse orders bellowed over the clamour within.

'Imoen, destroy-'

The gates burst open before he could command them levelled, a tide of people pouring through, some screaming as they fought to shed their burning clothes, the torrent forking either side of them as they surged out across the plains.

And there in the courtyard she stood in that field of charred corpses, motes of embers swirling in the air like clouds of fireflies, Imoen halted in her disbelief, that voice of her nightmares given form as Fritha slaughtered those soldiers foolish enough to attempt to recapture her, one cut down as he made to retreat.

'_You will DIE! YOU WILL ALL DIE!_'

Brieanna was halted next to her, seemingly rapt, the two women frozen in their awe. Another explosion of fire, the elder dragon plunging low into the courtyard and Imoen was suddenly fighting to get through the crowds.

'_Fritha!'_

**…**

Fritha slashed him across the stomach, another faceless guard felled with a stab to the throat, the shield she had found heavy on her arm as she drove it into his neck. Movement to her left, her attention snapping to it and her sword was raised for its next victory when she stopped, blade lowered before the trembling figure who had just straightened from the slaughtered remains of a fellow soldier.

'Enric.'

The man nodded, throat bobbing. Fritha's eyes narrowed.

'Run, Enric.'

'Y- You-'

'I said run!'

He turned to heed her an instant too late. Fritha kicked out, the man tripped to the dirt with a cry, and she was already leaping over him, smacking the dragon's snout away with her shield.

'_Run!_'

The creature reared back with a smoky hiss, all its fires spent in the sky, its wings unfurling to block out the sky and the wall of wind sending her sprawling, Fritha scrambling to her feet as that yawning jaw lunged from the darkness.

'_Fritha!_'

The spell left Imoen's hands without a thought; a surge of white hot energy that left even her surprised, it roared across the square to strike the creature in the back, its piercing howl joining the tumult of battle cries as the others charged towards it, Fritha already up and dancing back from a sweep of those cruel talons.

Minsc reached it first, the creature whipping back to meet their arrival with its thrashing tail, the Rashemi ducking clumsy under it, Athic not so quick as it caught him across the chest, the man smashed back into Brieanna and the pair hitting the ground an instant after to move no more. Minsc was back and worrying the creature's flanks, Fritha and Valygar joining him, Anomen pulling Jaheira behind his shield as the creature snapped down at them, yellow teeth flashing, the distraction allowing Solaufein to slip under its wing and drive that fine blade into a back leg and take first blood.

Imoen kept her mind focused, summoning her next spell, Eruna at her side, sleeves pushed back as her hands wove patterns before her, her frown of concentration lit by the unnatural blue light as she released a spray of razor-sharp ice into the creature's back, shredding its wings. Its roar of pain left her ears ringing. Any other dragon would have retreated by now –if it had been allowed to, Imoen recognising the stilled distance to its movements; another held the reins here.

A flash of light, the carnage about them opened in blinding white as lightning forked across the sky and the heavens rumbled, rain sheeting down to hammer into the burning buildings like bullets, churning the ground to a fine slurry.

The dragon was growing fearful, movements wild as it tried to snap and claw at the many biting swords, one knocked back only allowing another to sneak in, its blue scales pocked here and there with scarlet, blood washed into a vermillion soup at their feet. It crouched, tensing to make the great leap that would get it airborne, perhaps meaning to retreat, at last, though it was too late. Its tattered wings could not support it. Two feeble flaps kept it hanging in the air only an instant, before it crashed back down in a tangle of leathery wings, Anomen seizing the chance to leap forward, mace hefted in one mighty blow that cracked its skull and the creature collapsed, legs sprawled beneath it, head lolling on its long neck only to flop into the mud, its voice rasping in the silence of the victory as the bonds upon it faded, at last.

'_I curse you, fleshlings… but more than you, I curse the godling who bound me to this… Abyss take you, Abazigal…_'

The rain was already easing, clouds rolling on as suddenly as they had come, the fires about them dying away to leave a ruin of smoking wood, their group stood in the empty courtyard, panting and soaked to the skin, Anomen bent over the groaning Brieanna, while Athic was on his feet and leaning heavily on Minsc. The last two dragons were now but specks on the southern horizon, Fritha watching their flight southwest into the dusky mountains.

'Fritha?'

The girl glanced back, bruised and bloodied and wholly radiant.

'Imoen'

Her face opened with a beatific smile, and she dropped where she stood.

**…**

Fritha knew where she was even before she opened her eyes; there was no pain for a start, the girl laying still a moment to appreciate the sensation, heart still rattling in her chest as she opened her eyes on that pale green sky. Sarevok reached a hand down, his grip firm and rough with calluses that now matched her own, eager eyes sweeping over her.

'You were in battle; I see the thirst in you still. What was it?'

Fritha shrugged. After a tenday of stifling heat, the cold winds of that wasteland were like the breath of heaven. 'A dragon, an army -all fell.'

Sarevok's face split with the first smile she had even seen him wear in that tiled plane. 'Ah, you feel it, don't you? The thirst for blood, for the power you were born to!'

'Yes, I feel it –I hate it.'

The man snorted, amused by her continuing resistant. 'Love it, loath it, it will consume you in the end.'

'Oh, the end, the end!' Fritha cried, sick of wondering about the thing, 'But what _is_ the end to all of this? I know the prophesies all say Bhaal will be reborn, but how? Where?'

Sarevok was frowning; she had a feeling she would not like this.

'There are few accounts that actually give details of his rebirth, and they are of little use to us now. Bhaal was to inhabit the being of his chosen vessel – the last of the Bhaalspawn, whose sacrifice would not have been meted out by a priestess's blade, but walked into willingly. When enough Children have died and enough essence collected, the last Bhaalspawn would seize this power and Bhaal would awake within him, consuming his soul and reforming his body for His own purpose. But whoever that person was, he is gone now…'

Fritha swallowed tightly. 'Yes…'

'As it is so, Bhaal will most likely awaken within the last surviving Bhaalspawn.'

'So it could just be anyone?' cried Fritha, thinking of all the Children who had survived to leave Saradush -at least a couple must have got away and hidden by now. But Sarevok dismissed her worries with a patronising chuckle.

'No, no, sister, Bhaal could not manifest within just any one of His Children. It would have to be one such as you or I, who hold within ourselves enough of His essence to allow us to claim the rest, which has been gathering in His old realm, ever since that first Bhaalspawn met his end.'

'But what if enough of the Children survive? Then there won't be sufficient power to resurrect him!'

Sarevok snorted, contemptuous of her empty hopes. 'Survive until when, sister? Old age will take those the blade does not; it is just a matter of time. Bhaal has waited this long, another hundred or so years will mean little to Him. The essence will accumulate, and one will rise to take it, for good or ill, and Bhaal will rise in him, He will slaughter any Children that still survive and take His vengeance upon this world.'

Fritha felt something inside her slump – Brieanna had been right, it had all been for nothing.

'So that is it? There is nothing I can do? Bhaal will return no matter what?'

Sarevok smiled slowly, almost appraising of her.

'Perhaps, sister, but there is another prophesy, less well-known and much suppressed by the priesthood; the one that awoke in me that first desire for war. It runs almost as the others, but as the essence is claimed, it is said that a strong mind may be able to shape the power to their own will and become a god within their own right. I was young and foolhardy back then; I believed such a thing would be simple for one of my might. Death has shown me the true nature of such power and what it would take to wield it, but,' he shrugged carelessly, 'there is still a chance.'

'So _those_ are my choices?' cried Fritha 'Godhood or death?'

'At least you have the choice, sister; death comes for us _all_ in the end.'

Sarevok quirked her a wry smile- he knew of what he spoke.


	22. Resurrection

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Well, it seemed abandoning my usual doubts and actually _liking_ the last chapter was the kiss of death. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and to my ever-dwindling team of betas for their feedback._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Resurrection**

Light played in red on the inside of her eyelids, the murmur of voices echoing in and out of focus as she gradually became aware of the rough wool beneath her, the cool air moving through her nostrils, and the pain that amplified with every breath. Somewhere a fire popped, and she was instantly aware of its warmth along one side, welcome in the chilled dampness of her clothes, the cloth still infused with the reek of smoke and sweat.

'They salvaged what supplies survived in the kitchens –there should be enough for tonight.'

'And tomorrow?'

'Let's worry about that then, eh, flower?'

'Indeed, we have quite enough with which to be getting on.'

'You're frightened, aren't you?'

'I admit, I am worried. The speed at which those clouds gathered; that was no true storm – it was her.'

'What troubles you? Druids may control the weather as they please.'

'Yeah, I've seen you do it yourself more than once.'

'A gift granted by Silvanus. This, this is unnatural.'

'She is awakening.'

Hands upon her shoulders; Fritha was afraid to open her eyes and invite more pain, Anomen's voice urgent above.

'Fritha, can you hear me? Are you hurt?'

She was almost tempted to ask if he wanted to narrow that down a bit. _Everything_ hurt, her body used by something not accustomed to having the limitations of bone and muscle. Thirst scored her throat, her limbs trembling with the effort as she made to sit, hands crowding in to help her, the movement stirring up the stink of her unwashed body and she wondered how they could stand the smell.

Her vision was clearing to find them all sat about her, hunched and haggard under a gloaming sky, Anomen and Valygar's beards unkempt, while the clean shaven Athic looked like he was well on for growing one of his own, thick bandages wrapped about his barrel of a chest. Eruna was next to him, the girl a twin of Imoen, both pale, dark rings puffy under their eyes, Brieanna on their other side with Minsc, the Rashemi offering her his usual grin, while Brieanna's smile was more subdued, right arm hanging limp in a sling. And within that circle were pressed their three, Anomen knelt on one side of her, Fritha shifting forward as she realised he was taking most of her weight, Solaufein on her other, a hand hovering at her elbow ready to help, Jaheira apart from everyone, already up and stirring whatever was hanging over the fire.

'You found me?' Fritha croaked, instantly wishing she hadn't. They shared a glance about her, Eruna venturing, 'Imoen, well, Imoen has been having dreams of where you were.'

Fritha nodded, letting another part of her mind make sense of this as she took in the plains about her, her own group gathered at that fire, while all around those who had survived were camped similarly upon the grassy meadow, blankets and bedding mats salvaged from smoking black ruins behind them.

'Was I out for long?'

'A few hours,' offered Jaheira, a hand steadying her own as she passed her a steaming cup of tea. 'I found no serious injuries, but you were suffering from mild exhaustion and your nose was broken. Anomen healed it, though it'll be a while before the bruising goes down.'

Imoen tried a shaky laugh. 'You look pretty scary.'

'I'll live.'

'Yes,' the druid continued in a sigh, narrowed eyes travelling the plains 'unlike many others here. Fewer than fifty of the prisoners managed to survive, the rest lost to the fires. Most of the guards are either dead or fled, but a few remained to help tend those left.'

'Enric?'

'Carstil is one of them, yes.'

'But-,' Fritha pressed, putting aside even her tea in her confusion, 'but why has everyone stayed here?'

'Because many do not know where else to go. They are fugitives here, sought by the army and bounty hunters alike. We cannot just leave them to their fates; how long before some fools among the citizenry try to bring them in for coin –it would be chaos. We were waiting for you to awaken before we decided our course.'

Fritha went back to her tea, letting the movement mask her doubts. Sarevok believed the Children were likely doomed anyway…

'We need to hide them. We can't just leave them to wander the land.'

Minsc was nodding wisely. 'Yes, as Boo knew you would say.'

'And just how can we hide fifty people?' challenged Brieanna, the woman wincing as she made to shift closer. 'We all saw what happened here; these people are a death sentence to anywhere who will take them in.'

Imoen's face furrowed in an ugly sneer. 'Yeah, Brie, we all know how you think we're not worth saving.'

'It is not that-'

'You said as much in-'

'Enough,' barked Valygar, ignoring the women's outrage at this interruption. 'We must stay focused and find a place for these people.'

'In the mountains, perhaps?' considered Anomen, gaze on the arid, brown foothills beside them. Valygar shook his head.

'Perhaps a few could hide up there, but all of them? Food would be hard to come by there as it is; they would never survive, not half-starved as they are.'

'Could we take them with us to Amkethran?' piped up Eruna, 'Melissan has been telling other Children to meet her there.'

'No,' said Fritha, 'I'm not playing into her plans, whatever they are.'

'I may know of a place,' said Jaheira slowly, as though she was loathed to offer it. 'The grove of druids where I spent my childhood is well hidden by Silvanus's grace –I could ask the Great Druid for sanctuary there.'

Fritha nodded; this sounded to be their best chance.

'So we-'

'No,' cut in the druid firmly, 'we have delayed our travels to Amkethran for long enough now. _I_ will take those that wish to go with me; _you_ must meet with Melissan as was originally decided.'

Fritha recognised that tone; this was an order, not a request, the girl forcing down the bristling anger that another had risen in her absence, and the swelling sorrow that she was so easily replaced, her answer kept neutral in the pulling tides of emotion.

'As you wish.'

'Well,' sighed Jaheira, seemingly relieved they had all managed to get through their discussion without a fight, 'that is decided then. The grove is in far the east of Tethyr in a forest to the northwest of the Omlarandin Mountains that run north from Saradush almost to Riatavin. I will take the barge and we can sail all the way back to the Mir on the Agis. From there, we can skirt the edge of the forest and join the River Ith just east of Marmont. There, I would hope to acquire another barge and sail the rest of the way. The Ith runs past the Forests of Osif; if we can make the entire way by boat I would imagine the whole journey will take just under two tenday.'

'Two tenday is a long while,' reasoned Athic, 'and you'll have to come all the way back here and further to get to Amkethran. The Mir is sprawling enough; don't you think they could hide out in there?'

'Yeah,' agreed Imoen, 'isn't there that temple Fritha and Solaufein visited? They could find shelter there.'

But Brieanna was shaking her head.

'I would advise against it. The Groves have seen the death of enough Children –that place is tainted.'

Fritha whipped to her. 'How do you know that? Sarevok said-!'

'_Sarevok?_' cut in Imoen, 'You've been talking to _Sarevok?_'

'No, her first! How do you know about the Groves?'

Brieanna looked wholly taken aback, the woman throwing an injured glance to Anomen as she explained, 'From my studies at the temple. Many Tormites were within the numbers who stormed the Mir and destroyed the temple there. Indeed, the whole tale is well known to my church. Bhaal foresaw his end and scored a mortal progeny from which to be reborn. Then, when the gods were sent to Toril, Bhaal was killed by Cyric, just as my Lord, Torm, killed Bane.' The frown deepened. 'It is the gravest injustice that some gods were returned to life afterwards -while others, mercifully, remained dead.'

'There, satisfied?' sighed Jaheira; she clearly was. 'And now what is this of Sarevok?'

'Nothing,' Fritha muttered, face dipped to her tea, 'I just dream about him sometimes.'

She almost missed the hasty glances to Imoen.

'Dreams?' demanded Jaheira, 'What kind of dreams?'

'Just dreams, he tells me things.'

'_Such as?_'

'Just- just things about the prophesy,' Fritha faltered, 'That I- I should take up my birthright, and seize power -the usual rubbish. It says it's Sarevok, but it could just be the essence trying to manipulate me…'

Hazel eyes bore into her. 'And is that everything, Fritha, _everything?_'

'Yes! Stop twisting on!'

'_Truly_, Fritha?' Jaheira continued, the woman seeming to grow taller in that instant of grim triumph, 'Because I have recently come to learn that you are daughter to one of Bhaal's highest priestesses.'

Fritha ignored the shock about her in her sudden rage. '_You!' _she shrieked, a finger flung furiously at Anomen, 'You just couldn't _wait_ to go running to her, could you?'

'Fritha, I- I did not-'

The drow was suddenly unable to meet her eye. 'Fritha, it was not he…'

'_Solaufein?_ Do I have a single ally _left_ in this group?'

'Fritha, we are _all_ your allies,' pressed Jaheira earnestly, 'I know of the temple and your childhood there… you are beginning to remember, are you not? This anger you feel, this hatred of the world; we can help you, Fritha, but you must trust us. I know it may seem beyond repair now, so far in the past as it is, but the pain will ease if you speak of it; whatever they did, however they may have hurt you-'

'_Hurt me?_' Fritha cried, hardly able to believe the depths to their mistake. 'They _loved_ me! My mother loved me! Not that raped, broken _shell_ of a woman that Gorion invented, but my real mother: High Priestess of the Twin Temples! She loved me and he killed her -killed her and took me off with tales of assault and violation! So tell me, tell me_ now,_ who hurt who?'

Silence, those about her staring back as though they'd never seen her before –and perhaps they hadn't. Fritha was too thirsty to waste her tea on some dramatic exit, the girl drinking it slowly down to stagger upright.

'I'm going for a wash.'

The voice halted her after only a dozen paces. 'Fritha! Hey, wait!'

'Hello Imoen.'

'_Hello Imoen?_' her friend cried, pink as her hair as she caught her, earnest and wide-eyed, 'I- I mean, you can't just say all that and then- Fritha, why didn't you _tell_ me?'

Fritha frowned, wondering that herself. 'I don't know; I just didn't feel like talking about it.'

'You felt like talking about it to Solaufein and Anomen,' the girl accused quietly.

'They caught me at bad moments. You never mentioned anything about having dreams, or did that only start after I'd left? Exactly,' Fritha sighed, cupping a hand about Imoen's downcast face, 'Sometimes there are things we aren't going to want to talk about- it just makes them more real, when all we want to do is let them fade. It doesn't mean we don't trust each other. We're still friends, aren't we?'

'Yeah, course,' Imoen chirruped, pulling back to bounce a fist playfully into her shoulder. Fritha forced a murmur of laughter, eyes drawn to the camp they'd left. Anomen was trying to check on the women next to him, Brieanna stern as she dismissed his attentions. Fritha watched them with a frown.

'What's happened between those two?'

Her friend shrugged. 'Nothing that I know about. You should have seen them both when you were unconscious; it was hard to tell which of them was more worried -Brieanna didn't leave your side.'

'She and Anomen seem close.'

'Not really.' The slyest of smiles, 'Maybe you're just _jealous_.'

Fritha didn't have to force _that_ laugh. 'I'm sure I have better things to worry about right now.'

'Yeah,' breathed Imoen, easily tempted back to more interesting matters, 'I can't believe your mother was a high priestess, and here in Tethyr, too! This whole thing just seems to get bigger and bigger. What do you remember of the temple? Was Sarevok there? Was _I_ there?'

'No, you weren't there and I just remember flashes of the place really, some rituals, and other more mundane things: evenings helping to seal the jars of incense in the sacristy, or milking the goats in the courtyard before they were taken back into the hills.' Fritha smiled at the distant memories, and she could almost hear the shouts of the other children as they played on the umbra of the Wealdath's gloom, the temple guards momentarily distracted as they threw lots in the dusty earth. 'It was nice -they did care for us, Imoen, even if it was only because of what we carried. My mother, she would call me _malal daaj_ –her shining pearl.'

'She was a Calimshite woman, then?'

'Not by her looks; she had my colouring, though her eyes, I remember her eyes were blue. As from where she hailed before she came to the temples, I do not know.'

Imoen heaved an uncharacteristically melancholy sigh. 'And then you were brought to Candlekeep; was it so bad there?'

'No…' Fritha admitted slowly, 'Gorion cared as he could, Beth and a few of the other sages were kind to me, and it was _all_ much better by the time you arrived. But it's hard, remembering my time there and the tales Gorion told me. So much of my life feels like a lie -_I_ feel like a lie; that this person I am, this Fritha, is just an act, a nicer face to her, that girl at the temple, that girl I should be… The Kara Turans believe that how you should live is all decided before you're born. The astrologers consult the stars and draw up a horoscope to decide your Path -that nothing will come right until you accept who you must be.'

Her friend had her own blunt take on this thousand year philosophy.

'Well, we aren't in Kara Tur, so you'll just have to make your own fate like the rest of us.'

Fritha sighed a laugh. 'I suppose so.'

Next to her, Imoen's face had taken on an apprehensive frown. 'And it _is_ true what you told Jaheira, isn't it? That _is_ everything.'

Fritha swallowed and quirked a smile; if she could lie to her then, she could lie to anyone.

'Yes, that's everything: Mother was a High Priestess and I sometimes talk to Sarevok's ghost. That's the lot, I promise. Honestly, Imoen,' she continued, a hand squeezed about the girl's arm even as she took a step back, 'I've got to go for a wash –I smell like a troll's armpit.'

'Well, I didn't want to mention it… I'll see you later then.'

And Fritha watched Imoen head back, a spring to her gait that couldn't be faked, and leaving her feeling like the most horrible friend in all Toril.

**…**

'My lady,' Anomen huffed, trying to keep pace with the tall woman as she strode on, the long grass parting before her like water. 'My lady, really, it should be examined now the swelling has gone down.'

'It is fine, Anomen. Now, if you would leave me, I would make my prayers.'

Anomen paused a moment, allowing the woman to get a few steps ahead, her shape quickly fading to little more than an outline in the twilight, before he plunged on after her.

'Brieanna, is something wrong? Ever since that evening on the boat you have been avoiding me.'

He knew it was so. In fact, her company had been much missed, though Brieanna herself seemed content to deny any difference.

'Avoiding you?' she laughed haltingly, no break to her pace, 'You are mistaken, Anomen, we are the friends we always were.'

He lunged forward, hand catching her shoulder. 'Then you will stop and allow me to check your arm.'

Brieanna whirled back, shaking him off and seemingly about to berate him for so rudely laying hands upon her, dark eyes flashing in the gloom when she abruptly averted them, thrusting her arm at him with fierceness that likely hurt, the woman flushed in her temper as he eased it from the sling and pushed back the sleeve.

'The bruising had reduced quite a bit; it looks as though the break mended cleanly.'

'As I told you,' she sighed tersely, 'May I depart now?'

He released her with a nod, Brieanna half-turned to go when his voice halted her again.

'My lady, I cannot claim to understand your manner of late, but if you are worried perhaps of repercussions with the Order concerning our most recent actions, or that my own decisions will corrupt your path, then I can only ask your pardon.'

She was staring back at him, broad, tanned face twisted with a hesitation he had not seen in her before, her thin lips pressed into an uncertain line.

'Anomen, I- I must make my prayers.'

And she was gone, marching off through the grass, dark braid swinging with her determined pace.

**…**

Fritha had walked for quite a way, following the river upstream past the blackened ruins of the camp, until charred bodies no longer polluted the flow, the girl moving down the grassy bank and climbing onto the rocky slope that had been gradually deposited in the bend by the slowing water. She had just stripped there, uncaring of the fact she could be seen should anyone arrive, that first plunge stealing the breath from her lungs as she waded to the middle and ducked under the icy flow.

Upon the rocks once more, she had scrubbed at both body and clothes with soap, hair a mane of suds before another swim rinsed her clean. Her laundry was laid out halfway up the grassy bank to dry now, Fritha seated next to it, dressed in the clean clothes Imoen had placed in her bag along with the other treasures she had left behind; jade stone, key and ring rattling as she drew the cord over her head. It felt good to have the pendant about her neck again, under her tunic and hanging just above her breasts, a tangible link to a person it seemed she was fast leaving behind, and she had just finished combing her hair when he arrived.

'Hello Solaufein,' she called as his figure crested the slope above her, the elf's wary frown easing at her tone. 'Come sit by me; your company is always welcome.'

'I am glad of that,' he murmured, settling on his cloak beside her, 'I had worried… I am sorry I betrayed your confidence, Fritha. Jaheira caught me off guard and I faltered. I had to tell her something, for if not, she would have known something was wrong and could have pressed you or others for the truth of it. With nothing else to offer, I gave her that.'

'It's all right, Solaufein. Even a few hours ago, I would have exploded at you, and quite unreasonably I might add, but not now.'

They shared a smile, wan and weary, Solaufein reaching for the small linen bag at his hip, a feast of apples, bread and cheese hidden within.

'I brought something for you –you are looking thin.'

They ate in silence. The twilight was closing about them, an orange haze deepening above the bank as fires were lit across the plains, a mirror to the sky above, as one by one the stars emerged. Fritha turned away from the light, attention on the glistening black of the river as she chewed the sour bread. Solaufein shifted next to her, readying his question.

'You spoke to Sarevok again?'

Fritha just nodded, explanation and decision both put aside for the memories they had stirred, eyes upon the indigo sky as she sighed deeply.

'I miss how life used to be -in Candlekeep, yes- but even travelling the Sword Coast and Amn was so different to how things are now. I miss my theatre, and the Coronet, and laughing with Aerie and Nalia. I miss the formalities, too, can you believe? Like taking tea and tugging a sleeve when to touch someone's hand was too much. They must seem pointless to you, such stiff customs, but I liked them -I liked we had time for them. Now everyone's just grabbing hands and making deals without even a tealeaf seeing the pot –all signs of our desperation, I suppose.'

She swallowed, determined to be dry-eyed when she told him. 'Sarevok knows what is to come. When enough Bhaalspawn have died and enough essence has been accumulated at his old throne, one of the Children will step forward to claim it. They will most likely become Bhaal, destroying the rest of us and much of the Sword Coast into the bargain, or… Or that person tames the essence to their own will and becomes a god themselves. Godhood or annihilation: Sarevok said I was lucky even to have the choice. Is it wrong to want more? But whatever I want, my path is clear now.' She forced a watery smile. 'I'm sorry, Solaufein, but I don't think I'm going to be able to show you the Sword Coast, after all.'

He sighed something in his own tongue, arms closing about her and she allowed herself a moment enveloped against his shoulder, her world reduced to that loosely bound curtain of snowy hair and dark, lithe neck, the man smiling sadly as they parted.

'Ah, Fritha, I think in my heart I always knew it would come to this.'

'I can't deny it isn't how I would have chosen, but I could have the chance to end this nightmare for a lot of people, so…' Fritha trailed off, nothing more to say. And it seemed Solaufein agreed with her, the man easing himself to his knees.

'Are you returning to camp?'

A moment to consider the questions and apologies that would have to be made, and Fritha shook her head. 'I'm too tired for that right now –I think I'll rest here for a bit.'

He rose with a nod, and Fritha watched him go, blue linen robe pulled over her as she lay back in the grass and closed her eyes. It was time to end this.

**…**

The wind tore at her tunic, loose hair whipped about her hair in a halo of copper snakes, the rough breathing behind her almost lost to its howl and Fritha turned to find them both stood side by side, one the macabre image of herself, the other towering over them in a monster's form: Instinct and Essence. Sarevok was lain a few paces away, the pool of blood beneath him a vivid scarlet that was a joy to the eye in that subfusc wasteland.

The monster stooped towards her, spines flexing as it raised hammer and axe.

'You are _MINE!_'

Fritha nodded. 'Yes, I know, and you are mine and we will have to work together if we are going to get anywhere in this. You know what we must do.' She glanced to the body next to them. 'I need him, too.'

A pause as the creature considered it and the blood about Sarevok faded, Fritha stepping closer to poke a boot into his ribs with slightly more force than was necessary.

'Awaken, brother, we have much to do.'

Piercing grey eyes blinked open, the man finding her only to start back, hastening to his feet as he noticed the hulking shape that loomed behind her. Fritha smiled.

'Don't worry, we're all on the same side now. Leave us,' she added to the two at her back, 'we will need to talk.'

A comical moment where Instinct and Essence shared a look, before they too faded, brother and sister left alone on that blasted plane. Sarevok looked on with an appraising frown.

'You have mastered the taint, sister?'

Fritha snorted wryly. 'Let's just assume I've appeased it for now. There's something I need to know, Sarevok, something important. For someone to ascend, how much essence needs to be collected?'

Sarevok shook his shaggy white head. 'I do not know, sister, but all signs show that much is there already. Perhaps the deaths of just a few more powerful Bhaalspawn,' he paused, face opening with a grin, 'or many, many weaker ones.'

'And then there's enough power and someone claims it.'

'And they become Bhaal,' he finished for her, 'or they manage to master the power and become a god themselves.'

'And the other Children still left?'

The man shrugged evenly. 'There to kill or spare as is wished –I would have slaughtered them, but the remaining essence could merely be harvested over time, as a natural death claims each one.'

Fritha squared her shoulders to the coming challenges. 'Then that is what I must do.'

'_You?'_ Sarevok confirmed with unflattering surprise.

'Yes, me. I will kill this Five and any others who rise up to claim the essence and I shall master it myself!'

Sarevok flared to sudden life. 'Yes, sister! Seize Murder's throne as is your right!'

Fritha snorted. 'I don't care about being a god, but if I can ascend, then perhaps, just perhaps I can stop Bhaal returning and save the rest of the Children, too. And if not, then maybe when I become Bhaal, enough of me will still be left to curb His lust for vengeance, and dam that river of blood to barely a puddle.'

Her brother's face twisted with an angry sneer. 'Do not let this pathetic nobility weaken you – you must thirst for this, crave it with every fibre of your being as the rest of them do, or you will fail!'

'What do you care?' snapped Fritha, 'You're only here helping me because too frightened to face your punishment in the Hells as you deserve. You'd better hope Bhaal _does_ come back, because He'll likely be a whole lot more merciful to you than I intend to be! You'll _beg_ to be returned to the Abyss!'

Sarevok stared back at her, mouth suddenly wide as he bellowed an astounded laugh. 'You have a potential I never knew, sister. I will help you, Fritha, as I said I would, even at risk of your vengeance. Perhaps a lamb may succeed where we lions failed.'

Fritha shook her head, feeling that wistful smile pulling at her mouth.

'I am no lamb, brother; no longer.'

**…**

Imoen shifted back from the fire, the night's chill not enough to keep the heat from a discomforting intensity, those about her bright of face and cloaked in shadow as they waited for the soup to be finally deemed ready by a slowly stirring Minsc, Jaheira leaving him the task of ensuring it did not burn as she and Anomen had disappeared off to continue tending the wounded. Imoen had been more disappointed than worried when Solaufein had arrived back alone, the drow informing them he had left Fritha sleeping, before taking up his bag and returning to her, Anomen watching him go with an unreadable look.

Across the fire, Athic was in quiet conversation with Brieanna, Valygar shifting next to them, the man barely lifting his attention from the armour he had been checking for the last hour now. How lucky for him there had been so much to do after the camp had fallen –his avoidance of her was hardly noticeable. A rustle behind, Eruna appearing from the long grass, Imoen nodding her greeting.

'Hey, you all right?'

The girl shrugged, smiling as she took a place beside her. 'Just a bit tired; the magic always takes it out of me. You?'

'Yeah, the same,' Imoen murmured. It was so much easier to agree than to admit that sometimes, when the magics flowed through her, it felt like she could draw on it forever, the power that filled her endless and infinite. Though perhaps that feeling was not as well hidden as she was content to believe, Eruna's voice carefully conversational as she added, 'That first spell you cast, I don't think I've seen it before.'

'No, me neither, but I was scared for Fritha, without too much time to direct it, and that was the result.'

Eruna just smiled, no censure in her admiration. 'It was certainly potent for your lack of focus.'

'Yeah,' Imoen muttered, brief frown thrown to the man opposite, 'you weren't the only one to notice either. But it's not the first time -Aurelia said that the magic is in my blood, almost like a sorcerer's would be, that I can direct it _into_ spells, rather than summon it for them as mages do.'

'Aurelia? Was she one of the mages back in Candlekeep?'

'No, in Suldanessellar. She helped me understand the power within me; I never knew much magic until –well, after Spellhold, everything was different.' Imoen tried not to sigh as she felt that weight settle upon her. 'I wish I had someone here who knew as much. I used to practise my runes with Aerie, the elf who used to travel with us, but Fritha still knows more of those than me and I didn't find them much help anyway. A sorcerer in the group would be better, but I can just imagine how well _that_ would go down with some of us.'

Another scowl to Valygar, the man oblivious as he finally laid down his armour and rose to leave that bright circle.

'He's worried that your power comes from Bhaal?' asked Eruna, finally noting her frown. Imoen laughed tiredly.

'No, and that's the real joke, isn't it? The fact my dad's the god of Murder is nothing –but watch me cast a drying cantrip and he's all _scowls_.'

Eruna sighed her sympathy. 'Yes, I noticed his wariness. I heard him telling Athic once that he believes magic corrupts. I thought with you two courting that perhaps he had changed his view…'

Imoen said nothing –for a short while she had thought the same. Eruna sighed again, gaze lingering a moment on the charred ruin that was slowly fading into the darkening sky.

'And now dragons _and_ armies stalk the Children; sometimes Bhaal's return feels almost inevitable. I've been speaking with Jaheira… when she leaves for the grove tomorrow Athic and I are going with her.'

Imoen could not keep the disappointment from her voice. 'You're both _leaving?_'

'Yes, though to be fair, Athic would have likely stayed. But when I told him I was going, he decided to come too. We'll travel with Jaheira, help the other Children as we can and protect the grove with them until all this has passed. I don't mind dying for this cause, Imoen, it's just killing others I can't bear, and with soldiers and mercenaries both after the Children now…' she trailed off, but Imoen knew what she meant –with half of Tethyr after them, the potential for bloodshed was high. 'But I understand,' the girl pressed, 'what you have to do and why, and I believe in it; you are just stronger people than I am.'

The shadow that had fallen upon their conversation was mirrored suddenly over them, the pair of them glancing up to find Valygar stood behind, Eruna filled with a sudden need to help Minsc at the fire. Valygar gestured to the patch of flattened grass she'd left.

'May I sit?'

'You don't need to ask,' Imoen muttered coolly and sounding rather like _that_ could be in doubt. 'I'm surprised you even want to –I thought you were avoiding me.'

'No,' the man countered, 'but you are only just reunited with Fritha. I thought you would need to time to see her and perhaps adjust to what was revealed here.'

They both knew this was a lie, but Imoen hadn't the energy to challenge him just then, the girl summing up her fatigue with the world in a weary shrug. 'Fritha is as she always was; I don't care who her mother was and neither should anyone else.'

A pause between them, Imoen watching Minsc stir the cooking pot with a contemplative frown.

'Eruna told me her and Athic are leaving tomorrow –they're going with Jaheira and the rest of them.'

'I see. They will be missed.'

'Yeah, they were a laugh, and I've just realised too late I could have learnt a lot from Eruna if I'd thought about it.'

A sharp glance to her. 'Learnt? You mean your magic.'

Imoen nodded, inwardly defiant in face of his obvious displeasure. 'Yeah, though not so much about spells, as connections to the Weave and how it can be used and –_what?_'

'I did not say anything.'

'You didn't have to! Look, I know how you feel, but, the magic is a part of me -I can't just ignore it!'

Valygar raised a cool eyebrow. 'I would not ask you to, but does it stand you should encourage it?'

Imoen felt like she could explode. 'Yes, it does, _actually_, because in case you haven't noticed, magic, for all it's _evils,_ is a pretty powerful weapon! I need to learn how better to harness it. You know what is to come –this could be the difference between life and death!'

Valygar turned back to the fire. 'You know your path –you do not need my approval.'

'No…' Imoen sighed –she was a fool for even hoping for it. 'I know you're worried. Vals, where it comes from and what it could do to me, but I can control it, the magic _and_ the influence it has.'

He whipped back to her, looking like he was just wrestling himself away from grabbing her shoulders. 'How are you so _sure?_ I have seen it, Imoen, good people destroyed by the power it holds!'

'I know, I know and I'll be careful, and you are here to keep an eye on me, too. Please, Valygar…' she sighed, willing him to understand, 'To be honest, I'm more concerned about the dreams at the moment.'

'They are continuing?'

'No, they've stopped as of last night and that's kind of the worst part – just waiting for what I'll see next.'

A long pause where both were lost to their own counsel when an arm snaked across her shoulders to pull her closer, though Imoen felt it was more a reassurance for him than her, his braids tickling her cheek, the smell of smoke and sweat mingled with the familiar scent of his body.

'It will be fine, Imoen.'

Imoen said nothing, just leaned into him, and not for the first time wondered if it really would.

**…**

The sound of water drew her from her dream, the slow gurgle of the river harmonised with the nasal _ee-wit_ of the lapwings. Fritha threw off the damp robe she'd slept under, stiff muscles groaning their protests as she slowly sat. It had felt as though she had slept for an age, awaking on a new world, as a new person, anointed with dew, the bright sky above already a faded blue, eastern clouds gilded with the dawn. The patch of flattened grass next to her indicated she had not spent the night alone, the sudden appearance of her battered old lute case, the runes to seal it still scratched upon the lid, showing her just who had been there.

Fritha straightened her clothes and drew a shuddering breath, her hair a mass of damp curls that she could do little more than gather back and pin in place, hands and arms heavy, moving as though in a dream. She felt strange, almost like her body was not her own; she had spent so long in uncertainty that now having a true path, a true final goal felt alarmingly focused. She just hoped it was not all too late in the coming.

Footsteps in the soft earth, the rattle of wings as the lapwings scattered somewhere above the bank, Fritha kneeling to see Anomen looking hale and striking as he strode across the mist-coiled plains, the low sun glinting on buckles and mace, his cheeks ruddy with his pace and breath misting in air that still held the morning's chill. He saw her watching to raise a hand in greeting, Fritha only noticing the steaming cup he held a moment before he passed it to her.

'Here, some tea. I would have brought it earlier, but Solaufein said you were still sleeping when he arrived back at camp this morning.' He eyed her wet sleeve with a frown. 'You are soaked through.'

'Just the edges.'

Anomen smiled wryly, clearly expecting this dismissal, hand at his hip as he moved to unbuckle it.

'Here, I thought you might be missing this.'

Fritha just stared at the blue enamel scabbard, her sword holding a muted shimmer in the early light, and she remembered, in an instant, the delight of being given it, the joy of finding it again in Trademeet, and now it was there before her, waiting to be taken up once more and finally end this story.

'Fritha?'

A hand unconsciously reached up to close upon it, her words holding more meaning than any language could express.

'Thank you, Anomen.'

The man just smiled and nodded once, throwing down his cloak to settle on the grass beside her, Fritha drawing a sip of tea as he began.

'Once you are ready, we can return to camp and set off.'

'Good. Will Jaheira be travelling the first few leagues with us? Our paths are similar enough in the outset and I would talk to her.'

A moment of hesitation, Anomen forcing himself to face her as he offered, 'Fritha, Jaheira has already left. She thought it best to keep as much of their movements covert, and they departed just before the dawn. It was apparent when we awoke this morning, that some of the others had left in the night, but that was their choice. She left with only thirty of the Children in the end.'

'Oh…' Fritha swallowed, not trusting her voice for any more as she felt the emotions rise. That Jaheira had left on such a dangerous undertaking, and she had not even awoken her to share a farewell. 'Well, yes, that- that makes sense.'

Anomen could not meet her eyes.

'She said she did not wish to wake you, but to reassure you of her welfare, and her wishes to see you well in Amkethran soon.'

Fritha smiled wanly; he never could lie to her. 'No, she didn't, Anomen, but thank you for trying to pretend she did.' Fritha tried a laugh. 'There I am again, reducing you to falsehoods; they do say a rotten apple spoils its neighbour.'

The man said nothing, a moment of silence letting the swelling awkwardness usher them onward.

'So, we will head out to Amkethran and continue our search for this Five?'

'Yes,' agreed Fritha, 'With any luck, that Melissan will be there by now. We can see if she has any more information on this Sendai woman, and ask her about Abazigal as well. If he is in command of dragons, then of the Five or not, he will need to be dealt with. I will have to speak to Eruna about what sort of spell could be used to control such a creature so magically potent in its own right.'

Anomen was looking hesitant again. 'Ah, Eruna has gone, Fritha. She and Athic departed with Jaheira this morning.'

Another dry swallow – did any of them have any faith left?

'Oh, I see… Well, that eases my worries somewhat over Jaheira's safety. How many days is it to Amkethran?'

'About a tenday,' Anomen answered promptly, 'If we head back north from here, we can make most of the journey by road. Valygar believes we can escape notice if we are careful – perhaps we can even travel with another caravan.'

'Perhaps… Well,' Fritha sighed, finishing her tea and making to gather her belongings, 'we should-'

A misplaced sweep of her arm, the empty cup she had set upon her lute case taking flight and they watch its slow arc down the bank to smash upon the rocks below.

Fritha stared down at the glistening shards, all that frustration and misery rising in a howl to the bright, uncaring sky.

'Will _nothing_ come right?_'_

The large hand landed heavy on her back, warm after her night laid upon the cool grass, rough palm moving in a slow circle as she sobbed.

'Fritha, Fritha, there now; you do not have to do this all alone.'

'Yes, I do!' she cried, overcome in her despair, 'none of you understand –you don't believe in me anymore, and I don't blame you, because I'm doing it all wrong! I used to be so good at this, without even trying, and now… Back in the camp there was this girl, Jeollé -we were planning to escape together when she betrayed me to the guards. I was so _angry_ at the time, but it was my fault. I was so impatient that she could not see the importance of our task, I hurried her along with threats and challenges, when I should have just reassured her, told her she would have a place with us, told her I was her _friend!_ I'm so horrible now and I hate it; I hate everything! I hate you and me, the land and the sky and everything! I see the caravan and Saradush; I come to places like this, and see the horrors people would inflict upon each other, and a part of me wants nothing more than to see this world drown in blood and fire, _because there is_ _nothing in it worth saving!_'

Anomen was staring down at her, aghast, when two hands had suddenly clamped about her arms, their mouths sour and hot with the tea she'd drunk as his lips pressed to hers with such fierceness, that she could still feel their throb as he released her.

'_Anomen!_'

His breathing was coming quick, face glowing and holding the same open-mouthed surprise as hers, Fritha well aware she was likely goggling like an idiot as she hiccupped, 'And _what_ was _that_?'

'I, well- your pardon,' he mumbled, clearing his throat uncomfortably and suddenly fascinated by his knees. Fritha just stared at him, still agog, before she sighed and shook her head, a watery smile emerging as she dabbed her eyes.

'Well, while not the most popular method of stopping people crying, I can't deny it worked.'

'I don't know about not the most popular,' murmured Anomen, clearly deciding to try his luck twice in one day, 'I rather enjoyed it.'

Her burst of laughter banished the last of her tears, her joy given form in a playful slap to his arm.

'You daft sod.' But a look from her, and the cup was as whole as it ever was, the girl calling it to her to drop it lightly into his hand. 'There, at least I can fix some thing.'

Anomen smiled gently. 'Nothing has happened yet which would need fixing, Fritha. This war, what we see about us and what we must do, it leaves us all with doubts. But Jaheira will come round, in time - as will they all.' He paused, eyes that matched the sky above gravely holding her own. 'We do not follow you because we must, Fritha, we do so because we believe in you.'

'Don't,' she quavered, the lump already rising, 'you'll make me cry again.'

Anomen grinned with a boyish cheek. 'Well, fortunately, I have an excellent cure for that.'

'Oh, bugger off!'

He had offered to leave and allow her to change into something dry, but Fritha assured him her clothes would lose their dampness as they walked, and they made the short distance back to the others together in a friendly silence that gave Fritha a proper chance to gather herself. Before the cold ruin of the camp, the grasslands were empty, their own group looking small and huddled as they packed to leave on that vast open plain, Imoen sending her a weak smile as she looked up from her pack, Valygar and Minsc busy folding the canvas between them, while Brieanna barely spared them a glance as she bustled over the fire in Jaheira's usual task. So few of them left; it already felt as though the group was broken beyond her fixing. A stolen glance to the man beside her, Anomen seeming to understand enough to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze; at least she had one ally in this. Make that two, she considered at a nod from Solaufein. The rest, as Anomen said, would come in time.


	23. By the Bards’ Tales

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**By the Bards' Tales**

Jaheira walked on, leather boots squeaking and trousers wet to her knees, soaked by the dew-beaded grass as she joined that brisk beat of tramping feet as they marched into the golden morning.

Their group had left before the dawn, thirty or so men and women gathered upon the river bank next to the barge that would travel with them all the way to the Mir, those too weak or injured given a berth aboard, while the rest of them set out on foot next to it, Jaheira alone amongst them, as that score or so of people followed the river northeast.

The river was shallow there, those walking taking it in turns to keep the barge's course in check with ropes and poles, to push and pull it clear of sandbars, working together in a way she could not have imagined for those once all imprisoned together. Jaheira could not say why, but she had expected a group more ruthless, less trusting. But the only tension she had seen so far was between some prisoners and those few guards who had enough conscience to stay to tend the wounded, and it had been soon defused by their fellows, who had seen in these men desire to help -perhaps even before the camp had fallen.

Athic and Eruna were walking ahead of her, the taller man slightly stooped as they chatted quietly. They had seemed resolved to keep her company in the beginning, though they had soon realised their company was not welcome, moving ahead to walk without her.

It had been hard to leave the others, harder than she had believed it would have been when she'd proposed the course, that camp of wan faces all staring back at her as she had made her farewell, Fritha and Solaufein still absent. A few words from Minsc, an embrace from Imoen and they had gone, Jaheira finally alone with the thoughts she had been dwelling on since the previous evening.

Ever since Saradush, the girl had been secretive, distrustful and quick to temper, filled with a burning hatred for people she would have once pitied. She had thought Fritha driven by emerging memories of past abuses; she had been mistaken. Gorion, why could you not have merely told her? Why these many layers of lies? Perhaps he had not wanted to hurt the girl, but had discovering it all bit by bit made her any less miserable in the end? Each niggling betrayal wearing her down, a slow attrition of who she was –and of the implicit faith she had once had in her father.

Now even Jaheira was not sure who the girl was anymore. The blazing pride with which Fritha had announced her true parentage -what did she remember of that woman who had borne her for those nine long months? Jaheira knew only one thing: that she had risen to the rank of high priestess to Bhaal left her in no doubt as to the woman's ruthless cruelty. Were such people capable of a love worth remembering? Fritha clearly thought so.

She glanced again to Athic and Eruna, the girl laughing at something he'd said, the people all around her the same, sharing talk and easy smiles so naturally. It was hard to think they were all Bhaalspawn when she was so used to Fritha and Imoen, and the twisted interests and drama that came with them.

Shouts from the riverside, the barge was drifting towards a sandbar, Jaheira striding over to join the nearest man on that rope, the tall, dark-haired youth summoning a surprising strength from his lean form. The sleeves of his cream tunic were rolled up, the muscles of his forearm twisting under his red skin as he braced, Jaheira taking up the slack behind him, as all along the barge other men and women did the same to heave it clear..

'Gods,' he huffed, readjusting the cape at his shoulders, as the rope went slack once more, the green cloak bearing the red sun of the Tethyran army though Jaheira suspected he was usually on the other side of authority. 'I'll be glad when it's another's turn on here; you can't relax when you're constantly watching the river. Cheers, pet,' he smiled, finally turning to her, recognition dawning behind his eyes. 'Here now, you're that Jaheira, ain't you? The druid who travelled with Bhaalspawn and now leads us to another _sanctuary_.'

Jaheira felt her temper bridle. 'If you do not believe it, then _why_ follow us?'

'Sorry, love,' he laughed, surprisingly abashed, 'I'm just used to people all thinking they know best when it comes to us Children –the Bhaalspawn are trouble and everyone's got an answer. But, if it makes any difference, I trust your intentions even if I ain't holding my breath about some haven –any friend of Freya's, aye.'

'Freya?'

'Aye, your companion, the one you pitched up here to save.' He laughed easily, '–a mite too late, I might mention. I'm Kuri.'

Jaheira shook the hand he thrust at her. So she had lied about her name –clever girl.

'Well met, Kuri, I am Jaheira, companion to…' Could he be trusted? There seemed little danger now, and she could need allies in the coming days. 'Well, you knew her as Freya, though her given name is Fritha.'

The man scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully; he'd likely had cause to do the same at some points in his life.

'So that was her name, eh? Any reason for the change?'

'Fritha could be considered infamous in some parts -I imagine she was worried the guards may have heard of her.'

'Aye, well, I can see why if that sort of thing is her usual fare. Not the sort of thing you'd forget, everyone fleeing and her stood there laughing like demon as fire rages around her. Well, like I said, any friend of hers. She's a nice girl and tougher than dwarf's mam -did three days in that camp on only bread and water. I think her plan would have worked, too.'

'Her plan?'

'Aye, she brought all of us together: me, Jeollé, Lessel -course he's dead now, poor bastard, died in the fires…' Kuri shook himself, back to his tale. 'Anyway, together we worked out a plan to escape through the flooded cellar under the washrooms –another day and you'd have arrived to find us long fled to the mountains.'

Jaheira thought back to the chaos they'd arrived to, Fritha dragged into the courtyard to meet that waiting blade.

'The guards, they discovered you.'

His face split with a wry grin. 'Aye, after a manner. Jeollé betrayed Fritha to the guards. I heard later she did it to secure herself an easier time of it working in the kitchens. Daft cow traded a chance at freedom to make soup all day. Still, she got what we all craved in the end; she's with us now - I saw her about here this morning.'

'I want no trouble here!' Jaheira forestalled, but Kuri just shook his head.

'You've no worries there, love. I won't start anything; she didn't betray _me_ after all, and I don't think Fritha would have wanted me to anyways.'

'You do_ not?_'

Kuri laughed warmly. 'Here, this Fritha of yours, we are talking about the same girl, ain't we?'

Another shout from the men ahead and he was back to his task, Jaheira left wondering whether they had been.

xxx

The group had broken camp shortly after Fritha had returned to them, the chorus of protests silenced as she'd assured them she would take her breakfast as they walked, and she had more than fulfilled her promise so far. Fritha took another bite of the sour apple Solaufein had gifted her and chewed unenthusiastically. Her hunger had been sated at breakfast, though she knew that would do little to regain the weight her imprisonment had stolen, and she had been eating since the dawn, the break for lunch merely giving her a chance to sit down as she continued her gorging, and she had not stopped yet.

They had set out west that morning, their progress much hastened once they had reached the road for which Valygar had been heading, her map showing a highway north-west lined with villages they would need were they to replenish their dwindling supplies, Minsc at their head and the others in a scattered formation behind him, Anomen at her side as they brought up the rear together. Fritha cast her gaze across the flat plains where sheep and cattle roamed free under a clear blue sky, the occasional blot of colour marking a lone shepherd, all shimmering in that haze of heat. This road would take them the five days' journey west to the large town of Indraviat, where the trade roads south to the Calim desert would lead them almost straight to Amkethran.

Fritha fought back a grimace, swallowing the last mouthful of apple and throwing the core into the grass beside them, Anomen already moving to his bag.

'Would you like another?'

'Not really,' she sighed, reaching for her flask, the lingering tartness on her palate leaving her thirsty, 'I feel a bit sick to be honest –I'm not sure that last one was quite ripe, but it has to be done. I don't like being able to count my ribs without breathing in.'

'I have a few dried figs I saved from Marmont, if you would like them.'

A gurgle of approval from her acid-steeped stomach. In truth, she would _love_ them –dried figs were one of her favourites and they both knew it. Anomen was smiling down at her, almost hopefully, and Fritha made a fuss of returning the flask to her bag, her frown hidden. That morning could have been a lifetime ago, and though not her fault, she hadn't exactly been discouraging afterwards; the feel of his hands, their mouths pressed together burnt onto her memory.

Fritha pulled her mind away, her already churning stomach suddenly invaded by a tremble of butterflies only for them to be instantly wiped out in a flash of hot, bitter resentment that she never seemed to have the chance to enjoy _anything_; her talk with Sarevok had decided more than just her fate, it had decided theirs, too.

'Ah, no, thank you, Anomen.'

The man nodded, eyes back on the path before them; perhaps he realised it was not just his offer of figs that was being refused, the silence they usually walked in returning once again. Fritha let her attention drift, following a flock of starlings as they dipped overhead and wheeled past the sinking sun, the breeze not quite cool enough to temper its heat, and she was glad she had exchanged boots for sandals that morning –well, mostly, she considered as another stone managed to find its way under her foot. Anomen glanced back at her staggered hop.

'Just a stone,' she smiled, shaking it loose, her eyes back on the cloudless sky. 'I can hardly believe it will be Flamerule soon –was I away from you all for nearly a tenday?'

'Yes, and it was the longest of my life -followed closely by the occasion I injured my back in a fall from my horse and was bed-bound in the infirmary at the same time Simon was completing his field-support training. He used me to practise his bandaging for the entire tenday.'

Fritha laughed. 'Ah, dear Simon -I could have done with him back at the camp. My first day and, of course, I manage to get into a fight. Afterwards, Enric takes me aside, cleans my face with alcohol, asks if I've any teeth loose and sends me on my way.'

Anomen's throat bobbed, eyes fixed determinedly on the silvery horizon. 'Fritha… did they hurt you?'

She sighed inwardly; it must have been so difficult for them all, just left to wonder the worst –even with the hard labour and starvation, she really had had the better task in this.

'No, Anomen, not in the way you are thinking. I got off rather lightly –after the fight, no one even laid a hand upon me until that last afternoon.'

Broad shoulders sagged in their relief, Anomen looking at her again as he pressed, 'And you feel better in yourself? After this morning-'

'I'm fine, Anomen,' she assured, forestalling any mention of that morning and events that were best forgotten. He nodded, smiling once more, his concern bringing a heat to her face and she turned away in case he noticed, eyes falling on the pair just ahead of them, Valygar and Imoen walking side by side.

They were out of the Mir now and gone were the excuses to take her hand at some stream, or uneven twist of roots, Valygar seemingly given up on trying to convince her friend he needed to be ready in case of danger -the morning's entwined hands now an arm across her shoulders. It was insidious how Imoen crept into one's affections; Fritha wondered if even Valygar had noticed yet.

'I see those two are getting on well.'

Anomen sighed affectedly. 'Indeed, though pity me having to share a tent with the man –the restless nights listening to the scratch of his quill, the _endless_ recitation of poems I know he'll never read to the lady. You know, there are very few rhymes for Imoen. _Violin, acronym, rolling pin-'_

Fritha's burst of laughter made them all start, the group turned back to find her choking into her sleeve, Imoen's eyes narrowed by a suspicious smile.

'What are you two laughing about?'

'Nothing,' hiccupped Fritha, 'ah, Anomen was telling me a story about a- a wyvern.'

'A wyvern?' repeated Brieanna.

'Ah, yes,' Anomen faltered, 'I was just telling Fritha the tale of when I, ah, single-handedly killed a wyvern in the forests just north of Riatavin. Well, I say wyvern,' he continued, something of his old swagger creeping in, 'though, in truth, it was actually closer to a dragon.'

Fritha snorted, Minsc's bellowing laugh causing nearby sheep to look up in alarm.

'Ah, what a mighty foe! Boo begs that you share the tale.'

'Of course,' blustered Anomen, 'it is quite an interesting story actually. I was on my way to Darromar for a meeting with Queen Zaranda. Her majesty was greatly troubled by a- a group of ancient djinn who had recently emerged in the Calim Desert. '

'How terrible!' gasped Imoen.

'Indeed, my lady, but do not be a feared –they were routed in the end.'

Solaufein was smiling wryly. 'You draw ahead of yourself, friend, what of the dragon?'

'Ah, yes, the dragon! I feigned defeat and cut its gullet as it made to swallow me! An easy kill for one of my skill –though I likely should not boast.'

'A good tale!' boomed Minsc to that background of laughter, Brieanna the only one among them who did not seem diverted, the woman watching Anomen with a strange look.

'Here, Imoen,' beckoned Fritha as they set out once more, 'come and walk with me for a bit'

Her friend obliged her, Anomen falling into step with Brieanna as she had hoped, though not a word passed between them. At her own side, Imoen was more than making up for it.

'Ah, only a tenday from Amkethran -we'll get rid of this Five and then we're _free!_''

Fritha smiled. 'I don't imagine it will be quite that easy.'

'No,' Imoen admitted reluctantly, 'but we're getting there. We saved the Children in Saradush, and now those that survived the camp will be kept safe at Jaheira's old grove. Bhaal's plan is really going to be stopped, isn't it? And then we can go back to Athkatla, Anomen can say he's sorry to the Order and we can see Vals's house and your theatre and…' Imoen trailed off, her lone enthusiasm slowly dying. 'I know we aren't there yet, Fritha, but you need to have something to look forward to, don't you?'

Fritha swallowed dryly –despite the fact she had eaten enough for three men so far that day, she felt suddenly very empty.

'Yes, you do… I'd have thought you'd have enough here to distract you in the present though,' she teased quietly, nodding to the tall man who was now walking with Solaufein. 'You seemed to be getting on well –you are happy?'

'Course,' Imoen exclaimed, with that too wide-smile Fritha was _more_ than familiar with, 'he's much more open than he used to be, isn't he? Though… I sometimes wonder if he's not trying to make up for something else. I know he doesn't like the magic –I try to tell him not to worry, but…' Her voice faded, a kick sending a loose stone hurtling into the grass verge. 'He just thinks I'm an idiot to ignore the dangers. Perhaps I am, I never would have put up with this rubbish from any other bloke. I just-' Imoen caught her with those fierce green eyes, 'It feels so different this time, Fritha, he's just near me and it feels like everything will be all right. I think I love him.'

'Well then, take heart; you can't work to keep a love until you've first found it.'

Imoen was smiling again, warm and wholly genuine.

'Yeah, I suppose you're right… So, tell me about this _wyvern_, then.'

xxx

_Right, that is twelve over five, carry the four…_

The quill scratched along the rough parchment, the small journal she carried to record names and notes, now used for another purpose, the woman hunched and trying to work through the supplies, and ergo, gold it would take for that group to reach her old home.

The group had halted their march with the dusk, the rations that had been salvaged from the camp brought from the barge, and the atmosphere was quietly hopeful as the day closed over that grassy plain.

She reached the end of the page and moved up to continue that growing row of calculations in the next column. Cold, meaningless numbers. And coin: another useless invention of men! All should live in Nature and she would provide –well, admittedly not for the numbers that swarmed across the lands now. Farming had allowed overpopulation, greater numbers able to survive upon the land and at what cost. Field reaped until barren and men left at the mercy of plagues and droughts. Those who respected the land lived within its boundaries -perhaps that was why the elven races were slowly dwindling.

Jaheira glanced up, giving her tired eyes a rest from the rows of figures as they danced and merged into strange patterns of their own. As for their supplies, they had enough at least to reach the next village, though Jaheira worried whether she could buy enough there for them all, or even if she should. Such activities would draw the eye, as would the small army that accompanied that boat –they could all fit on the barge at a squeeze, though the room they had left for supplies would be limited. Jaheira shrugged inwardly. Perhaps they did not have an option, the way would only become more populated as they rejoined the River Agis and better that than draw the attention of the locals.

It felt strange to be directly responsible for so many people. Harper cells were kept much smaller, for both security and promptness, and there were so many layers to the hierarchy that such burdens were spread. And _that_ was another shadow just waiting for them on the horizon. All had agreed the best place to acquire their next barge would be Marmont, and she was not sure whether to contact her brethren whilst there or not. Jaheira had the unwelcome suspicion that they could prove more hindrance to her task than help.

Well, that was many days ahead of them yet, and Jaheira had more pressing concerns just then, though she was happy to lay them in her lap for a brief moment. Eruna was seated in a small group just across from her, Kuri and a few other people she did not recognise among them, Athic conspicuous by his absence.

Speak of a devil.

'Ah, Jaheira, you're here –still trying to work out if we'll all starve before we reach Ulsgot Village?'

Jaheira smiled as Athic dropped down beside her, familiar grin on his broad face.

'I don't think we are quite in danger of that. I am surprised you are here,' she continued, almost teasingly and glad of the lightness it seemed to bring, the woman sending a nod to the bright circle opposite. 'There is far fairer company to tempt you.'

Athic laughed. 'Well, Eruna mentioned something about wanting to get to know some of the people here a bit more, ah, personally, so I thought I'd make myself scarce.'

'You would encourage that?'

The man shrugged mildly. 'Yeah, why not?'

'Well, because I inferred from your behaviour you might wish to take that place yourself.'

'What? Me and her?' he repeated, the frown giving him an uncertain air, before he quickly shook his head. 'Nah, I mean I know Eruna had a bit of a fancy of me in the beginning, but she fast grew out of that, and it was for the best. Don't get me wrong, I ain't the sort of man who wants a different woman in every town, but relationships, we'll they're a sort of responsibility I can't handle, not when I've got this wanderlust always pulling me onward. So, rather than find a nice girl for a time only to eventually have to move on and break her heart, I find it best to leave well alone.'

Jaheira just nodded; she did not see the point in mentioning that girl who still liked him best had been at his side for last five years.

'What do you plan once we reach the Grove? Will you return to the north?' 'Eruna and me were talking about that this morning. With everyone hunting the Bhaalspawn, we though it might be an idea if we stay in the grove and help there as we can. After all this is over, well, we can return home if that's still a possibility, though I don't imagine that will be a worry for us no more.'

Jaheira was surprised. 'You think Bhaal will return?'

Athic laughed grimly. 'I think He was a god. He must have had a pretty good idea that what He was doing would bring Him back, or else why bother? Either that or it was all as Imoen said and we're just all the fruits of a massive jolly. I keep my mouth shut for her sake,' he continued, with a nod to the girl opposite, 'but the more time goes on, the more I'm beginning to think we were all doomed from the start. But what about you –you going to stay at the grove as well once we arrive?'

'I must return to the others,' she answered promptly –they will be expecting me in Amkethran.'

Athic nodded, a burst of laughter drawing his attention back to Eruna and Jaheira dropped her eyes to the journal. The truth was, she was not sure what to do for the best anymore. Perhaps she should remain at the Grove and guard the Children –she sincerely doubted Fritha had need of her; she did not even know the girl now.

An ache all through her chest, that sudden rare need to unburden her thoughts and, for a moment, she wished Minsc was there. The Rashemi had drawn her aside later on in the night, offered to make the journey there with her, but she had refused him. She had always been so prideful, never accepting help even when it was welcome –Khalid had used to say it was her only weakness.

'Hey, you two,' came that high voice, Eruna calling across to them, 'Evan has a Talis deck -do you want to play a hand?'

'Aye, why not?' Athic called back, the large man already lumbering to his feet, 'You coming, Jaheira?'

'Perhaps later.'

'Don't work too hard.'

Jaheira watched him settle there, ease talk beginning as the cards were dealt and she returned to her journal. Simple, dull numbers could sometimes be a comfort.

xxx

How familiar the plains looked under that burning sky, grass rippling and dancing as though aflame. It was never such on snow fields, the ice reflecting the colours in a dazzling mirror. But in the short summer, when the wheat was ripe and swaying in the fields…

And Minsc could almost see it in the distance, the sturdy wooden walls of Mulptan rising from the plains, enclosing the warm mead and friendly talk of the long halls within. Minsc shook his great bald head and went back to oiling his boots, Boo stirring sleepily in his pocket. It did not do to dwell upon such old memories. Men changed even as places remained, and he knew that the Rashemen he returned to would not be the same one he had left.

Another hot long day of walking behind them; his skin was dark enough that it did not burn, but he was still glad to see the sun set at the end of each day, the lands there his enemy in a way it had never been before. He knew it was merely the differing climes of that region, but sometimes, when the sun beat down and the warm wind cloyed in his lungs, it felt as though the very land itself was fighting him, and more than ever his mind was drawn back to the crisp, chill of the icefields.

Ever since Marmont, the days had been growing hotter and with it had risen in him a disquiet that even Boo could not explain. He tried to throw himself into the fight as he had always done; there was a great evil to face here, what more could a warrior desire? But it was different now. Before, back in Rashemen, he had been fighting for his homeland. Then, in the hunt for Irenicus, Dynahier's honour and his allies' souls had been the quest. Now he was in a foreign land where their enemies were just men, misguided and driven by their own fears. It left a bitter taste.

Across the fire, Imoen and Valygar were talking quietly, their bodies close as they gathered bows and arrows. Imoen had complained at being out of practise since the Asylum had awoken her sorcery, Valygar eager with an offer to tutor her, and the bow that had been in his care since Nalia had left, had been handed over to the girl. Minsc frowned; she was happy, but he saw the doubts that fluttered behind the smile… Valygar distrusted witches even with such knowledge that his own great homeland was flourishing under their rule -_even_ as he professed to care for young Imoen.

He watched them leave, Valygar's arm about her as they stepped from the circle of firelight. How could a heart love when it was filled with mistrust?

Minsc turned away, Brieanna and Anomen a little on from him in that half-empty circle, though they were not speaking, the woman busying herself over her well-patched arming jack as the knight watched her, slowly chewing on the last of the hardtack that had served as dinner for them all. Anomen seemed older since their reunion in Saradush. The Rashemi approved.

'Hello, Minsc,' came the greeting, and he started back just as Fritha took the place beside him, a warm smile on her bruised face, 'you're looking very pensive.'

_Pensive?_ Chondathan with its many words all meaning the same thing -he felt he would never learn them all. Wise Dynaheir used to tell him not to worry, that even those born to the tongue did not know it in its entirety, and that he should just ask again in Common. But that had been good Dynaheir, his only ally in that strange land. She had used to help him practise in the beginning, chanting the odes to him as they had travelled, the familiar melodies sounding so strange in that quick, foreign tongue. How odd to think on that now, after so long.

'Minsc?' the girl beside him prompted gently.

'I was thinking, young Fritha.'

'Well, that's clear,' she laughed, 'but you look quite serious with it –are you all right?'

'Yes, I was thinking on Mulptan, the town where my Fang was placed.'

'What is it like there?'

Minsc paused, trying to put that jumble of feelings and memories into words, and then again into that foreign tongue.

'It is a great city, a gateway to the outside lands where many come to trade. It was there I first learnt of the world outside my homeland. Before the gates, there is a field, where, on feast days, contests are held and all through the temperate months, traders from many lands gather in a great market.'

He watched her face light with a gradual recognition. 'Ah, I know of it. _Fnaris'ga arit hepteev, fyzek'dat na Griskcja, Rown'zloh yenvis handeliv_. As many-hued as the scales of Fnaris, with the countless tongues of Griskcja, they barter upon that golden plain.'

A passage from _Hulgreeg the Iron_; Minsc smiled even as the pang quivered through him.

'Ah, young Fritha, what a proud husband you would have made in Rashemen. When I close my eyes here, the scent of those plains could almost be about me.'

Fritha breathed a knowing sigh. 'Ah… it is hard to let go, isn't it? To know a place you once loved so, now thinks ill of you. Perhaps it's the idea that you can't go back that makes the desire to even stronger.'

'You can return to Candlekeep, young Fritha.'

The girl shrugged. 'And you can return to Rashemen, but we haven't.'

'We-' Minsc stopped. He wished to say they had been needed there, but it was not true. He had not known that then, at good Nalia's marriage… 'We were afraid.'

'Yes…' agreed Fritha quietly, 'We didn't want to go back and confirm what we already know: that our old life is over, that we are no longer that person.' She snorted a bitter laugh. 'Cowards.'

'Fritha, you are ready?' came that smooth voice above them. The girl nodded, giving his shoulder a hefty pat as she rose to follow the drow out of camp, Solaufein carrying her lute case over his shoulder.

Minsc threw one last look to the plains and continued with his task, oiled rag worked over the old boots of dark, blood-cured, Rashemi leather.

**…**

'Good, good,' Fritha enthused, the simple but sprightly tune warming her in place of the fire they had left, their first lesson going well as she played and he mimicked the passage she had once learnt from Beth so long ago. 'Careful there, you're still catching the strings of the lower course.'

Another few bars, the drow frowning even to the last note, though his expression eased as he laid the lute in his lap once more and looked up to find Fritha beaming.

'That was lovely, Solaufein; you have a real ear for music, much better than me. Would you like to hear the next part?'

He smiled at her praise, hands wrung together as he tried to massage some life back into them. 'Perhaps a break -my fingers are growing stiff away from the fire.'

'Fair enough.'

And together they lay back, her cloak about them both as they gazed up at the nascent stars, the coral pinks of sunset fading to that dusky blue she had always favoured, even if it had made her look, according to Imoen, a bit 'washed out'. It was pleasant to be laid, her stomach, still very full from the two helpings of dinner she'd forced down, seemed to appreciate the extra room to digest it, her hand lazily rubbing the slight curve as they lay.

'So do you think Eilistraee approved of this evening's practise?'

'I think it may take a little more than select pieces from _The Child's Dozen Merry Scores_ to impress Her, though I would hope the efforts were worthy of Her notice nevertheless.'

Fritha was giggling, his sigh stirring her hair as he continued.

'I wish my brethren could see this sky as I have, just spend a day under its changing patterns –I warrant half would find my Lady's Light in but an instant. The Underdark is beautiful in its own ways, different but comparable to the world you have up here, and I believed this even as I sat under the Wealdath's canopy. But out here, under the actual sky,' she felt him shake his head in wonder, 'nothing can compare to it. The way it is always changing, the extremes of light and shadow, the play of clouds, the colours that make but one day's palette –it feels like so much more.'

Fritha smiled, a strange well of melancholy building just under her ribs.

'I was the same back in Candlekeep, only with the sea. I imagined it had moods, thought of its own shown in the emotions of its surface, just like a person. I would climb the western towers on fine days, when the air was still and not a ripple marred that vast blue mirror. Or stand upon the ramparts when the weather was wilder and watch the storms rage and whip the waves into a tempest. Beth despaired of those days –said I always came in _soaked through with cheek and mischief_.'

'And we have had such fine weather of late –what is your excuse?'

Fritha laughed, heaving herself up to settle her lute back in its case, fingers stroked lovingly along the smooth facing.

'I remember when Haer'Dalis gave this to me. We were stood in my theatre -he had been about to leave us for the second time.' She glanced to Solaufein with a smile as he straightened, too. 'Aerie convinced him to stay.'

'You miss them?'

'Yes and no -friends come and go. There was a time I thought I'd never see any of this lot again, and here they are.'

'Indeed, even those you truly believed put behind you forever,' the drow continued mildly. 'You and Anomen seem all the closer now for your brief parting.'

'Yes…' Fritha agreed, still unsure as to whether such was for the best. 'We were good friends, even before we became -well, whatever you'd call our failed attempt at romance- it is nice to get back to that. I would make peace with everyone before, well… Gods!' she burst out savagely, that knot of misery suddenly all anger, 'What a thing to make me do! If I was going to have to die, could it not at least have been at Candlekeep? When all I knew of the world was what I'd read in tomes and romance novels, and I still felt the place was worth saving! No, I had to have a good two years wandering up and down the Sword Coast finding out what self-serving, narrow-minded _cattle_ most people are before I am told I'll have to die to save them.'

Solaufein was looking worried. 'You have doubts as to your path?'

Fritha shrugged, slamming shut the case with a directionless frustration. 'Ah, what does that matter? I'm here, I'm getting on with it –that should be enough.'

'Perhaps enough to take Bhaal's power, but enough to tame it?'

'Well, I can't _make_ myself happy about it, _can I?_ Sorry, sorry,' she cut in before any reply could be made, 'I shouldn't take this out on you. I'm still adjusting to the idea –don't worry, though, I'll be ready when the time comes.'

The drow nodded, a hand dropped to rest lightly on her knee. 'I am sorry, as well. Your anger alarmed me. I thought you had been dealing with this for a while now. Back at Saradush we spoke of what could be demanded of you -you said you had accepted it.'

Fritha sighed; she had almost believed it herself at the time.

'Yes, but how could I really, when there was always that chance, that faint glimmer of hope to distract me. But not now…' she pressed, 'now, I'm just going to have to get on with it. And you're worth saving, Solaufein,' she added with a smile, 'and Imoen and-'

'Anomen?' the drow finished for her.

'Yes, him too.'

'He still loves you.'

Fritha just laughed. 'Of course he does! If he hasn't given up on me by now, after all the nonsense I've pulled, then he's _never_ going to.'

'What will you do?'

'Do? Nothing! What would be the point? Come on,' Fritha sighed, more than tired of such pointless questions, 'let's get back to the fire.'

She noticed them almost as soon as they'd stood, two dark shapes moving across the twilit plains, Fritha's wave changing their heading. Valygar was carrying the two bows still strung over his shoulder, Imoen at his side, her vibrant hair ruffled in that well-kissed look. Fritha smiled.

'Ah, and another two have decided to call it a night. How did the archery go?'

'Fine, fine,' sighed Imoen dreamily, that sly glance to the man next to her almost quick enough to miss. 'You two been having fun?'

'Not as much as you by the state of your hair. Very subtle.'

Imoen giggled, making attempts to flatten it as, next to her, Valygar looked like he wanted to die.

'So, how did the practise go?' Fritha continued, ushering them past this discomfort as they set out once more, 'I assume you managed to get _some_ done.'

'It went all right –it's strange how it suddenly all comes back to you, though that bow Minsc lent me is a bit heavy.'

'It was fine enough for Nalia –perhaps he's twisted the string. Still, we can always get you one of your own.'

'That's what Vals said.'

The ranger was nodding. 'We will be in Indraviat in a few days, though we should pass through the village of Trivin sometime before noon tomorrow –you can always ask there.'

'Yeah,' agreed Imoen, 'cause we'll definitely be buying some things considering the way you've been eating, Fritha.'

'At least I have an excuse – you've always gobbled every meal like a fieldhand.'

Imoen laughed delightedly, pace quickened. 'Come on, I fancy a bit of that leftover stew for supper –you want some too, Fritha?'

'Gods, _no!_'

xxx

It had been easy to get there. A moment of lucidity, that instant she realised that she was no longer in Athkatla and her theatre was hundreds of miles away allowing her to change one dreamscape to another and she was there, Sarevok starting to his feet as she materialised on that barren, wind-ravaged plane. They were seated again now, the man more than disappointed to hear she had no progress to report -she was merely there 'for a visit'.

He had listened as she had told him of the camp, though he could offer no insights into this Abagizal, and they had quickly fallen into the silence that held them now. Sarevok was hunched forward where he sat, fingers plucking idly at the frayed hem of the brown linen breeches he wore, and Fritha wondered if he was cold, the faded blue tunic blown flush to his muscled form, white hair tousled and dancing. The vigorous youth she had once battled was now little more than a shadow, the ghost of a man who had seen too much -just as he deserved. Fritha drew her gaze from him, following the swirling maelstrom of that green-grey sky, clouds whipped and torn by the ever howling winds.

'Don't you get bored just sat here?'

Sarevok gave a cursory glance about them and shrugged. 'Time holds less weight in this plane; I do not notice its passage in the same way as I would on the Prime.' He heaved a sigh, old and bone-weary, 'but, yes, it is dull.'

'I suppose boredom is a kind of hell,' mused Fritha, 'though not the sort I would usually associate with Bhaal –bit too understated.'

Sarevok was frowning, dark brow a stark contrast to that hoary shock of hair. 'Is there a point to your wittering?'

Fritha smiled. 'Up, up, up, be polite, brother, I may be a god soon; I imagine a bit of torture would break the tedium here nicely. And there _was_ a point to my wittering. You told me once the Essence created this place, but the Essence is linked to Bhaal; I thought it would have made something a little more demonic. After all, I haven't ever seen the avatar I become, but by all accounts it is very grisly.'

Sarevok's frown deepened thoughtfully. 'This plane was created by the Essence, yes, but it is shaped by your -now I would say _soul_ here, but yours is much less fixed than most. Let us say your conscious has shaped this plane. With more power you will be able to expand it, change it, it will bend to your every whim.'

Fritha made a shrill noise of contemplative approval. 'Hmm, something to look forward to, then -I was never allowed to change my room much in Candlekeep.'

Sarevok rolled his eyes, Fritha watching the muscle twitch in his jaw. The tyrant who had brought the Sword Coast to its knees was now reduced to chats about redecoration -he may have no longer been in Hell, but she had her own subtle torments. Fritha smiled into her lap, knees hugged to her chest against the chill.

'Sarevok, why did you want to become a god?'

'I desired the power, the might to crush my enemies with but a thought.'

'You had a lot of enemies then?'

Grey eyes locked with hers. '_All_ the Children are our enemies, sister.'

Fritha laughed. 'What rot! You _made_ me your enemy and look about you –figuratively,' she clarified as they both cast a glance across that tiled wilderness, 'the Children in that camp weren't killing each other; it was the guards who were our enemies there.'

'You prove nothing, sister. Those Children were too weak to cause any trouble. They would not feel the hunger of their blood as we did; they are but fodder for the rest of us.' He paused for effect, mouth split in leering rictus, 'for you.'

Fritha just smiled. 'Yes, well, I don't need to kill them, do I, because fortunately there are just enough powerful Bhaal-spawned bastards like you left for me to slot.'

'I do not know why you go to the trouble, sister. Your half-hearted efforts will never get you to the Throne.'

_That_ managed to rile her. 'I am _not_ half-hearted!'

It was Sarevok's turn to laugh. 'You cannot fool me, sister. You do not desire the power, you do not even desire to save others, you are just following this course as the better option –let history recall you as a martyr who tried, rather than a tyrant who succeeded.'

'And that tyrant who succeeds destroys this land!'

'Yes, this land of petty drudgery, greed and weakness –I can see why you would wish to preserve it!'

'So what then, I just let it get destroyed?' she shrieked, suddenly on her feet, 'You know nothing of this! Nothing!'

'Yes, sister, go! Continue your course in indifference and let Bhaal claim you as He will. Go on, return to your pathetic dreams of unicorns and true love!'

'I was dreaming about my theatre _actually!_ I was backstage… the audience was waiting, but I couldn't find any of the cast…' Fritha trailed off, sinking back down with a long sigh. 'We're doomed, aren't we?'

Sarevok's head bobbed in a grim nod. 'Most likely, sister.'

'Ah cheer up,' she trilled, giving his shoulder an almost friendly thump, 'there is one thing I _am_ willing to fight for. I succeed and I'll have the power to make your eternity a torment worth of Asmodeous. Yes,' she sighed wistfully, arm swept across that tiled plain, 'unicorns and fairies and glittering meadows as far as the eye can see.'

xxx

Indraviat was a large town in the centre of the southern Agis plains, the outlying farms slowly clustering to hamlets and small villages, before the stone walls rose up to encircle the cobbled streets and squares within, many of the tall, terracotta-roofed buildings painted white to reflect the heat, the vast Calim desert but a few days to the south. They arrived with the fourth bells five days after they had set out, their company approaching in three groups at Valygar's suggestion. They were a distinctive party, even with Solaufein bundled in cloak and hat, and almost dying in the lingering heat, and all had agreed it would be best if they were not seen as a whole, Anomen and Solaufein following the two girls through the winding avenues at a distance, Minsc, Brieanna and Valygar, still a street or so behind them.

The gate guards had recommended a tavern just off the market square in the east of the town that was popular with travellers and merchants, Imoen in the lead as they walked, the girl enjoying the new sights about her while she could, an arm linked with Fritha's and pulling the girl along with her, pointing out shops, stalls and temples and talking fifteen to the dozen about it all.

'This is the place,' chirruped Imoen to the whitewashed building they had, at last, halted before, green shutters opened to tempt the breeze and allowing the low murmur of voices to drift into the street. 'The Cooperage.'

The guards had been honest enough in their assessment, the common room plain and clean with whitewashed walls and a heavy wooden counter along the left-hand side. It was clearly popular enough, tables packed in upon the dark red tiles, though they were mostly empty then, occupied only by a handful of merchants and a small group of youths in nearest corner, men of title by their manner and martial too, not one without a sword and the skill to use it.

'I'll see about our rooms,' murmured Fritha, already moving towards the counter where a young maid was setting out trays of empty cups in anticipation of the day's end.

'I will wait here for the others and have some food sent up,' Anomen volunteered, Imoen giving his arm a friendly slap of acknowledgement, she and Solaufein following Fritha to the stairs, the maid nodding politely to him as she passed.

'I'll show your friends the rooms, sir; Aidrat will just be a moment, we've had a cask burst and he's down there rushing to fix it before those traders come stampeding through here. This way, my lady.'

And off they trooped leaving Anomen at the counter, though it was but a moment later when the last of their company arrived, a nod to stairs enough to send them after the girls. Fritha would likely be awaiting them on the landing with keys –perhaps he could find a chance to speak with her later. She had been in a strange humour since they had left the camp, merry and melancholy by turns, though he had little chance to question her on it. Anomen had thought their kiss, though unplanned, had finally closed that gap between them, but if anything she seemed to be drifting further away, the last few days finding her always busy with Imoen or Solaufein with a deliberate regularity.

The shriek of chairs behind him, the group of young nobles heading for the stairs, a dark-skinned youth of his own age breaking away from them, his black hair cut short and sideburns grown in at the corners of his mouth, though he remained otherwise clean-shaven, the man nodding politely as he joined him at the counter.

'Hail, friend, what is the delay?'

'One of the casks has burst in the cellar,' explained Anomen, 'it seems the barkeep is worried he will have a riot on his hands come sundown if he does not get it changed now.'

'Ah, truly, I was hoping to have some food sent up.' The man sighed, frown lingering on the open cellar hatchway before the smile was back on Anomen. 'Ah, well, they tell me patience is a virtue. Well met, friend, I am Hirsad.'

'Iorwerth,' lied Anomen, shaking the hand he had proffered and imaging somewhere the shade of his mother's long dead grandfather scowling his disapproval at this theft, 'Well met.'

Hirsad was still smiling, happily oblivious. 'Forgive my curiosity, friend, but you travel with an odd company –you do not seem as the usual mercenaries who stay here on their travels with the caravans.'

'You are correct. I met my current companions on the boat from Amn; I am a warrior cleric to Helm most recently of the temple in Athkatla.'

The smile broadened. 'Ah, I thought as much as soon as I laid eyes upon you. Then we are well met indeed, brother; I myself serve the Order of the Silver Chalice in His Name.'

Anomen just checked the wince. 'The Silver Chalice is here?'

'It is so, friend, one third of the fifth battalion is in Indraviat, though we almost were not. The guards were reluctant to allow us entrance in such numbers –the town council seemed to believe that any force here, even one as noble as our own, will just stir up the populous, that if the citizens see outside forces here, they may being to panic that they are the next target. The council saw reason in the end though –We three captains all agreed to keep the men to their respective inns and our presence on the streets to a minimum. So,' Hirsad sighed, visibly brightening with this change of topic, 'what has brought you so far from your home, brother?'

Anomen faltered, half his mind elsewhere as he plucked from memory his last recollection of her map, and a tale to go with it.

'I- I am heading to Attla for my sister's wedding.'

'Ah, a wedding,' Hirsad cried, 'it is easy to forget that even in such grim times, these movements of happiness may be snatched.'

Anomen nodded vaguely, still confused as he pressed, 'I am sorry, but you spoke of tensions here in the town –from what source to they stem?'

'You have not heard? Goodness, you must be the only one for leagues who has not. The news reached the Chalice compound in Ferhl four days ago. Apparently, a local caravan picked up a few Tethyran soldiers who were in a dreadful state. They told them of the camp they had been set to guard, a place where the Children were to be detained until this trouble has passed. But it seemed that trouble found them, and now the land is awash with fresh concerns that a new Bhaalspawn warlord has emerged, just as the one who besieged Saradush barely a month past. Our battalion was in the area and was immediately split and sent to hold positions in the outlying towns, such as we may be ready to move wherever this Bhaalspawn strikes next.'

Anomen swallowed, his throat tight. 'Do they know who it is?'

Hirsad shook his head. 'If any know her name, none have dared admit as much, but as the tale goes, she was taken against her will to that camp - and greatly they regretted it. She used her powers to call three dragons to her aid. The few soldiers who survived said she stood there laughing as the beasts rained fire down upon them.'

Anomen blinked. 'She has command of _dragons?_'

'Aye, I was as concerned as you, brother. As the bards would have it, she stands about six foot tall with eyes as black as Bane's heart and hair flaming about her like the fires of Gehenna. And the group she leads is just as fearsome, all drow and berserkers from the barbaric north, but as with all tales, I imagine that has grown some with the telling.'

'She travels with others?'

'Indeed, though what she could have promised to make them follow her in such evils… Accounts vary, but they are supposed to have knight of the Radiant Heart in their number! The news caused a bit of stir when it became known –all of the Radiant Heart's troops were supposed to have left Tethyr after Saradush was liberated. Their Order issued a statement proclaiming that all true members did return, and this account speaks of a rogue knight who left their company at that besieged city and has since been expelled.'

So it had happened. Anomen felt a weight settle in his stomach, his own voice distant and faint in his ears.

'I wonder what it would take to make a man break his vows so.'

Hirsad was nodding gravely. 'Indeed, brother, I suppose these dark times can corrupt even the stoutest hearts. But perhaps we put too much blame upon him; they say this Bhaalspawn could seduce a deva to evil. Though for all that, it is these accounts of dragons that truly worry me. If even one were to be sent here, I have no doubt many innocents would die before anything could be done. I suppose we are fortunate that most common folk are treating these tales of dragons with the disdain they would usually deserve.'

'So no one yet believes there is any danger?'

'No, and half things you hear can be ignored, as well, friend. Tales of an army of dragons and dark sorcery -there are even rumours she is invincible as the giant who attacked Saradush was. Thanks be for Imoen; her magics saved many lives that day.'

Anomen almost wondered if he'd heard right. 'Sorry? Did you say _Imoen?_'

'You've not heard of her? Rumours were long in surfacing, but it is known now that as the Silver Chalice and Radiant Heart battled without the walls, a northern mage of great power battled within, rallying the people to arms and ending the control of their corrupted general, and when the time was right, she stood upon the battlements and used her powers to dispel Yaga Shura's fell magics. They call her the good Bhaalspawn, if you can believe there is such a thing -if there is any in Tethyr who can end this horror, then my coin would be on her.'

A creak of the trapdoor cut off any reply Anomen could have made, both men turning to see the weathered old barkeep kicking closed the cellar hatchway, the man wiping his hands on his apron as he approached the counter.

'Ah, sorry about your wait there, now what can I get for you, good sirs?'

Anomen rattled off his order for wine and ale, requesting that enough of the evening's fish broth be prepared for them, the landlord cheerfully passing the request on to the kitchens as he loaded up a tray with carafes and cups.

'Now, will you be needing any help with that, sir?'

'No, I will be fine.'

Hirsad caught his eye and smiled.

'Well, it was pleasant speaking with you, brother. I would appreciate it if you did not spread rumours of what we discussed too widely –it is better for all if the town remains calm, and allow me to wish every joy to your sister if I do not meet you again before you depart.'

**…**

'Well, it's good we're all friends,' laughed Imoen, the girl taking a place before the dresser that had been crammed into the corner, eyes drawn to the mirror above. They had all gathered in what would be the room shared by Anomen and Valygar, the small space only just large enough for the two beds that lined either side, a window's width between them. Minsc was already taking up half of one, while on the other Brieanna and Valygar were squeezed, the door creaking as another face appeared around it. 'Come on in, Solaufein, room for a small one. Cosy, isn't it?'

'The word you're looking for is _cramped,' _sighed Fritha, moving in behind him, the drow instantly offering her his seat next to Minsc, though she shook head, just leaning back against wall behind the door. 'Open the window, will you, Minsc, it's stifling in here.'

'Do you remember staying at the Gate when we were investigating the Iron Throne?' continued Imoen, girl leaned forward as she made a lengthy examination of her eyebrows.

'Yes, Boo recalls it well: all cramped in that room planning our next attack, while over the city lies of our misdeeds were spread by wicked tongues.'

'We always seem to end up on the wrong side of the law, don't we?'

'Often such men are blind to the greater perils,' offered Brieanna. Imoen laughed.

'Yeah, or they're in the pocket of your enemies, as was the case with us –course we escaped the city in the end, exposed the plot, saved the day.' A disconsolate sigh, 'Just once I'd like to go on a real adventure.'

'Saving the Sword Coast is not exciting enough for you?' quipped Valygar dryly.

'Just the opposite. I want to rescue a caravan, or plunder a dungeon -you know, _real_ adventures, ones you can tell people about in the pub without sounding like you're reciting _A History of The Realms._'

'Well, as long as we don't end up wandering through the sewers,' muttered Fritha. Imoen's attention was back on her reflection.

'All this sunshine might be nice, but my hair is fading like cheap linen -will you help me dye it again later, Fritha?'

A knock at the door cut off her reply, Fritha reaching for the handle and taking the tray that was immediately proffered to her, the girl stepping back to give Anomen what little room there was left to enter.

'Our drinks,' he offered unnecessarily, the tray already passed to Imoen at the dresser as Brieanna and Valygar shifted to make space for him on the bed. 'Our meal will be ready shortly.'

Good news for some of them; Imoen was beaming. 'Ooo, and what's for dinner?'

It took the man a moment to answer. 'Fish stew... There was mutton, too, but it is still cooking. Most people eat much later here in the south, as per the custom in Calimshan.'

'Ah, I prefer the fish anyway -right, whose was the ale?'

Fritha was frowning, the girl barely drawing her eyes from him to thank Imoen for her wine. 'Are you all right, Anomen, you seem a little-'

'I am fine, I…' He swallowed, seemingly glad of the distraction as Imoen passed him a cup, the mouthful of ale fortifying him enough to continue. 'While I was waiting I had chance to meet with another of the guests here, a knight of the Silver Chalice.'

'The Silver Chalice?' cried Imoen, 'They aren't here looking for us?'

'No… but he did tell me of rumours currently sweeping Tethyr, specifically that there is emerging a godchild, a red-haired seducer of men who heads an army of dragons and is consumed with a hunger for power to match Yaga Shura's.'

Imoen was laughing. 'Bloody hell, Fritha! Remind me not to cross you!'

Anomen did not share the girl's amusement, eyes still lowered as he continued, 'And, that the Bhaalspawn mage, Imoen, is the saviour of Saradush upon whom all now rest their hopes to see an end to this emerging evil.'

Silence, Imoen's smile frozen on her face with a distinct air of horror as all eyes flicked to Fritha. The girl drew a very measured mouthful, her voice as flat as the ale.

'I see… Congratulations, Imoen, you're famous. I might step out for a moment; it's too hot in here.'

'Fritha, what about dinner?'

'I'm not hungry.'

Outside the hallway was cool and gloomy and her room was the same, dazed feet carrying her to the small chamber she would be sharing with Solaufein, Fritha shutting the door to lean back against the smooth wood.

So that was how the world saw her now, some bloodthirsty warmonger. She only went to that damn camp to try to _save_ the Children! Gods, that world was a worthless pit of lies and misery!

Fritha shook her head, anger fading as quickly as it had flared, the girl crossing to slump miserably upon her bed, weak light filtering through the closed shutters of the window above to slash vivid colour across quilt and floorboards.

What did it matter? History decided on the truth of things long after the outcome, and there was a certain grim irony to the idea she could strive and sacrifice all she was, only to become demonised after her end, the girl becoming Bhaal despite her best efforts to the contrary and suddenly it would have been her goal all along. Fritha, the Bhaalspawn whose thirst for power destroyed a land –how selfishly she had pursued her father's legacy and restored Murder to life.

Before her, the creak of the door.

'Fritha?'

Fritha made sure the smile was in place before she looked up, a hand patting the sky blue quilt next to her.

'Hello Imoen.'

'Hey…' the girl murmured, slipping through to settle meekly next to her with a guilty hesitance, as though it was somehow her fault. 'You're upset, aren't you? Really, I wouldn't have wanted it to be like this, and-'

Fritha cut her off, hand squeezed in assurance about her arm. 'It's all right, Imoen, I don't care, not really. How can I? You _are_ the nice one.'

'Yes, but so are you!' Imoen cried, 'And to be fair, it's easier to be nice when you don't have to do anything.'

Fritha shrugged, trying to find the joke Imoen had seen all along. 'Ah well, at least I can threaten people with dragons now.' The laughter would not come. Fritha rose with a sigh. 'I'm going for a walk.'

'I'll come too.'

'No, I think I'd rather be on my own.'

**…**

'Now, there are your bowls, sir.' The stack of crockery and spoons chimed as Aidrat set them on the counter between them, adding to the din of the slowly filling bar. Anomen eyed them dully, thirst, hunger, the weariness of the day's journey all muted in the ache of that overwhelming disappointment. Fritha was upset yet _again_ and the Order had expelled him –just as he had known they would.

'There, and that's the last of it, sir,' said Aidrat, setting the steaming pot of fish stew next to them. 'Now, will you be needing a maid to help you carry-'

'He will be fine,' the voice cut in, Anomen glancing back to find Brieanna behind him. Aidrat's face creased with a smile.

'As you will, my lady.'

And off he bustled to serve the next knot of patrons who had stepped up to the bar. Anomen turned to the woman now at his side.

'Brieanna, is Fritha back in the room?'

'No, and Imoen has disappeared after her now. However, I am more interested in you.'

'Me?' he repeated with an airiness he certainly did not feel. The effort was wasted, too.

'Do not trouble yourself, Anomen. If you meant to lie, you should have begun the act when you first returned to us. What is wrong?'

'I-,' Anomen faltered, the unyielding frown making his decision for him as he sighed in defeat. 'I never could lie to those who knew me… The man I spoke with had news from the Order. I have been expelled, my lady.'

Brieanna nodded, her eyes closed –she had likely guessed as much. 'I am sorry.'

Anomen drew a steeling breath. He had known it could be so; there seemed to be little point in lamenting it now, even if it did feel as though he had been drained of all his spirit. 'Do not be. I understood the risk of disobeying my superiors and I do not regret my actions.'

Brieanna stuttered an awed laugh. 'Such sacrifice born so stoically –I would say you did not care if I had not seen your passions elsewhere!'

'The sacrifice is not mind alone, my lady,' he reminded quietly, 'I fear in coming with me, your entrance to the Order may no longer be possible.'

'Like I care for that! I would not join them now if Sir Elquist himself begged me on his knees!'

Anomen tried a smile. 'Then I feel it is safe to assume neither of us will be marching under the Order's banners in the future.'

Brieanna did not share the joke. 'Everything you worked for just taken from you by those narrow-minded fools! My temple would never have treated one of the faithful so! Where is your rage, your just ire? Have you _nothing_ more to say?'

Anomen smiled wanly, her anger on his behalf endearing to see. 'What can be said? I am here and, for all it has cost me to come, it is worth it.'

Something about her fury seemed to soften, and he was suddenly very aware of her body but an inch away, the crowds of the bar blurring to a noisy mass as her face closed to his.

'Brieanna, I-'

His voice broke the spell, Brieanna's dark eyes wide and by no means hiding her dismay as she hastened back.

'I am sorry, Anomen. I should go.'

'Brieanna!'

But she was gone, weaving through the crowds to the doors. Anomen turned back to the counter, his eyes catching on a familiar blot of copper stood a head above her surroundings a couple of steps up the staircase behind him, her young face wearing the ghost of a smile. Anomen's stomach plummeted.

'Fritha! That was-'

'None of my business. Good evening, Anomen.'

And she, too, swept past him and out into the dusk.

xxx

Her stomach gave a disgruntled growl, loud even against the rumble and shouts from the traffic below the window –the nearby market emptying at the end of another day. Imoen ignored both, fingers playing absently with the blue stone pendant that hung at her neck just as it had since Aerie and Haer'Dalis had left them, and it took all her will not to lie down on that cool empty bed in that cool empty room, roll herself in the quilt and never come out.

Another step along the road, another step between them –it seemed the Fates would not be satisfied until they had driven she and Fritha clear apart. The creak of the door, Imoen on her feet before she'd even drawn breath for the cry. 'Vals? Oh, hey Solaufein,' she sighed, as the drow unintentionally made her feel ten times worse, 'did you want something?'

Solaufein frowned. 'Ah, no, but this is my room, is it not?'

Imoen forced a laugh past the discomfort. 'What? Oh, yeah, course! Sorry, it's just so strange not sharing with her anymore. You know back at Candlekeep, we had our own rooms, but we'd still share sometimes. We'd get treats from the kitchens, like honey cakes or that anchovy paste Fritha used to love, and we'd stay up past midnight talking. Fritha would bring up books she'd found while sorting the Archives and we'd make love potions and other charms.' She gave the vibrant pink lock at her ear an illustrative flick, 'You know, this came from one such night.'

And for a moment she was back there, their giggling pair crept down to the kitchens, that great stone chamber all shadows in the merge glow of their candle, Fritha's face aglow, an alchemist on the brink of that long-sought panacea as she carefully stirred the carmine paste. Imoen could feel the lump pressing against her throat; it would not be swallowed, the tears bubbling past with her cry.

'Oh, I don't care who they think is saving who, or this stupid war or anything! I just want my friend back!'

A hand was patting her shoulder in awkward consolation. 'I do not know what to say to you, Imoen, only that when I begin to doubt my path, I remember that Eilistraee has a plan for me, and I would think that your own gods would plan similarly for you.'

'It doesn't mean I'll like it!' Imoen snorted bitterly. The drow dropped his hand with a sigh.

'No, I suppose not. But, if you cannot have faith in the gods, then have it in your fellows. Fritha is your friend as much as she ever was, Imoen - just be patient with her.'

'Patient?' the girl choked incredulously, '_Me?_'

Solaufein looked grave. 'Perhaps these times must demand from us all what we find hardest to give.'

She stared back at him, the twitch to his lips going almost unnoticed. Imoen gave a soggy laugh. 'You're funny, you know, Sola?'

'I try.'

And any more of his wisdom was lost as she flung her arms about his neck, the man customarily rigid as she swallowed him in an affectionate embrace. 'Ah, even if she won't confide in me, I'm glad she's got you.'

The door rattled behind them, Imoen in no hurry to release the man even at _that_ voice.

'Imoen, the -is everything all right in here?'

'Yeah, yeah, we're fine, Vals,' she trilled, at last stepping back from Solaufein, and mopping at her eyes, 'you wanted me?'

Valygar nodded, the frown lingering. 'Both of you actually. Anomen has arrived with our meal –you are still eating with us?'

'Yeah, course,' Imoen laughed, skipping forward to take his hand, 'and then you're coming to my room; I'm going to need your help with something and it's going to be messy.'


	24. Cacophony

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Cacophony**

Fritha gazed down, the deep red girl rippling as she swirled the cup, knocking back the dregs and refilling it with the last of the sherry she'd ordered, her palms cracking as she closed her hand about it, the skin thick where blisters had been opened and healed too many times by that tenday of labour. The balm Anomen had given her was somewhere in her bag; Fritha tightened her grip with a wince, leaning back in her chair to survey the bustling tavern about her from under a disparaging frown.

People; weak, judgemental people going about their lives at the mercy of the next great evil, and all expecting someone _else_ to step in save them from it -a drama in which she, rather ironically, was to play both hero and villain. At a nearby table, two florid women shared talk over a bottle of wine, starched linen caps folded neatly over coiled hair -Fritha felt their laughter stab. Soon she would be gone and not one person in that tavern knew enough even to care.

Would it make any difference if they did? She doubted it.

And as for those that would care… Fritha felt the jealousy swell, Anomen and Brieanna frozen forever in that stomach-twisting diorama, their bodies close in the press of the tavern, lips waiting to meet: that almost kiss a venous bite that had filled her with a bitter poison.

A deep breath and another long drink helped the feeling subside, Fritha letting the better half of her surface –though possibly better_ third_ was more accurate nowadays. This was not her, this resentful, sullen creature and it wasn't as though she hadn't encouraged it, even wanted it –at least, that was as she had professed. And perhaps this would be for the best; she wouldn't have the painful task of avoiding him anymore –Fritha hoped they kept the snogging to a minimum.

'Er, excuse us?' came a voice, a narrow, well-dressed man of the Tethyran colouring was staring down at her, long leather case slung over one shoulder and another in his hand, a knot of men and women just behind him. Perhaps her look gave him pause, his throat bobbing as he continued, 'My apologies, miss, but this is usually our table. Next to the stage you see,' he pointed to the small makeshift platform behind her.

'Gods, Igant, who cares?' sighed the gangly young lad at his back, dark eyes almost hidden beneath an untidy crop of black hair, 'We can sit somewhere else.'

'But-but it is next to the stage, and-'

'Well, there's still room here,' offered the round-faced young woman next to him, long brown braid falling over her shoulder as she leaned down to ask, 'Do you mind if we join you?'

Fritha forced her best smile. 'Not at all.'

Cue the fuss as they fought to take their places, cases of varying sizes and shapes stacked beside the stage behind them. They were a company of five in all, the three she had spoken with joined by a stocky man with a neat black beard and a pretty young woman of Calimshite descent, long dark hair curling to her waist. They were all of a similar age to herself, give or take a few years, Igant fussing over the folio he had brought from his bag as the rest of them settled in their seats.

Fritha kept her head down, silently cursing into her full cup. There was no way she could casually down all that and leave -not unless she wanted to look like a consummate lush.

'So, what are we playing for tonight's first set?' began Igant with a nervous glance to her, the _interloper_. Fritha avoided his eye.

'What does it matter?' the gangly lad sighed despondently, glum look cast across the bustle about them. 'No one in here listens anyway.'

'Quarren, that's hardly the attitude,' scolded the brown-haired girl.

'You can't deny it, Abbith. I want to play at more places like the Rose, where people sing with you and dance and actually look like they are enjoying themselves!'

'Well, there are only a few taverns like the Rose here,' offered the bearded man practically, 'so you won't be doing it in Indraviat,'

'Exactly! Which is why-'

'Oh, don't get him started, Robert!'

'Right, well, about the first set,' pressed Igant. The Calimshite girl was smiling thoughtfully.

'Why don't we play that new one from Waterdeep- _My Lady in Green_? Robert sings it so nicely.'

'Yes, but you are in reds this evening, Thanna.'

'Robert,' she laughed, face dipped against the blush. Fritha felt a smile tug.

'I didn't think Quarren had learnt that one yet?' came Abbith bluntly.

'No, no, I learnt it on first-day –Rob showed me after we played the Beehive.'

'So,' continued Igant, 'we can play _My Lady in Green_. Do we have the score with us?'

'I'll see,' offered Robert, the man disappearing under the table as he rummaged in his bag. A glance between the two women he had left, Abbith's eyes drawn to the cluster of intricate gold leaves that shimmered against the girl's dark throat.

'That is a fair pendant you have there, Thanna.'

The girl smiled, both pleased and embarrassed as she laid a fond hand over it to confess, 'Oh, yes. Ah, it was a gift from Robert for my birthday.'

'Was it now?' chuckled Quarren, elbow unsubtly prodding the brown-haired woman next to him, 'Business at the smith's must be going well.'

Robert emerged to give a stoic shrug, handing a sheaf of papers across the table to Igant. 'I can't complain. This talk of war has the Town Council worried –we've had a hefty order of repairs and work in from the militia.'

Igant was nodding. 'I did the paperwork at the Town Hall myself – the funds have been raised and all guardsmen must be in possession of a spear, short sword and cuirass.'

Quarren laughed. 'That'll be useful for when that army of dragons turns up –I bet when they hear that, they'll tuck their scaly tails between their legs and bugger off back to where they came from.'

Fritha fought back a snort –Quarren's companions were less amused.

'Oh, don't let's talk about that,' sighed Thanna. 'The thought of even a normal army laying siege here frightens me. You heard about Saradush.'

'Which is why we should be getting out of here!'

'Do you really need a threat of war to explain away your wanderlust, Quarren?' chuckled Robert.

'Well, you know I'm not leaving, war or not,' said Abbith, hand landing on the table as though she was planting her banner. 'Indraviat's my home; all my family is here.'

'And they still will be when we come back!' rejoined Quarren passionately, 'Don't you want to see the world?'

'And where would we go?'

'I've always wanted to see Calimport,' sighed Thanna, 'My grandmother was from there.'

'Too hot for me,' said Robert, 'They say Zazesspur is very fine.'

'Shaundakul's Wayworn Boots,' cried the lad, 'Zazesspur's barely half a tenday away –we may as well stay here!'

'I am not sure now is the time to be travelling, anyway,' reasoned Igant, 'such armies attract all sorts of villainy. The c-caravans are all hiring additional guards.'

'So, you want to play here for ale the rest of your life?'

'We have a good enough lot here, Quarren,' offered Robert.

'Maybe for you –I want to live a bit before I die.'

'Well, you go on then,' sighed Abbith tersely, 'me, I'm settled here and happy enough playing about the town a few nights a tenday!'

Her sharpness seemed to bring a silence to the rest of the table, Quarren sending her a sulky scowl. It was Thanna who relented first, the girl taking up the mantle of peacemaker.

'Well, where would you go, Quarren, if you could?'

'I don't know,' he sighed, frustrated and eager in the same breath, 'somewhere where a man could make his name, like Darromar or Athkatla!'

Robert was shaking his head. 'You'll never last in Amn, Quarren. They're too grudging with their coin up there. I heard you have to play for free until they know they'll make a profit on you.'

'I-'

All eyes flicked to her and Fritha felt the blush rising as she realised it had been she who'd spoken. 'I, ah, have a friend who owns a theatre in Athkatla. If you ever wish to go, mention my name there and Master Higgold will see you right.'

The young man looked quite taken aback, a slow smile spreading across his face.

'Oh, well, my thanks, friend, and the name?'

Fritha hesitated –well, she couldn't very well tell him a false one.

'It's Fritha... of the Five Flagons Playhouse. If you do manage to get there, please tell the troupe I think well of them.'

'I certainly will!' he chuckled warmly, 'You probably gathered already, but I'm Quarren, this is Abbith, Igant, Robert and Thanna. So what brings you here, to the boring _backside_ of Tethyr?'

'Quarren,' scolded Abbith, 'that's no way to talk of our town to outsiders.'

Fritha smiled mildly. 'You should listen to her, friend, there are certainly duller places to be.'

Quarren snorted. 'Yeah, I'm sure Athkatla's _really_ dull.'

'Well, no, you can't accuse it of that, though I've been plenty of places that were. Imnesvale, Nashkel, Ulgoth's Beard.'

'That's north of the Gate,' said Robert shrewdly, 'You've travelled a lot for someone of your years.'

Fritha smiled –it must have seemed so to others, though it would have never been enough for her.

'Yes, I suppose so. I'm with a group who finds work as caravan guards.'

'You see,' cried Quarern, eagerly seizing upon this, 'that's what we should be doing –travelling minstrels wandering the lands, finding inspiration-'

'Playing for bandits,' quipped Abbith.

Fritha laughed. 'I won't deny there are dangers, but it is a good life –especially, if you like walking.'

A round of laughter, the smiles lingering as a maid arrived to take their order, quick hazel eyes darting to her. 'And will you be having another, milady?'

'Yes, I think I will.'

**…**

The harmony of their voices sounded so lovely, so rich and whole, it was difficult to believe she was a part of it, Fritha drawing a quick breath as she joined the rest of that small band in the chorus. The melody they played together seemed much louder than she would have believed of so few instruments, their spare lute in hand as she joined drum, viola, sitar, flute and chimes in that ballad of a lovelorn maiden, their audience continuing to chat and drink in ignorance. Fritha smiled, just glad to be a part of such simple pleasures, her eyes travelling the small tavern to rest again on the familiar dark-haired figure who was slumped over a table near the doors, chin propped dejectedly upon her hands and a few empty cups before her.

Poor woman – she certainly hadn't been alone in her plans her to find oblivion in the bottle that evening. One final chorus and a lingering finish ended their song, Fritha exchanging nods of thanks with Igant as she handed back the lute, smiles shared with the others as they descended the stage to a smattering of politely indifferent applause. A moment to bid them farewell and another stood at the bar, and Fritha was wending her way back through the crowded tables, a tall flask of sweet sherry and two small cups balanced upon the tray and chiming pleasantly as she set it down on the table before her.

'Hello, Brieanna, whirring your slurds yet?'

'Fritha,' the woman murmured, blinking up at her as though she did not quite trust her eyes, 'it _is_ you. I did not believe it when I saw you with those musicians. What are you doing here?'

Fritha laughed, gesturing to cups that littered the space between them. 'Well, I would say the same as you, but you seem to be much further on than I am. You've been around the town?'

'No,' Brieanna sighed, 'just a few taverns about the square. I just wished to get away for a spell.' She nodded to the makeshift stage. 'What were you doing up there?'

Fritha shrugged, a deft twist unstopping the tall flask of sherry, hands moving to set out the two fresh cups.

'Singing, or so I thought. They're a local group who usually play here of an evening; they get their ale here free and a bit of coin in exchange for some entertainment. We got chatting, and after I mentioned I play the lute they invited me to join them in a few songs, and you know what, I just thought "why not?" I'll never be here again, never get this moment to live over, so let's go -no more regrets.'

The woman opposite nodded, a certain steel creeping in as she snatched up the cup Fritha had just filled for her.

'No, no more regrets –we know our path, and we must walk it!'

Fritha grinned, raising her own cup. 'To the bitter end!'

'The bitter end!'

'So what are you doing here?' Fritha continued, moving again to fill the small cups, 'I wouldn't have had you as one who needed to drown their sorrows -don't you have a god to succour you instead of the bottle?'

Brieanna sighed, head hung over her cup and gazing blankly at the refection within.

'Yes… Though sometimes such things merely serve to remind you of what is lost. Many of the sisters thought it was wrong of me to leave the temple, they believed if I remained there with them and kept the faith, all would unfold as it should. But others saw the world as I did, and knew that the way to serve was out here within it. I will admit, I was not sure I had made the right decision, even after I had left.' She glanced up, eyes suddenly alive, 'But then I met you, all of you, and I knew I was doing my Lord's will.'

'I'm glad you're not conflicted in this. Such resolve will be important in the times to come.' Fritha quirked a wry smile, stomach warmed with sherry. 'A fine thing for me to be lecturing on, though I suppose I can say it now -it might have taken me a while, but I feel I'm finally there with you.'

'You doubted your path?'

Fritha shrugged, letting her eyes once more drift across the easy rabble about her.

'Not so much doubted, as begrudged. But it came to me as I sat here, looking about this room of ordinary people, all caught in thoughts of this year's grain harvest, and the latest muslin weaves from Calimshan, and whether dear Josiph will finally propose come Midsummer: this world is worth saving, just as it is, without saints or paragons, and I'm going to do it.'

Fritha smiled, glancing back to the table to find Brieanna gazing across at her with soft, dark eyes.

'You are so wholly good –I never would have expected that. He is right to follow you, despite what his Order may think.'

'Oh, not this again -Brieanna, why are you so desperate to get Anomen and I together?'

'Because this- this is important!' she cried passionately, the outburst seem to take even her by surprise. 'Fritha, I loved a man once, one of the warrior clerics who guarded our temple. He believed that we sisters, martial though we were, should remain within the temple in safety and use our skills only in its defence. But I knew my place was in the world. I loved him, but I would not be swayed. I made my choice –I chose my duty.' Brieanna trailed off, shaking herself as she plunged on with a renewed sincerity, 'But Anomen did not! When presented with the choice, he sacrificed all to come here, not only to find an end to this war, but to be with you!'

Fritha turned away, feeling the guilt burn all the way from stomach to cheeks. 'I can't –he has no place in what must come. But I know of another who could make him just as happy…'

Brieanna snorted tersely. 'He does not care for me in that way.'

'Just give it time. I did not like Anomen when he first told me of his regard, and now…'

'And now?' the woman prompted. The words stuck in Fritha's throat.

'And now I know what's best for him.'

A pause to knock back their cups, Fritha pouring another generous measure into each, the flask already half empty –a second one of these and she'd be crawling back to the inn. Across the table, Brieanna was sending her that look of contemplative clarity which only alcohol could afford.

'You care for him, do you not?'

Fritha smiled, all trace of bitterness banished by the warmth that suffuse her like wine as she admitted for the first and likely last time, 'Brieanna, just between you and me, I love him. I love him like wine and dancing, and the songs I sing and the tunes I pluck so poorly from my well-travelled lute. He smiles at me, and I feel happy that even when this whole world sees me as a monster and history will paint me as a tyrant, that whatever I must still do as we forge our path on through this war, there will always be one person who loved me just as I was, my _many_ faults and all. And though I refuse to tell him that, I'm quite willing to tell you, because I'm pretty sure you won't remember a thing of this tomorrow.'

The woman pouted comically. 'Fritha, you are a wicked girl.'

'It has been said. What of you, you like him too, don't you?'

Brieanna sank another cup.

'I… It does not matter how I feel. I have duties here, things that must come before my own desires –or his.'

Fritha nodded, the familiar sympathy stirring for someone other than herself. 'Yes, I know that argument well.' A sudden burst of laughter as the absurdity of their situation caught up to her. 'Poor Anomen, he must be utterly mystified: two women who favour him and they both avoid him like the plague. Come on, drink up, Quarren told me there's dancing on at the Rose and Crown.'

**…**

'I do not understand them!'

Minsc just nodded kindly; in matters of maids, no counsel was the best counsel a man could give. Anomen sighed into his ale, the common room about them busy enough to make their presence there easy to overlook as they sat upon tall stools in the press of the crowded counter. Fritha and Brieanna had apparently left hours ago on their own business, Valygar and Imoen still upstairs with Solaufein, though the drow was in his room alone when Minsc had offered for the man to join them down there.

Next to him, Anomen was still muttering his frustrations.

'I did not encourage her, not in the slightest; we were as brothers, only… And did Fritha _have_ to be there at that very instant?'

'The Fates work strangely, young Anomen.'

'But they both seem to- and yet-' A tired sigh, the man either reluctant to say more, or finally realising that this talk of it would change nothing. 'You are right, Minsc, there is little point in dwelling on it.'

Minsc nodded again, the silence swelling between them. Boo was writhing fitfully in his pocket, eager to be out, though they both knew it was unwise for him to be seen there –it was too odd, too likely to invite comment and interaction with a people to whom they were now the enemy. Minsc turned to take up his tankard, his stomach a mirror to his hamster's twistings, Anomen about to speak when his face froze and the Rashemi glanced back to see a swarthy man in a fine red tunic approaching the counter next to them.

'Sir Hirsad!'

'Ah, Iorwerth, my brother, I am glad to see you once more. And who is this, a companion of yours?'

'This- this is Minsc.'

So young Anomen had taken a different name. Minsc was glad such precautions did not have to be applied to him; these deceits pressed on his spirit. Hirsad smiled sincerely –this was a man who could be trusted, at least, in matters of honour.

'Well met, friend, you met each other on the boat from Athkatla?'

'It is so…' Minsc answered slowly, wary of questions about a tale he did not know.

'Ah, you do not look to be another of our Amnish brothers though- where, pray, are you from?'

'Rashemen.'

'Indeed, we do not get so many of you northerners down here. How are you finding our Tethyr?'

'Hot,' said Minsc with blunt honesty, '-though the people are more temperate,' he conceded at Anomen's look.

Hirsad's smile had broadened. 'I am glad to hear our hospitality has not deserted us, even in these dark times. So, what brings you so far south, friend?'

'I-' Minsc faltered. He had never been good at lies, mind unable to quickly find and deliver the needed stories. Dynaheir had always said the best lies held an element of truth –not that she approved of such false dealings. Anomen was looking worried.

'He-'

'I have travelled here with my friends –we came to Tethyr in search of Melissan, the Guardian of the Children that we may help her noble ends.'

'Melissan,' repeated the knight, dark eyebrows darting up his forehead, 'I have heard of her, but they say she has not been seen since Saradush was liberated- though she apparently survived siege. As for her ends,' he continued, his manner sterner, 'noble they may be, but I fear they are also misguided. All know that for every good Bhaalspawn, there are many who exhibited all the traits their polluted blood would suggest. Have you heard, friend, about the camp the Tethyran army ran- destroyed in but a few moments and all the Children within wiped out by a single member of their dark brethren. I understand that Iorwerth here is promised to attend his sister's wedding, but if you and your companions are sincere in your desire to help, why do you not report to the Silver Chalice post over at Ferhl? I am sure they can find some task for a clearly seasoned warrior such as yourself. Ask for Lady Amaniti and say I sent you.'

Minsc nodded once. 'My thanks.'

Hirsad smiled, returning his attention to the bar and neither of them spoke again until he and his drinks were back at his table. Minsc watched the men share a good-natured laugh.

'I do not like having to lie.'

'No, Minsc, nor do I but sometimes it is necessary.'

'You take to it well enough,' the ranger accused with an unwarranted anger, 'Boo says you find it a path much easier to walk than it was once. False names and tales of weddings – you have a fox's tongue!'

Anomen just shrugged off the insult, drawing a long mouthful of ale. 'If circumstance forces my hand, I may as well act with willingness.'

'Hmph. You sound as young Fritha.' Minsc ignored Anomen's splutter. 'Where did she go this eve?'

Anomen was frowning, large hand wiping the ale from his beard. 'I do not know, she did not say.'

'And Brieanna?'

A shrug was answer that time. Minsc turned back to Hirsad and his friends.

How dark a war that pitted the good against each other.

**…**

Imoen refilled her cup and took another long draft of wine, feeling it warm all the way down, her free hand keeping careful hold of the old towel she'd draped across her shoulders, a protection against her lank hair. Valygar had spread the thick carmine paste over it as evenly as his untried hand could manage, the green quilt beneath them rumpled to a landscape of hills and valleys as she shifted back to lean against the wall once more. They were sat on her bed in the room she would be sharing with Brieanna, should the woman ever make an appearance, their pair settling down with a large carafe of wine as they waited for the dye to take, talk flowing and ebbing to warm comfortable silences while the world beyond the window grew dark, the single lamp set upon the dresser and reflected in dazzling twin-ship in the mirror behind.

Maybe it was the wine or perhaps the surroundings, but Valygar seemed more relaxed than usual, the man lounging next to her like some great, lithe cat, one knee bent and an arm resting upon it, his wine cup lolling in his hand. Imoen watched him raise it for a drink, the soft light defining the muscles in his forearm where the sleeves of the dark green tunic he wore had been casually rolled back, and she could not suppress of a swell of pride to think that he was hers, that of all the women he could have picked, he had, with a bit of prompting, chosen her despite their differences. He caught her watching to smile, a gesture she could not help but return as she turned back to the window, the rattle of a wagon echoing along the street.

'It's a shame things turned out as they did, I'd been hoping for a chance to go around the market here.'

'To look for a bow?' Valygar confirmed, 'We could have still gone. I doubt any here would recognise you, even if your name is known.'

Imoen shrugged, hand catching the towel before it slipped off her shoulders.

'Nah, I didn't really fancy it after, well, you know. And it is nothing urgent, it's just nice to have a wander sometimes. I remember the traders that used to come to Candlekeep and the _wonders_ they'd bring –as well as the parchment and food and all the other things the library needed to keep running. It would probably be nothing if I was there now, just the same tat you could get at any town market -beads and trinkets and cheap wooden toys– but it was the only link me and Fritha had to the world outside the walls. I remember one of the first times they came after I had been brought there.

'I was _supposed_ to be taking a basket Winthrop had packed to some pilgrims who were waiting over at the temple, when I saw this wagon, all painted in reds and greens, parked just by the gates, the side panels lowered into counters and revealing the _treasures_ within. The trader was this narrow old man, probably lived in Beregost or somewhere nearby. He seemed surprised to see a child there -apparently Fritha hadn't been allowed out whilst he was visiting.' Imoen laughed, recalling the tickle of that huge velvety nose and warm damp breath on her hand. 'Winthrop left the inn to find me clutching a toy wooden octopus and feeding one of the pilgrim's apples to the man's horse.' She sighed, cup poised for another mouthful. 'Anyway, we due to visit any more towns on the way to Amkethran?'

Valygar said nothing at first, and she turned for his answer to find him watching her, eyes holding a look she could not read, before he smiled mildly and finished his wine.

'Nowhere of this size –perhaps we can visit the market here in the morning.'

'Yeah, maybe,' Imoen yawned, stretching out her back and nearly smudging her head against the wall behind. Valygar caught her shoulder just in time.

'Careful there.'

Imoen grinned, reaching forward to catch up the earthenware carafe from the dresser next to her, the dull thud of feet in the hallway sending a tremble through her hand as she topped up his cup.

'I wonder if Fritha's back yet.'

'You're worried?'

'Not really,' she sighed, settling next to him again, half an eye on her sloshing wine cup as she wriggled back, 'I just wish she'd talk to me. Still, it can't be fun having everyone hate you -like Solaufein said, perhaps she just needs time. Speaking of which,' she chirped as the temple bells struck the last hour before midnight across the town, 'my hair should be about done now.'

She leaned down, a dish and pitcher of once-warm water already set on the floor below, Valygar surprising her as he took the jug from her trembling arm and gestured her forward, and her world was suddenly reduced to that cavern of hair, a wall of water cascading over her to slosh into the bowl beneath, clots of carmine dye diffusing to coil and marble in the rose pink water.

'Is it too cold?' asked the voice above her, likely a comment at her bristling neck, a shiver running over her back as strong fingers worked gently through her hair, easing out the paste as he slowly emptied the jug over her head.

'No, it's fine. There,' she gasped, wringing the last of the water into the bowl, 'I think that's all of it. Thanks.'

'Imoen, why do you dye your hair?'

'Why?' she questioned, whipping back to splatter him inadvertently with water, 'Don't you think it suits me?'

'I,' he faltered, seemingly caught out, 'That was not what I said, but you could not have known that it would before you decided to dye it.'

Imoen laughed sheepishly, head mercifully ducked under the towel and rubbing vigorously as the heat licked her cheeks.

'Well, the reason I started- well, its sounds silly really, but it wasn't always easy growing up with Fritha. Not that it was her fault –far from it, I mean it wasn't like she did _anything_ to encourage them. I remember she was horrified-'

'Imoen?'

She peeked out to find Valygar regarding her with a wry half-smile. Imoen grinned.

'Right, the hair. Well, my real hair, it's just sort of mousey and I could never stand it longer than my shoulders before it was annoying me. And then there was Fritha, skipping about in that coat of fiery red curls, and I suppose I just felt a bit plain by comparison.'

'_Plain?'_ he repeated with a pleasing incredulity. Imoen laughed, throwing the towel to the floor and taking up her comb.

'I know, hard to imagine, isn't it? I mean, I know I'm not ugly; in fact, I'm quite pretty if you get me at the right angle –I've certainly had enough interest over the years. But Fritha, Sune bless her, she spent most of the time in those shapeless grey robes the scribes would wear and couldn't have told a boy liked her if he'd carried a banner, and she _still_ had half the acolytes mooning about the place, all sighs. I felt so ordinary when we were younger, so I laughed and flirted and made merry whenever I could –I wanted to shine in a different way.'

'So you dyed your hair pink?' concluded Valygar with a frown, as though this was not the next step at which _he_ would have arrived.

'Well, when I told Fritha I wanted to dye it, we were going to just use henna to put some red through it, nothing fancy. But then Fritha mentioned she'd found some other recipes in the Archives, for different colours and I thought, ah stuff it, if you're going to do it, just go for it. Pink it went and I found I really liked it. Suddenly, I was me, the girl I was always supposed to have been. Niklos used to say-'

'Niklos?'

Imoen glanced back, not much at the word, but the way he had spoken it, his voice deeper than usual and holding a weight that make her stomach shudder.

'He was a boy I met in the Gate, part of the Thieves' Guild me and Fritha were running errands for… He used to say it reminded him of a harbour sunset.'

Valygar was watching her with contemplative black eyes. 'You were close?'

'Yeah, I mean, I didn't love him, but it was nice losing yourself to that rush of feelings: the thrill of seeing him, the bliss of being the centre of someone's attentions, the longing for our next meeting.' Her smile faded in the sting of that betrayal, 'It didn't end quite so well.'

The gravity of his question mstched the change in her manner. 'He died?'

Imoen burst out laughing, wine almost slopped into her lap. 'Gods, no! Leave Fritha the role of tragic heroine in this! No, no, nothing like that. Just it turned out him and the rest of the guild had been in league with the Iron Throne from the start. When I confronted him with it, he told me,' Imoen swelled with the old indignation, 'told me that despite him recognising me, he'd never made a move to collect the bounty on us –like I was supposed to be impressed! That arse!'

A moment where the man just stared back at her, and suddenly Valygar was laughing, deep, wholehearted belly laughs, and such a contrast to the reserved chuckle she normally teased from him, it was a joy to see. Imoen fought back her own grin, straightening with a haughty toss of her damp hair to strike his leg with her comb.

'And _what_ is so funny? This is my tale of devastating heartbreak!'

'I do not know,' Valygar sighed eventually, 'you are just so… irrepressible. It is refreshing.

'Well, we can't all mope about like you.'

He snorted, the wry grin back. 'I suppose not. So was he the only one who likened you to the vibrant beauty of nature?'

Imoen shrugged, smiling as she knocked back another mouthful, their laughter leaving her flushed and heady. 'No, there were quite a few others back in Candlekeep –nothing as serious though. Well, I say serious, it's not like me and Niklos were together more than a tenday proper.'

'It became serious though.'

Imoen heard the question behind his words and smiled –she had nothing to be ashamed of, and even with all that had happened after, the memory was nice: curled together in that small bed, his skin warm against hers and that pleasant ache all through her –a new feeling and yet not wholly unfamiliar one, as though she had just experienced something her body had always held the memory of. At her side, Valygar was still waiting for his answer.

'The last night before we left the Gate. Just that one time though, well,' she could not suppress the grin, 'just that one _occasion_.'

Another explosion of booming laughter. 'Imoen!'

'What?' she cried, laughing herself, 'I can't be doing with those girls who are like "I have to save myself for my husband or everyone will say I'm a tart!" which doesn't make _any_ sense, since boys are sent out to sow their wild oats _before_ they get married –who are they supposed to sow them with? I tell you, there's enough rules in this world without people making up daft ones like that.' Imoen snorted, settling back into the crook of his arm, 'So, what about you?'

Valygar sighed, the arm tightening about her.

'A few matches were proposed whilst I still lived at the estate –I paid little mind to them. Since I left, I had a few short relationships before I met Suna –a life in the wilds does not lend itself well to such things,' he sent her a strangely unyielding look, and I am aware I am not the easiest of men.'

'Really? I hadn't noticed.'

A flick of her wrist downed the last of her wine, Imoen placing the cup upon the dresser and nestling down against his chest, her hand finding his as he finished his own cup. His voice rumbled all through his ribcage.

'So I had Suna and you had Niklos.'

'Yeah, it wasn't the same though. Niklos was nice enough -well, so I thought- but it was too bright, too fast, all ups and downs. Not like this,' she turned her palm to his, lacing their fingers to give his hand a squeeze, 'this is just right.'

A shift in the body at her side, Valygar pulling back from her to straighten and Imoen was forced to sit too as her pillow was suddenly removed.

'What's wrong?'

Valygar said nothing, just stared down at her, a strange intensity to his expression and Imoen closed her eyes as their mouths met, losing herself in the sensation, damp hair cupped against her face and she raised her own hands similarly, letting his thick braids trail through her fingers as the kiss became more urgent.

'Bloody Hell, Vals,' Imoen gasped as they parted, 'I'd have dyed my hair sooner if I'd know it was going to have this affect.'

Valygar looked unusually flustered, brow marred by an earnest frown as he gazed down at her once more, breath still coming quick by the rise and fall of his broad chest.

'Imoen, I- we-'

Imoen smiled gently, letting a hand trail down his forearm, the hairs stiff as she brushed them against the grain. 'Come here.'

His arms encircled her and they were kissing once more, the muscles moving under his tunic as he pulled her to him, strong hands sweeping over her back and suddenly her tunic was being hauled off, Imoen struggling to be free of the fabric and back against him. He was kissing down her neck now, breath hot against her skin, lips brushing lightly against the thin straps of her camisole, Imoen reluctant to break the contact even as she tugged insistently at his tunic. A break between them as that was thrown off, and she was back in his arms, his skin warm against hers, bared chest hatched with pale scars both old and new.

Their kissing had slowed again now, a natural pause allowing Imoen to draw back to find his face, Valygar still wearing the grave frown that never seemed to leave him, though it was softer now, a question lingering behind it as he gently fingered the thin straps at her shoulder. Imoen answered with a smile that said all that was needed and his arms were still about her as she lay back into the crumpled covers, damp hair tickling her shoulders and feeling pleasantly vulnerable as his kisses moved down to her stomach.

**…**

Anomen drew another mouth of the sour and decidedly flat ale, though he did not bother to order another, his feet just skimming the floor as he sat upon the tall stool before the bar, old Aidrat dozing behind the counter. It was a little before midnight and, after a few days walking, Anomen would have preferred to have retired by now, but he could not settle, not with neither Brieanna nor Fritha returned.

Minsc had left for bed hours ago, the seat next to him now occupied by another of their company, Solaufein likely gnawed at by the same worries, though neither of them would voice as much, their stilled discourse merely heightening the slow creep of time. The drow had spent his evening in practise on Fritha's lute, his arrival in the tavern late enough that what little stir it had caused was limited only to the old server, the few patrons still left scattered about the tables hardly able to see further than their ale by that hour.

'Jaheira will be reaching Marmont within the next couple of days,' Anomen sighed to the silence, tankard paused before his lips, 'I wonder if she will be able to secure the boat she seeks.'

Solaufein's shoulders twitched in non-committal shrug, his profile impassive beneath the brim of his hat.

'I do not know. I do not believe her brethren will afford her any aid.'

'Ah, yes, I forgot you attended the meeting with her –how did you find them?'

'Short-sighted with long memories –though some seemed more useful as allies. It was by them we left the town.'

'Indeed,' agreed Anomen, recalling their snatched departure from Marmont, 'the Merchants' Guild seal-' The clatter of the doors cut him off, Anomen's stomach giving a corresponding leap as Fritha bounded through, a wide-brimmed, tall-crowned straw hat the barge sailors often wore sat neatly on her head.

'Fritha, you-' he stalled, Anomen's greeting halted as Brieanna staggered in behind her, this unexpected pair joined by two members of the local watch, one holding open the door as the other lent Brieanna his arm, the woman clinging to him as he steadied her.

'Anomen and Solaufein!' Fritha cried, dancing over to Solaufein's stool, the drow angling his head just slightly, face suddenly shielded by his hat's brim. 'I told you they'd be waiting for us.'

'I think we can leave these ladies in your safekeeping,' laughed one of the guards, his friend already back in the street, 'You ladies go careful now.'

Fritha was beaming. 'Aye, cheers for that, lads.'

Yes, my thanks, good gentlemen,' Brieanna slurred more decorously, her bow nearly seeing her topple face first into the floorboards, Anomen leaping from his stool just in time to catch her. Fritha was laughing delightedly, her eyes narrowed by the gesture, the depths lustrous and black within.

'Brie-an-na,' she sang, drawing the word out in playful admonishment, 'be _careful_.'

Anomen huffed, still struggling to get the women's deadweight settled on the nearest chair – she was deceptively heavy for such a narrow frame.

'You got her _drunk?_'

'Don't blame me,' Fritha cried, 'she carried herself to that place,' a hand-hidden snicker, 'Then the watch carried her here.'

'And where have you both been?' asked Solaufein, fine face lit with a mild smile- there was something about Fritha that always seemed to animate the drow.

'Everywhere!' the girl cried, with a peal of laughter the elf shared.

'We were dancing, Anomen,' explained Brieanna more soberly –quite the feat considering her state, her head swaying unsteadily on her neck like a charmed snake.

'Yes,' laughed Fritha, 'and you can ignore her claims of not knowing many dances; Brieanna can really move when she wants to.'

'I like the hat,' smiled Solaufein, giving the brim a playful flick, 'where did you find that?'

Fritha frowned, rubbing her chin as she sifted the sherry-steeped memories. 'I don't know, some man, I think. He might have traded it for a kiss.'

Anomen almost choked. 'A _what?_'

'Really, Anomen,' slurred Brieanna dismissively, 'you have never kissed a woman before? Perhaps we can bring you with us next time –there were many pretty girls out this eve who would likely oblige you for much less than your helm.'

Stifled snickering from the pair behind him; Anomen felt the heat surge all the way up from his toes.

'Isn't she great?' enthused Fritha, 'I love her like this! Ah, I'm so jealous.'

'I imagine you will not be as jealous tomorrow when good Brieanna is marching the day with her head in her hands,' chuckled Solaufein. But the girl would not be swayed.

'Bah, I've died once –what care I for headaches? No, this is my life now, for as long I get to enjoy it: wine and song and men.' Fritha grinned. 'Have I mentioned the men? There's going to be men.'

'My lady!'

Fritha just laughed. 'Oh, that was a heartening return to old habits –well spoke, Anomen! And don't fret. I know my path and I know my fate; no more worrying, fretting about this and that, from now I'm just going to kick back and enjoy the ride. Well, it's late, and we've lots to do tomorrow,' she sighed, a finger waggled in warning between their pair, 'You men don't stay up too much longer.'

Next to her, Solaufein rose as well. 'I shall join you.'

And Anomen watched them disappear up the stairs, Fritha's merry chatter fading long after her form.

'Ah, Solaufein, I met the _sweetest_ boy –just eighteen with hair like buttermilk. His name was Gregor –or was it George- anyway, he was out with the other men from the Weaver's Guild…'

'She is ready, Anomen.'

He glanced back at the hoarse voice, Brieanna watching the stairs as he had been, his movement drawing her bleary gaze up to his face. 'Another time, another place, perhaps we… But our paths are already set.' She made to stand, the woman lurching sideways to fall back into her seat, head slumped low over the table. 'Oh, I do not feel so well.'

'Brieanna,' he sighed tersely, moving to gather her under the arms, 'Come, let me help you.'

**…**

Solaufein held open the door for her, the gesture apparently lost on the girl the state she was in, Fritha tripping blithely through into their room, no pause to her chatter, the lamp on the dresser flaring to life apparently without a thought.

'Ah, he was so shy –asked if it would be all right for him to place is hand at my waist while we danced. Ah Sune,' she cried, flopping back onto her bed, the hat shoved forward to cover her face, 'why can't you make them all so sweet?'

Solaufein closed the door, the key turning smoothly in the lock, a simple act that banished outside troubles, even if only for a short while. In the next room, another couple were similarly intent on forgetting, the soft moans faint but perceptible to his sharp ears, though it seemed he was the only one who had noted it.

'Ah, Solaufein, I could have danced till the dawn –but even Brieanna, drunk as she was, knew _that_ was a bad idea.'

The drow smiled, taking a seat on his bed to ease off his boots, Fritha's sandals already on the floor just beneath her dangling feet.

'She certainly did seem the more intoxicated of your merry pair –I would not have expected such of her.'

'Yes, poor Brieanna: conflicted in herself and her past decisions. But troubles come to us all and sometimes there is only one solution –_sometimes_ you don't even need the troubles,' she added cheekily.

'I am glad you enjoyed your evening.'

'I did, I really did,' she sighed, half-straightening to whip off the hat and throw it to land on the wooden bedpost. It missed by a long way. Fritha laughed, flopping back into her bedding. 'Wine and song and -Gods, someone's going for it,' she cried, finally noticing the noise, 'what are they doing next door, jumping on the bed?'

Solaufein threw a contemplative glance to the wall next to them.

'I believe that is Imoen's room.'

A look between them, Fritha's incredulous expression exploding in a burst of laughter. 'Steady on, Imoen, you'll bruise the boy!'

Solaufein snorted, though it was nothing to her amusement, Fritha hunched and sobbing into her hands. He watched her with a fading smile, mind drawn involuntarily back to the other girl who had trembled likewise before him early that day.

'Imoen was upset before, when you left.'

'She doesn't sound so unhappy now. Ah,' Fritha sighed at last, shifting on her knees as she made to change for bed, 'I am pleased for her, truly; this life should be lived to the fullest, or what's the point?'

'You seem to be following your own advice in that.'

Fritha laughed. 'Most certainly!'

'Then, you have accepted your fate?' he pressed, not quite trusting this merry change in her outlook. He watched her shrug.

'No, and I've stopped wasting time trying, too. I'm never going to be content with what must come -how can I be? So I may as well just forget about it and enjoy my life, shortened as it is.'

'Then perhaps,' ventured Solaufein, 'it is time to tell the others the truth.'

Fritha whipped back to him, hands halted halfway through folding her tunic. 'They suspect something?'

'No, but they will have to be told eventually, Fritha. Imoen can sense the distance your silence is causing.'

But this clearly was _not_ the thing to say.

'If you wish to tell them, then do so,' Fritha offered crisply, her back to him as she folded her tunic over the end of her bed and stood to slip off her trousers. 'I can't make you keep your silence.'

Solaufein sighed – at least he was accustomed to the burden of secrets.

'I will not tell them, but the longer you keep it from them-'

'The worse it will be?' Fritha laughed, catching him with that sadly accepting smile, 'I'm going to cease to exist, Solaufein, how much worse can it get? I will tell them, when the time is right. Come on,' she sighed, slipping between the sheets to lay as though asleep, hands folded neatly above the blankets over her chest, 'come kiss me goodnight, and let's to bed.'

He obliged her, his shadow falling across her form to take the lamp's gold from her skin, the floral scent of her hair mingling with the sweet warmth of her breath as he stooped to her forehead. A sudden dart upwards, her lips meeting his in her requested kiss, and he could hear her smile as she turned over.

'Night, Solaufein.'

Solaufein said nothing, just crossed to put out the lamp and let the darkness envelope them at last, though it did not bring the peace it usually did, the man laid under the cool blankets, an unrest coiled in his chest that he could not quite quell. He had never been one to mull over the whims of females –they did as they pleased at that instant for the most part- but she was a difficult one to read, all the same. He could taste the sherry on his lips, a sweet contrast to the sour ale he had been drinking. Feelings were strange things; confusing, conflicting and usually unfathomable.

A rustle of blankets next to him, his eyes making out her shape sat up in the darkness.

'Fritha?'

'Hey Solaufein.' Her small fist hammered three blows against the wall at their head. 'You two, keep it down!'


	25. On the Road

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Annnnnd we're back. Apologies for the long wait – a few things have happened here recently to leave me rather disheartened. It's all over now, or at least, _I_ am over it, and so we move on. Thank you to my beta and to everyone who reviewed the last few chapters and, because someone asked, the name Fritha is pronounced as the 'Fri' in re_fri_gerator and the 'tha' in _tha_nks. Hope this helps, and please read and review._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**On the Road**

Imoen ducked lower, bare knees scraping in the gravel and feeling the downdraft ruffle her hair as the creature swooped over her to clash against the other in the burning sky above, two dragons, one black and one red, locked in ferocious battle, their roars and shrieks echoing about those arid cliffs. She was in the centre of some dusty market square, the buildings about it obscured by smoke as fire from the fight above rained down upon them, faceless people stampeding about her, their screams ringing in the hot air.

Imoen fought her way through the throng. There was a temple to the north, she could see its bell tower a blinding solid white above the dark chaos about her and she broke from the crowds to suddenly halt. A woman was stood before the doors, black clad and hooded, the bound form of a man laid before her, straining vainly against his ropes on the dusty cobbles, awaiting the blade she held.

Imoen did not think, she had not time, every fibre of her forced into that lunge in her compulsion to save him, when in a blink, the prone body was before _her_, the knife hilt slick in her hand and Imoen struggled against her own muscles as she brought the blade sweeping down.

A jerk and she was awake, eyes immediately pierced by the morning's glare and she snapped them shut once more.

So they had started again. The dream hadn't made sense, though perhaps that was for the best. She did not like the idea of knowing their troubles before they met with them – you just ended up suffering twice. Imoen lay still a moment enjoying the feel of it, the cool air a sharp contrast to the torpid heat of their bodies beneath the blankets, and listening to the sounds of the street outside the window: the doves in the rafters, the rumble of wagons on their way to set an early pitch at the market, the creaking door of the washhouse opposite as they welcomed a steady stream of locals swapping clean clothes for dirty laundry, the girl lost in daydreams of living in a small town with the simple lives and loves that came with it; she gave herself a month before she was bored stupid.

Imoen felt herself smile, opening her eyes but a fraction to take in the room through lowered lashes: the empty wine carafe on the table next to them, the burned-out oil lamp before the mirror. They had not bothered to close the shutters, the farthest one still half open to the dawn, a pane of weak sunlight falling on the empty bed opposite, and Imoen wondered briefly where Brieanna had spent the night, until the shifting presence behind brought her attention back to that cramped bed and the naked form that seemed to fit so seamlessly to hers.

'Morning,' she offered, shifting on to her back to make room for his stretching, and announcing her presence before he inadvertently toppled her out of bed. A long pause, Imoen's stomach tightening with every moment that dragged by.

'Good morning.'

He sounded uncomfortable, as though he did not know what else to say. Imoen allowed him a moment's silence to gather his thoughts, Valygar eventually turning on to his side to face her, his dark chest level with her shoulder and making her skin seem all the paler. She watched it rise, drawing the breath for his question.

'Did you sleep well?'

'Yeah, well enough. You?'

'Yes, fine… I have not seen this before,' he continued, gesturing to the pendant that rested just below her throat an inch or so above the quilt, the disk of swirled, mottled blue -lapis lazuli Jaheira had told her- the rune for _twin_ carved and gilded upon its face. Perhaps it was an easier topic right then, all his focus upon it, and she let her eyes travel that stern face and the faint lines that marked the broad forehead and full, determined mouth, for the first time seeing the age that was between them.

'You mean you didn't notice it last night?' she teased quietly, his discomforted silence urging her on, the disk smooth and cool in her fingers. 'Aerie gave it to me. She has one too, made from the same piece of stone. I think she was worried I'd be lonely after her and Haer'Dalis left.'

'Blue suits you.'

'Maybe I'll try it on my hair once I get bored of the pink,' she laughed, eliciting that first smile from him and the worried knot in her stomach finally released, his arm scooped under her neck as she nestled into his shoulder. 'Ah, I wish we could just stay here today.'

'We did not hear Fritha return; perhaps we will be.'

They lay like that for long enough that Imoen nearly dozed off again, a bang from the street below starting them both back to wakefulness and apparently spurring one of them onward. Imoen frowned, the movement tugging her hair as Valygar eased his arm from under her to prop himself upon an elbow, his other arm laid on the pillow above, curved about her head and almost cradling her, Imoen feeling rather exposed as she lay beneath those searching dark eyes.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing, merely- Imoen, do you worry we are rushing things?'

The girl shrugged, shifting the pillow up an inch.

'No, I always take everything at my own pace. Why? Are _you_ worried?'

'No, I just…' he sighed; frustrated, uncertain, she could not tell. 'I just want you to be sure, Imoen. I- you are very dear to me.'

She smiled, relaxing back into the pillow, his stilted declarations warming.

'I know, Vals. And you don't have to worry -if you're happy, then I'm happy. You know,' she continued, letting fingers trail down his arm, 'you're very dear to me, too.'

He snorted, half-amused, half-rueful.

'How can I doubt it? You always seem to be able to show me, even in the smallest of ways.'

Imoen felt her smile falter, gaze steadily on the arm she was still stroking.

'Perhaps your worries hold you back… because of what you fear I'll become. I know you don't like it, but magic is more than just something I learnt in Candlekeep or the Asylum. It's a part of me now, and it's something I think I can use to help a lot of people.' She fixed him with an unrelenting look, 'I won't shy from that, Valygar.'

Valygar was frowning, though she could read nothing in it and it seemed the man would pull away from her, making some excuse to get up and avoid that lingering thorn between them, her fingers halted on his arm as he laid a warm hand over them.

'I understand that your skills will be important in the days to come, Imoen, and more than that, I understand that they are important to you. Though I cannot trust the power you hold, I do trust you with it.'

They shared a smile, Imoen leaning up for kiss, the air cold on her bared back and his arm a brand about her shoulders. Well, this was as ready as she was going to be to leave bed that day.

'Ah, I suppose we should go and face the day. Just you see, Fritha, will be in a vile mood and march us south like an advanced guard.'

Imoen straightened, the quilt still clamped firmly at her chest as she moved to swing her legs over the side of the bed, that briefest resistance to her going in the arm about her all she needed to confirm the affections he worried were too hidden.

'I wonder what they've on for breakfast,' she mused idly, edging forward and well aware of what she was doing as the quilt wrapped about her body edged with her.

'_Imoen…_'

'Well, you can't expect me to wander about naked, Vals.'

'_Imoen!_'

She whipped the blanket off him with a flourish, Valygar a blur as he sprang up to catch her, hauling them both back to the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

xxx

Out in the street, the morning was fresh and cool, Indraviat already up and enjoying the new day by the rumble of the marketplace just a street away, the sky a clear bright blue that would only deepen as the sun rose further, Anomen left squinting in the glare thrown up from the pale cobblestone. According to Solaufein, Fritha had left early that morning to get supplies for the next few days, the drow relaying her message to meet her outside at the terce bells. And so there they were, gathered in the street before the tavern like _delinquents_, though there was no sign as yet of their errant leader.

He felt the irritation prickle through cotton-wool weariness. Those two staggering in late last night, drunk as Lliirans, then Fritha flitting off with the drow and leaving _him_ to haul Brieanna upstairs, only to realise once he reached his room, that with Valygar absent it was not too much of a supposition to conclude where the man was making _his_ bed, and Anomen had been forced to spend a good half hour trying to convince Brieanna that she really couldn't go back to her own room and she should just remain there and _go to sleep_.

A deep frown to Imoen and Valygar, the pair oblivious as Imoen hung off the man's arm, Valygar hooking a bright pink lock of hair behind her ear with an obvious affection. Anomen turned from them before their warmth could sting, prepared to send a frown to Brieanna, too, but the woman looked so ill he found he hadn't the heart. She was the only one not in the street proper, the woman's tall frame leant in the shade against the tavern front, her armour absent, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her pallid skin and puffy eyes closed to the glare -if she managed to keep down the small bowl of porridge she'd eaten at breakfast, then she was of a stronger fortitude than he.

A shout from the laundry in the building opposite started them all, the woman glancing up to catch him watching and both quickly turned away. With what had happened the previous day, and her subsequent return to the inn, it seemed the _last_ thing Brieanna had wanted to see that morning was him sat on the bed opposite packing his bag. The murmured 'good mornings' and Anomen had excused himself to allow her to dress, and the next time he had seen the woman was around a table in the common room.

Behind them, the door banged open, four men he recognised as members of Hirsad's company leaving the inn to set out towards the nearby market, likely the beginning of some discreet patrol. Anomen watched them pass, feeling that sinking sickness bubble low in his stomach. Yesterday it had not seemed real, but that morning it was beginning to sink in: he was expelled. After those many years at the seminary and as a squire both, the Order had cast him out. He was no longer a knight and never again would he have the camaraderie of his brothers; the life he had spent so long working towards was over before it had even truly begun. With the coming war and everything as it was, it really shouldn't matter - but it did.

'There she is -Oi, Fritha!'

Imoen's mad waving was hardly necessary; Fritha was only at the end of the street, the girl almost skipping as she strolled cheerfully down it to join them, arms laden with bags, though they were overlooked at first in light of the change in her. Her trousers had been taken up to hang a good inch above her ankles, just as they had been in that last month of summer when they had first met, her usual linen tunics of blue or green swapped for a white muslin kurti, a fine pattern of flowers brought out in the weave. And with the rows of bracelets, new straw hat and blue woollen scarf looped about her neck, she looked more like a noble's idea of an adventurer; a clever costume for some Midsummer ball. A few paces before him, Imoen was already beaming.

'Fritha-'

Anomen cut off the, no doubt, _furious_ debate as to her new outfit.

'Fritha, we have been here waiting for nigh on a half hour; where have you been?'

'The market,' she explained artlessly as she at last reached them, 'didn't Solaufein tell you? It was busier than I'd expected. I got supplies for the next few days, plus a few other things we needed. Look,' she smiled, cocking her head to proffer him a bejewelled ear, a single creamy pearl sat upon the lobe, 'I managed to find a replacement for the earring I lost in the camp. It's nearly a perfect match.'

Anomen could feel the sneer curling his lip – how like her to breeze in as though nothing had happened.

'Well, I am glad to see our coin is not going to _waste_.'

Fritha just laughed. 'Ah, go and give Brieanna a snog, that'll cheer you both up.'

His jaw dropped; Imoen's enthusiasm saw its chance.

'Ooo, I like your tunic –did you get it this morning?'

'Yes, to replace the blue one I wore in the camp –I couldn't get the blood out in the end, so I sold it to a scrap dealer at the market and bought this one.'

'And not just that, I see -the earrings are close, aren't they? And,' Imoen leaned in with a delicate sniff, 'are you wearing perfume?'

Fritha nodded eagerly. 'Yes, and kohl on my eyes.'

'But, why?'

Fritha laughed delightedly. 'Why not? I got some for you, too; I thought it smelt pink. Oh, and here,' she continued, pressing the small glass vial into her hand and slipping a strung bow from her shoulder, unobserved in the commotion of her arrival. 'I tried a few and this was definitely the best. I hope it's all right for you. And, that isn't all,' she trilled, turning to pass Solaufein a long, leather-bound case from her other shoulder. 'Here, a lute of your own -now we can play together! It's not the best instrument, but it's certainly good enough for someone just starting out, and we can trade it in for a better one once you know a little more.'

The drow said nothing at first, letting fingers trail across the case with a reverent care.

'I… my thanks, Fritha.'

Fritha waved the gratitude away with a rattle of bangles, that smile already turned and beaming upon the tall woman who was still wilting in the shade of the inn.

'And how is Brieanna feeling this morning?'

'No worse than I deserve.'

'Oh, bless,' Fritha clucked, taking off her hat to throw it lightly to the woman. 'I did try to get you to drink tea in that last bar, but you would have none of it. Here,' she continued, passing a small stone bottle to her as the woman moved to join them, 'the local apothecary said it would cure what ails you –no pun intended. Right, are we all ready?'

Anomen actually felt he could do with a sit down; Fritha had swept through there like a whirlwind.

'Well, let's be off then,' she trilled, an arm snaked about her friend's as they set out, the slyest of glances thrown to Valygar. 'And did you have nice evening, Imoen? I see your hair is looking bright –I'm sorry I left before I could help you. Brieanna and I didn't return until almost midnight. You know it was the strangest thing when I finally got back to my room: all the pictures on the back wall were rattling.'

An explosion of laughter from the pair, their heads in close as they whispered and giggled, Valygar hanging back to fall into step with him at the rear, his expression carefully neutral. Anomen shot him a commiserating frown; it was difficult to tell which of those girls was worse some days. At their head, Imoen had turned back to beckon to the drow just behind them.

'Come on, Sola, you can play us a tune while we walk.'

xxx

'And laughing, the evil troll did leave, slamming the door behind him, and with a mighty crash, the snow did fall from the hall's roof and bury him, and all laughed at his foolishness. The young warrior was saved, and the young witch rejoined her sisters. And that is why among the Rashemi, even one who leaves in temper, _never_ slams the door.'

The ranger ended his tale with a wise nod, Fritha beaming.

'Ah, a good story, Minsc, I can see why it was your favourite.'

'Indeed, I would often beg good Master Janiev for the tale as we spent the long winters about the fire pit of his hut when I was but a boy smaller even than you!'

Fritha laughed warmly. 'No, I refuse to believe you were ever _that_ small, Minsc.'

'Well, it was so. Boo even tells me there was a time I was a small as him, though I do not recall it.'

Anomen watched the pair laugh again, Fritha and Minsc sharing stories just as they had since they had halted for lunch, the noon meal much more extravagant than they usually bothered with, their group settled on cloaks at the side of the stony path, the cotton-tuffs of sheep the only break to the verdant plains that rolled off to the horizon in all directions to meet the azure sky.

Fritha's trip to the market had not just yielded lutes and perfumes, the girl dutifully getting the supplies they would need to take them almost to Amkethran, though it was not merely the usual rations of hard tack and dried meats, the girl opening her pack to set before them a feast of fresh bread, soft cheese flavoured with garlic and a whole roll of cold roast gammon, as well as olives, dried apricots, sweet bread cakes and other delicacies.

Imoen thought Fritha was finally ready to discover the pleasures of food after a tenday of not having any. Anomen thought Fritha was feeling guilty.

This rich banquet had clearly not been to all their tastes though, Brieanna leaving their group at speed just as they were packing up, Imoen following only to return with the unwelcome news that Brieanna was being 'extravagantly sick', though she promised not to be long.

Anomen glanced back to where she was walking behind him, Brieanna still pale under Fritha's hat though she did seem a little better, the woman catching his eye to send him a very wan smile, while next to her Valygar broke away from Imoen's clinging grasp, keen eyes catching on some trample of grass just next to them.

'What is it, Vals?'

'Hoof prints and from more than one horse - perhaps men on foot, as well. Minsc?'

The summons halted their passage, Minsc and Fritha turning back, the latter suddenly hopping as she likely scuffed gravel into her sandal. Anomen made a measured approach to her as Minsc moved to join Valygar at the path's edge.

'Another stone?'

Fritha glanced up warily from where she was stooped and shaking out her sandal, unsure as to whether this polite inquiry was an offer of peace or just an opening for yet more admonishment.

'Yes, no sooner do I get rid of one, than another finds its way in.' She puffed a sigh, straightening to take up the fan he'd bought her from where it hung on a long green ribbon at her belt, 'I'd put my boots back on if it wasn't so hot.'

'Indeed,' he continued, the weather by no mean warming his tone, 'I noticed you are without your chainmail, as well –where is it?'

'In my pack, where it _usually_ is.'

'I wondered you had not sold it when you returned this morning with half the market.'

Dark eyes flashed; he'd gone too far.

'Not _that_ no, but I did sell my old tunic, the dress I had made in Marmont and my jade earrings, and _since_ you were quite happy wolfing down the proceeds of which at lunch, I think we'll have a few less comments on what I spend _my_ coin.'

'Your jade-' he faltered, that horrible hollow guilt opening under his ribs. 'They were your favourite.'

'Yes,' she admitted tiredly, 'but such elven craftsmanship is rare in towns like this – I managed to get three times their value; an enviable prize for some strutting merchant's wife. Besides, for all the coin I spent, I got some very good deals.'

'This talk of war has lowered prices?'

'No, but I was flirting outrageously.'

Anomen scowled, watching her fan bat a steady rhythm before her rosy face, bracelets chiming.

'Kossuth's Eye, it's so hot. I'm surprised you can wear that,' she sighed, playfully tapping his cuirass, 'must be like an oven.'

'I am used to it –it is always the duty of _some_ to be ever responsible for the others.'

Fritha heard his cool intimation. 'Anomen, I already apologised this morning for leaving Brieanna with you last night. I was drunk and I really didn't think you'd mind seen as you and she are _such_ good friends now.'

'Oh, not this again! As I already told you, _she_ made a move towards-'

'Up, up, up, Anomen,' Fritha cut in smoothly and leaving him all the more frustrated, 'that's none of my business, and I wasn't even talking about that, I just honestly didn't think you'd mind helping her to her room- Solaufein or I couldn't have carried her.'

'I suppose not.'

Fritha sighed again, seemingly resigned to his displeasure and throwing a hopeful glance back to the two rangers, the girl eager to set off once more and escape his company. Anomen frowned; is that how he wished for things to be between them?

'I am sorry, Fritha.'

'What are _you_ apologising for?'

'I- I do not know.'

Fritha laughed easily, their quarrel soon forgotten. 'You remind me of my later years back in Candlekeep; Gorion would only have to enter the room with that look on his face and I was up and apologising before I'd even heard an account of my _crimes_.'

'You were that unruly?'

'No, I don't think so, but there was little room for error, especially towards the end. Not Gorion, but the other sages had little patience for a girl who _should know better_.' She sighed gently. 'Well, they got what they wanted in the end.'

Anomen watched her listlessly kick a loose stone along the path

'Do you never think you will return there?'

'No… But what about you?' she continued, suddenly brighter, 'Do you remember telling me about the family you had left on your mother's side –do you still plan to seek them out after this?'

To be honest, he had not seriously considered the idea since they had spoken of it those many months ago.

'I suppose so…' he pondered, the thought taking form in his mind. He had not the Order to bind his movements now; perhaps he could devote himself more to his family. Depending on their circumstances and desires, he could invite them to come and take a hand in running the estate –perhaps he could invite someone else, as well. 'Yes, I believe I will.'

Fritha was beaming. 'Good, that's- that's really good, Anomen… Maybe you can ask Brieanna to go with you.'

'_Fritha!'_

'I'm teasing! I'm just teasing!'

'Well,' he grumbled, grudgingly mollified by her giggling, 'I merely do not wish you to think that this is a situation that requires any _encouragement_ -you and Imoen will have to find a way other than matchmaking to keep yourselves occupied until we reach Amkethran.'

But Fritha just laughed.

'Oh, no, I've learnt my lesson. I can't complain about people trying to match me up, when I'm busying doing it to others.'

'Who has been trying to match _you?_'

Fritha ignored the question- smiling as she gave his arm a hearty clap.

'And why must people be paired anyway? It brings no more stable a happiness than friendships. If you present one to another and nothing blooms, then no amount of meddling will make it otherwise. Let love find its own way.'

'Yes, it has its ways,' Anomen agreed quietly, filled with a sudden urge to make some contact with her, however innocuous, moving a hand to lay upon her shoulder or arm, though Fritha sidled back with a wary frown, a rumble on the path behind them cut off any comment she'd planned to make. Anomen ignored the stab of disappointment, their group turning as one to find a line of four caravans slowly cresting the slight slope. The lead wagon was driven by a stout man of Calimshite descent, his smile a flash of white beneath his thick well-groomed moustache, the two youths sat next to him likely his sons by their look.

He raised his arm and the wagons behind him halted, the man leaping from the seat in billow of dark red robes, his Chondathan about as fluent as Anomen's Alzhedo, though he spoke it with more confidence.

'Ho travellers, to where do you head on such a dangerous road?'

'Amkethran,' Fritha called back, 'though we don't know that this road is any more dangerous than any other.'

'Ah, truly, then you have not heard the tales of Bhaalspawn armies and dragons? It is all they would speak of in the town we just left. We would not even be attempting this journey to Calimport at all without guards, but with the roads as they are, those few mercenaries left yet to be hired command a price equal to that of our cargo!'

Fritha trilled an easy laugh. 'You don't believe those rumours, do you?'

The man smiled, rings flashing on his fat fingers as he stroked his moustache thoughtfully, his gaze travelling their group and lingering a moment each on the curiosities of Minsc and Solaufein, before he seemingly decided not to ask, his smile back on Fritha.

'Perhaps not, but every story holds a grain of truth, yes? As you may see, we are a small company, just four wagons and making good speed, and we would be most glad to have the accompaniment of fine warriors as yourselves for as long as our paths match.'

Fritha glanced about her for any dissent. Imoen shrugged under her heavy pack.

'At least we won't have to carry our bags.'

Fritha turned back to the merchant with a smile.

'Why not? We would be glad of the company.'

'Ah, welcome then,' he smiled, a hand swept to the two swarthy young men still sat upon the wagon's bench, 'I am Harjit, and these are my sons, Badal and Jivaj. These rest are my cousins and servants,' he continued dismissively, clearly eager to be off, 'you will no doubt make introductions to them as we travel. Shall we go?'

Harjit did not wait for an answer, already swinging himself back onto the wagon's seat, Fritha slipping off her pack to dump it in the back with rest of the cargo, the younger of Harjit's sons quickly dropping from the bench.

'Here, I will help you.'

A look between them, and one that lingered even as the youth helped Imoen and then Brieanna settle their heavy packs within, the men left to find places for their own in the back of the next wagon, though Anomen did not follow them. He watched the pair share a smile, an indeterminable glitter to her dark kohl-rimmed eyes, fan lolling delicately in the fingers of one pale, poised hand.

'_Dhanyavaad _- my thanks.'

**…**

'Mistress Jaheira?'

'Your report, Rowin.'

'There was a herd of cattle about the watering hole up ahead, but the hands were moving them on as I left.'

'The direction?'

'Back eastwards.'

'Good. Return to the others and inform them we will be changing course due west to ensure we avoid them.'

The lad nodded, young face haloed by brown curls and lit with an endearing determination as he turned smartly on his heel to hurry back to where she had sent four of their company to scout ahead and ensure they avoided crossing paths with any shepherds, hunters, or anyone else who would find a twenty strong party of wanderers something of worthy of note, the druid herself closer to the group's rear as they walked onward heading northwest across plains to Marmont. The group had truly come together since they had set sail from the ruined camp seven days ago, and though there still those among them who kept their own counsel and others who seemed determined to make a friend of everyone, all felt a part of it, her leadership and their interaction a natural, organic development, where all had a place.

Jaheira tilted back her head to take in that field of glorious blue, the sun just pasts its zenith and warming left side through drifting clouds, the plains about them a rippling patchwork of light and shadow where shepherds and cowhands grazed their small herds.

They had even acquired one themselves, Jaheira and Athic returning the previous night from a local farmstead with supplies to discover a merry crowd gathered on the camp's edge, Eruna and Kuri at its centre, Kuri the jester for all as he stood with an arm about the wide-horned, cream cow, claiming she was his new bride and trying to tease from her soft nose a kiss. It seemed one of the few elves in their company had spotted a lone cowherd as they'd stopped to make camp, Kuri and Eruna marching out into the dusk to barter with him and paying twice what the mellow-eyed beast was likely worth. But it (Jaheira refused to use the name Kuri had given the beast – _Gitali_, for his aunt) served them well, carrying their heavier supplies and providing rich milk for the more malnourished of them.

Indeed, She was fortunate that all were well enough to make their way on foot now, and everyone had been glad to leave that barge behind after those last few days, all cramped onboard in the suffocating reek of their own bodies. Kuri had joked it was just like being _headed_ to the camp, though others had not found the comparison quite as funny. At least such torments were behind them now, the barge left moored roughly to the bank a league from the village she now knew as Ludsbeck, the boat finally come full circle and returned to its owner, while they had immediately set out northwards into the deepening twilight.

Another half-dozen or so had left their company there, content to make their own way now the initial danger of the camp was far behind, and of the soldiers only Enric remained now, the two others parting company with them where they'd landed with plans to wait on the edge of the village for another patrol of their fellow soldiers to pass by. Jaheira did not worry- she had told no one outside of Athic and Eruna the location of their final destination, something which was a lingering source of resentment in the company. Not that she did not sympathise with their situation. Those people had suffered much at the hands of men who had claimed to work for a greater good, but those were the conditions of travel with her and all, more or less, suffered their distrust in silence.

As for Enric, she had asked at the time why he was not joining his fellow soldiers, but the man had merely shrugged, offering simply because there was where he was needed. Jaheira approved of such altruism –when genuine. She watched him now, Enric halting the man she knew as Tegran, the burns that twisted his face and arms nothing to the ones she knew had ravaged his legs and his limp had been growing steadily worse since they had set out that morning. Not that there was anything that could be done short of carrying the man, and Jaheira tried to quell the pity in age-hardened heart. A quick examination, Enric adjusting the bandages for what little good it would do and finally the cleric straightened, both nodding and smiling and both knowing they had done nothing despite their hopes. Tegran limped on, the soldier letting him pull away from him a pace or so before he felt able to breath that long disconsolate sigh, two fingers worked under the bridge of those now cracked spectacles. As with most of the men there, there was a good few day's stubble darkening his chin, his fringe falling across eyes which seemed older now than at their first meeting, the man glancing back to notice her watching and send her an embarrassed nod, dropping back through the loose throng to fall into step at her side.

'You needed me for something, Mistress Jaheira?'

She deflected his question with one of her own.

'How is Tegran's foot? No sign of infection, I hope.'

'The burns are still taking their time to heal; I would I could do more for the pain, but…' he trailed off, bitterly resigned to the impossibility. 'The balm you prepared is working well, though, and keeping it clear of infection. You have an invaluable knowledge of the remedies that can be found growing all about us.'

Jaheira dismissed his compliment with barely a smile, reluctant to be charmed so easily. 'We all have our different ways to render aid. Indeed, we are fortune all are able to make their way by foot -and so quickly too, at this pace we will make Marmont in but a few days more.'

'And then you will secure boat for us all?' confirmed Enric, making no attempts to hide his frown. 'Forgive my doubts, but I still wonder how you plan to accomplish this –we have not the money with which to buy or hire one and I do not think we would find it as easy to steal a boat this time.'

Jaheira bit back a sigh, the troubles that plagued her feeling all the realer when spoken aloud by another.

'We can discuss such in more detail nearer the time. Suffice to say, I have _associates_ within the city -though I have not yet decided on whether to contact them or not.'

Enric smiled grimly; he likely understood her reluctance, her eyes drawn to the frayed patch on his sleeve where the rising sun insignia had been cut from his tunic –the army was another group that did not look well on those who went against the grain.

'Should it come to it, Master Carstil, we will simply have to walk.'

Enric nodded, a contemplative silence falling over them and Jaheira lost herself in the distant piping of the curlews – his sign bringing her back to his side to see him gesture to those scattered about them.

'Many in this land would think us fools for even attempting this; do you truly believe you can find a sanctuary for these people?'

Jaheira smiled inwardly, recalling the mercy they had shown to her despite the danger, not that she had known it then, just a frightened little girl who had been born to a title that had sentenced her death in that bloody revolution. The druids of the grove had saved her, protected her for no other reason than because they could. She could hear the words behind her eyes, soft and so full of conviction, when she had pressed the Grand Druid for the reason they, the druids who so often found themselves in conflict with man, had agreed to take her in.

'_Because all life is precious, child._'

'Where we are going they have a habit of taking in those that others would have the sense to shun. I believe they will help us. But what of you, do you still think these people deserve to be caged and starved?' Jaheira continued, unable to help her sharpness as she recalled some the state of some of those she had treated in those first few hours of the camps liberation, half-starved and worked to the point of exhaustion. He was helping now, but he had had a hand in such tortures and it was _not_ something he should be allowed to forget. Enric looked ashamed enough to mollify her.

'I never believed that. I joined the army, just as I joined you here, because I wished to help people. It is just difficult sometimes to see what is right when others claim the few must be sacrificed to save the many. Once I'd seen the camp for what it was my feet were as clay, I felt too caught by it to stop them –I am glad you arrived to take the step I could not.'

Jaheira merely nodded; perhaps there was hope for him yet, another silence falling between them though she did not enjoy it for long.

'Your betrayal of the girl, Fritha,' Enric opened conversationally, 'it was your plan all along was it not, to have us take her and lead you to the camp?'

'Yes, though many of us opposed the idea. We thought it too dangerous.'

'For her or us?'

They shared a wry smile –he was a sharp one.

'She played the role well,' continued Enric, smiling faintly at some memory of his own, 'I believed it, we all believed it –even to the end when she knelt so mildly in the square to await the blade. Then that dragon arrived, and by the gods, it was as though she exploded with all the fury of Tempus. She found me in the chaos. Even to the last moment, I thought she meant to kill me, and then suddenly I was choking in the dirt and she was stood over me, taking battle to the dragon that would have seen my end –she saved me, just as she swore she would.'

Jaheira said nothing; his compliments to her and her allies had her suspicious and it was a fool who did not learn from the tricks of others. She liked Carstil and perhaps that was his plan, after all they were but days from Marmont and a whole barracks of his allies. She would have to watch him carefully as they closed upon the town.

'Jaheira?' came the call behind and she turned to find Athic and Eruna closing to them, twin tight smiles on their tanned faces, while Athic's hand rested casually upon the girl's shoulder as it often was of late. Something in the druid's stomach clenched, Jaheira's smile quite at odds with her urgent tone.

'What is it?'

'Don't turn around,' Athic warned unnecessarily, 'but Eruna saw something in the grass back there.'

'I think we're being followed,' offered the mage, 'I thought it was a one of the shepherd's dogs that had strayed too far, but it seemed to duck when I saw it.'

'Was it a man?' asked Enric.

'I'm not sure.'

'Was it alone?' pressed Jaheira. Eruna shook her head, exasperated.

'I don't know! The more I try to remember, the more I doubt whether I saw anything at all.'

Jaheira tried to keep the grim fear from her countenance, keen eyes scanning the grasslands about them – If they were being hunted by mercenaries, they could already be surrounded and if they were… all there had a weapon, the most salvaged from the barrages after the camp felt, but few there were skilled in its use, an open fight would be carnage.

'I doubt we are outnumbered, but not all can wield a weapon as we do,' murmured Enric. Jaheira frowned.

'Where did you see it? Do not point, just describe it.'

'About two hundred yards south east of us, between the two boundary trees on the horizon.'

Jaheira nodded, more to herself than any indication for them, her course clearing behind her eyes.

'Right then, be ready to follow my lead. Everyone, all stop!' she called ahead, the order chorused outwards to bring them slowly to a halt, the druid collaring the nearest lad, 'Tebit, walk ahead and announced spread the word.' She dropped her voice as he left them, 'Eruna be ready with a spell.'

And without another word, she broke from their group, crossing with a deliberate lack of haste to a small knot of a half dozen cows. Just a good slap on the rump on the first, a shout that was more to its mind than its ear, and three youths of Tethyran descent were dancing up from their hiding places to narrowly miss the stampede, an unlucky fourth tripped to the dirt under that thunder of hoofs - these were no skilled mercenaries, merely boys dressed up in their father's armour. Her own group had gathered at that first order to halt, and seemed now to flow with a consciousness of their own to form a ring. Jaheira sensed in them stirrings of a mob; she would need to take care if they were to avoid any bloodshed, Gideon, Lucian and Athic taking it upon themselves to drag the youths into the centre and encourage them to kneel, Enric tending the injured fourth as the druid stepped forward to address the nearest.

'Your names?'

'Don't tell her!' hissed the lad to his left. The boy swallowed, quavering under her glare.

'I'm Sassan.' He nodded to his scowling companion, 'That's Artold, he's Majil and the hurt one is Darrid.'

'And from where do you hail?'

'Ledsbeck Village, upon the Agis.'

'That's two days south of here,' supplied Athic grimly, 'as well we all know having _walked_ from it.'

Did he _have_ to put it quite so antagonistically? A frisson of dread quivered her stomach at the sudden murmuring about her. Jaheira took another cool step forward.

'Why are you following us?'

'We weren't!' shouted Artold angrily, 'We're just cowha- ah!' he shrieked, Gideon viciously wrenching his head back by his hair to meet his snarling face.

'Try again, son.'

'_Gideon…' _Jaheira warned. The man loosened his grip, but did not let go. 'Do not lie to us again, boy. Why are you following us?'

A long pause, and Jaheira could taste the very tension in the air, like a storm upon the wind, played out in that ring of restlessly shifting bodies and even the breeze seemed colder, the moments creeping by when-

'It was Art's idea!'

'Darrid- Darrid, shut up, you whoreson!' shouted Artold next to him, instantly struggling to kick out at his companion, Enric pulling him clear as Darrid continued, 'Artold heard old Kahl talking about his boat being found moored by one of the local farmers. Everyone knew you Bhaalspawn had taken it, so we figured you'd been the ones to bring it back. We tracked you from the village- Artold said the army's looking for you, that there's a bounty on your heads.'

'So you thought to bring us in, did you_?_' joked one of the men, his ugly laugh chorused grimly about her.

'A score of us against you four –I like those odds.'

'Let's give them a head start, see how far they get.'

'No, please,' cried another of the youths, 'it wasn't like that. We were just going to follow you. Art thought we could maybe get some coin from the army if we could tell them where you'd gone.'

'So you were going to rat us out to the army?' confirmed Gideon, Artold struggling once more, eyes bulging as he frothed and fought, and seemingly only heightening the man's enjoyment as he let a hand move slowly to the knife at his hip, 'Well, do you know what we used to do to rats in Darromar slums?'

'That is enough!' snapped Jaheira, 'They are just children.'

'They were old enough to follow us for two days!' Gideon yelled back, others about him taking up the cry.

'Aye, and old enough to come up with this plan that would see us all dead!'

'And just to line their pockets!' shouted a woman to her right. Jaheira held firm.

'A plan that has done us no harm as yet –you would murder them for merely following us? You kill them now and you justify every excuse the Tethyrans gave to lock you up.'

The lines were being drawn.

'Jaheira's right,' cried Eruna, 'They haven't done anything to us!'

'But they would have, wouldn't you?' snarled Lucian, the boy trembling in his grip, 'Set those army dogs on our trail- do you _know _how we suffered in that camp?'

'Now, let us just all step back-' reasoned Enric.

'Shut it, _guard!_'

Fortunately, Kuri made a better speaker. 'Look, we all know I nearly found my grave in that moat we were digging, but these kids aren't worth killing.'

'So we just let them go?' demanded Gideon, Artold crying out with another vicious shake, 'Let them run back to the army and tell them where we are?'

'They have nothing to tell them!' snapped Jaheira.

'No, and it'll stay that way.'

The knife was drawn with a speed that threw even Jaheira, the druid sweeping out with her staff just in time to send it spinning from his hand with a sickening crunch. His howl echoed across the plains.

'You fucking _bitch!_'

'Who put her in charge anyway?'

'You _all_ did,' Jaheira rejoined the unseen challenger and in a voice that carried, 'by following me! You do not like where I lead, then strike off on your own. And you four, get out of here and think twice the next time you weigh your lives against a few paltry coins.'

'Remember this mercy, eh, lad?' rumbled Athic as Enric finally pulled the bandage tight. The boy just nodded, too frightened to speak as his friends hauled him to his good foot and Jaheira watched them go, two bearing the injured third while Artold brought up the rear, frequently glancing back to ensure no one was in pursuit.

How simple for them to run off now, likely in the belief that _they_ were the victims, and all the while unmindful of the damage their petty greed had caused.

'Come, we move. Move out!' she called, that gathering reluctantly disbanding to take up the journey once more, a dark look from Gideon promising troubles to come as the man shrugged off his friend, cradling his hand untended to his chest to skulk after them.

xxx

Another soft trill of laughter; Anomen forced himself not to look round, eyes fixed on the deep amber horizon and the dark shape of the wagon rumbling along a few paces before him.

It had been the same ever since they had met the caravan, the youth, Jivaj soon joined by his brother at Fritha's side and they had spent the last three hours in talk and laughter. Brieanna was still feeling too ill to share their company, preferring the more sedate conversation of Solaufein, and Fritha had found a reluctant cohort in Imoen, the girl dividing her time between her friend and Valygar as they walked, though she was with the trio now, giggling away as Jivaj shared his tale.

'There I am, Badal hurrying to help me as I try to climb back through the library window before our tutor can return and find me missing, when in walks my Aunt Geeta looking for her spectacles and Badal, so worried at being caught himself, slams the shutters closed on my hand!'

Badal was laughing, quite unashamed of this self-preservation. 'There is this great cry from the garden and we rush out to find Jivaj in a heap under the window, his hand grazed from where the shutters caught it, and the bottle of arrak we took such efforts to steal broken under him.'

'Most fortunate for us Aunt Geeta saw the blood and thought nothing of how I came by my disaster.'

'Oh, were you hurt badly?' gasped Fritha with a good deal more alarm Anomen thought one who regularly faced down blades should have shown a boyish mishap.

'No, no, though I bear a scar to this day -I can show it to you later, if you wish.'

'All right, I'll trade you,' offered Imoen, 'I've a lovely one on my hip where Fritha and me were sledging down stairs in a rug we'd _borrowed_ from the attics.'

'Oh,' considered Jivaj smoothly, 'and your fair friend suffered no wounds from the venture?'

Anomen could hear the shy smile. 'Thankfully, no –Imoen broke my fall. Though I do have a couple of others, should I need them to trade.'

More warm laughter. The constant frown was giving Anomen a headache and he spared a glance to the man next to him, expecting an ally in his displeasure, but Valygar was calmly surveying the golden plains before them. Anomen felt the frown deepen.

'Our new companions are surely amiable –though they seem to have a partiality for _certain_ company.'

Valygar took a moment to realise to what he was referring, though he seemed little bothered either way. 'I suppose. Young men will always favour the company of women.'

'Does it not trouble you?' Anomen goaded, wanting the man's ire to justify his own.

'Trouble me?

'Imoen behaving so with those men, when she is sworn to you.'

The ranger shrugged. 'They are merely talking –I trust in Imoen's affections.' A pause, Valygar's expression pulled into one of awkward sympathy, 'I am sorry it must trouble you.'

Anomen turned abruptly away, ashamed of his jealousy even as it burned. Before them, the lead wagon was slowing, Harjit dropping from the driver's bench to lead the horse onto the plains beside them. Anomen was glad of the distraction.

'It seems we are to halt for the night –we could have covered another few miles had we been alone.'

Valygar chuckled. 'Yes, but would you have wanted to under your pack?'

'Vals!' came the eager cry, the man whirling in time to be caught about the chest, the girl's short arms barely meeting as Imoen engulfed him. Valygar smiled down at her with a surprising tenderness and fondly ruffed her hair.

'And the women return to us -where are your swains?'

Imoen laughed, delighting in this uncharacteristic teasing.

'Harjit called them off to tend the horses.'

'Good then; Anomen was worried they would try to steal you away.'

Imoen drew back to send the man a sunny smile. 'Aww, no one could take me from you, Vals.'

'I am glad to hear it. And what of Fritha,' Valygar continued, Anomen's stomach clenching, 'Our leader has no plans to continue with this caravan to Calimport, and join some Pasha's harem? Anomen was just as concerned for you.'

Anomen was, in fact, torn between the conflicting emotions of jealously and toe-curling humiliation, the girl darting him a glance for a snatched deliberation before the coy smile was emerging behind her fan.

'You see me as concubine to some pampered noble? No, no, Valygar, you have me wrong – it is _I_ who shall have the harem.'

Imoen gave a great burst of laughter.

'Fritha, you're worse than me!'

Fritha just smiled. 'Ah, Valygar, don't look so worried. I couldn't find one man to put up with me, let alone a few.'

'And it seems you would have it no other way,' the ranger concluded incisively, eyes drawn down the path to where the Rashemi was unloading the men's packs from one of the wagons. 'There is Minsc with the tents, we should go and help him.'

'So,' began Anomen to the cool silence they'd left and just catching Fritha's excuses for a hasty escape, 'Harjit's sons have gone to attend the horses.'

A deep sigh. '_Yes_, Anomen, as well you know_…_ Is this all because I spent the afternoon with them?' she countered sharply; for one who favoured subtlety Fritha could be very blunt when she wished it.

'And if it was?' he challenged. He watched the coy smile twist once more, though her eyes remained empty of its sparkle.

'Well, now, Anomen, you did say Imoen and I had to find something to occupy us on our journey.'

He tried to swallow the bitter disapproval, frustrated with her continuing games. 'Why are you doing this?'

'Doing what, Anomen? Talking to boys? Making silly jokes?'

'No,' he faltered, struggling with the question he wanted to pose, but asking why she was trying to make him jealous seemed arrogant to the point of ridicule.

'Come now,' she sighed, taking pity on his indecision, her face wearing that soft, melancholy smile, and he felt it was the most genuine sentiment he had witnessed of her all afternoon. 'Don't be cross. Here, have some olives.'

Anomen eyed the stone pot she had just fished from her bag. 'I thought we ate them all at noon.'

Fritha shrugged. 'I kept a few back -for an emergency,' she added with a laugh.

She knew how much he liked them. Anomen felt a smile creeping in. 'And does this qualify?'

'Oh, gods, yes!' she cried, pressing the pot into his hand. 'There's nothing worse than a moody bloke -just ask Imoen.'

'I feel she may be of a different opinion at the moment,' he offered dryly, a pointed glance thrown to where the girl and Valygar were sharing a tender look over the listing canvas of a half pegged-out tent. Fritha laughed.

'I'm so pleased for her –for them both.'

She turned, making a slow pace toward the caravan that held her own pack, Anomen falling easily into step at her side.

'So, were there any more purchases this morning we have yet to see? Should I expect to arrive at breakfast tomorrow to find you swathed in a sari? Or perhaps serving the tea in a light summer gown?'

'No,' Fritha smiled, plucking wistfully at her fine, white kurti, 'and I won't even be wearing this tomorrow. Cooler though the muslin is, white was not the best choice. See,' she sighed, turning up the lower hem where the dust of the road had already left a grubby brown tidemark. 'I will swap it for one of my linen ones tomorrow –keep it for best.'

'I hope the same will not be said for these,' he continued, fingers trailed down her forearm, making its weight of bangles chime. Fritha drew back with nervous laugh, arm clutched to her chest as though she did not know what to make of him.

'No, I think the jewellery can stay, and I imagine we shall all be wanting a share of my perfume soon enough. We only pass two streams on our way to Amkethran, and you know the water will have to be rationed.' A sly glance to him, 'A shame really -your beard gets any wilder and people will be assuming _you_ are the savage Northerner of my company.'

Anomen laughed, rubbing a hand over the short hairs they both knew he had tidied but last evening.

'Ah, you may tease, but it was in similar circumstances that I first grew it. Do you recall me telling you of the summer I was first squired, and the month we spent camped in southern Amn? Water was rationed there, too, and I could not be troubled to waste any shaving -if I am honest, I had not really needed to before then. And as my beard grew in, I found it rather suited me.'

Fritha gave a wise nod. 'All I know is, Beth said never to trust a man with a beard –they always have something to hide, though perhaps even she would have made an exception for some.' She glanced up to him shyly, turning back to their path to sigh, 'Ah, lovely Sir Keldorn, I wonder what you are doing now.'

'Fritha!' Anomen cried, the girl flinging her arms wide in earnest plea, 'Oh, Sir Keldorn, carry me away for passionate hand-holding!'

She stumbled sideways, feigning a swoon and he darted in to catch her, the girl instantly stiff and hastening to right herself, Anomen left heady in the rush of patchouli and sandalwood.

'Sorry,' she laughed, scarlet face dipped as she extricated herself from him, 'did I frighten you?'

'No, no… You, ah, seem in better spirits since we left the town.'

'Yes… things are clearer now –and I'm glad to be on the road again. I meant to thank you, actually, for the other morning at the camp. I still have allies in this group, despite my follies – just as you told me I would.' She swallowed, adjusting her bangles with deliberateness that suggested she could not look at him, 'Thank you for your confidence, Anomen. I don't always think I deserve it, but it is a comfort to know someone believes in me.'

'There are two things you will always command of me, Fritha –one is my faith.'

'And the other is your disapproval,' she cut in quickly, 'I know which I deserve more, too.'

Another trill of nervous laughter rippled the air between them; Anomen frowned, the hurt returning to his previous anger and only fuelled as Fritha sent a nod to Harjit's sons, the men just stepped from behind the furthest wagon, Jivaj smiling as they passed.

'You certainly seem to be _vying_ for it.'

Fritha merely shrugged, eyes following them across the camp. 'Their attentions are distracting.' She grinned, a certain tightness to the gesture, 'You know the role they expect of me now, Anomen: the red-haired seducer of men –I cannot disappoint my audience.'

'Then I leave you to your performance.'

'Oh, Anomen,' she cried, catching his arm, only to drop it the instant he'd turned back to her, 'don't be that way… We were just talking, having a laugh to help the day pass.'

'As you used to do with me…'

'Yes…' she agreed, unable to meet his eye, 'before, back in Athkatla.'

'I see.'

'Anomen!'

But her cry would not halt him that time, Anomen marching off with little thought as to where he was heading. The way she flitted about him, drawing him in only to push him away again, unmindful of his own turmoil. The sacrifice he had made to follow her there-

'Brieanna?' he cried, rounding a wagon to almost trip over her, the woman glancing up sharply from where she had been rooting through her pack.

'Anomen, I was- is something wrong?'

'No, I,' he struggled, anger forcing him on to blurt out the question that had been plaguing him all day. 'Brieanna, _why_ did you kiss me?'

Her face was a picture, dark eyebrows darting up her forehead only to lower slowly into a discomforted frown.

'I did not.'

'No, I mean, why did you attempt-'

'Anomen,' she cut in, straightening to face her foe as any good solider, 'this is rather embarrassing for me, so let us just say what we must, and then never speak of it again. Please do not read too much in to my behaviour yesterday; I was missing someone from my past, someone of whom you sometimes remind me.'

Anomen felt the anger swelling. 'I see. Fine.'

Brieanna looked heartily confused. 'Anomen, I _am_ sorry. If I have made you feel uncomfortable or-'

'No, do not apologise, my lady, it seems I am no one's preference.'

'Anomen?' she cried, but he was already gone, marching over to the opposite side of the camp as though he could not be far enough from the woman.

Fritha sighed, Brieanna whipping back at the noise to find her leant against the wagon's frame a pace or so from her.

'He's still cross then.'

'I would say a little more than that,' amended Brieanna. 'You plan to go after him?'

'No, I don't think that would be wise.'

The woman nodded her understanding, stooped over her pack once more. 'You are right; he is likely best left alone for a time. I imagine these last few days have been a trial for him. To know the risk to your actions, to have them pressing on you for so long and then to discover all you feared has indeed come to pass…'

Fritha felt the bottom drop from her stomach, that sick, yawning hole threatening to overwhelm her. 'The Order have expelled him, haven't they?'

Brieanna glanced up sharply; Fritha recognised that look of guilty dismay. 'You weren't supposed to tell me, were you?'

'No…'

Fritha sighed, looking over to where the man was now crouched and helping Minsc with the last tent.

'When did he find out?'

'Yesterday, in Indraviat.'

Fritha snorted. 'Tsk, tsk, Anomen, keeping secrets is _very_ wrong.'

'Are you going to tell him you know?'

'Certainly not! I knew it would come to this and so did he. Not that I don't feel for him…' An understatement that seemed too large for words, and Fritha felt she could have broken down in tears just then, but to what end? How much easier the cool condescension. 'Poor fool, if only he'd- but there's no point in that now… No, I won't tell him, it wouldn't help anyone. So, how are you feeling then?'

'Much better than I was this morning,' the woman continued, attention back on her pack, 'the headache has finally ebbed –But this heat! I am sure it was never so hot before.'

'Before?'

'Yes, back in Amn. Perhaps I should wear sandals as you do.'

'Perhaps…' conceded Fritha, still more than a little confused, 'though I meant to ask how you're feeling about this verdict from the Order. If Anomen has been expelled, then your own petition will likely be rejected.'

'Oh, yes,' Brieanna laughed awkwardly, rooting once more. 'A shame, but only for what could have been, and the more I consider it, the more I am brought to the conclusion that, though it was to join the Order I was first compelled to leave the temple, I believe my path was always supposed to lie with you.' She paused, hands resting idle on her pack and her eyes looked almost black as she gazed up at her, earnest and full of hope. 'Our deeds here will change the face of this land.'

'Aye, one way or another,' sighed Fritha, 'But what of afterwards, when this is all over? If the Order is no longer your goal, will you return to the temple?'

Brieanna shook her head, looking for a moment sad. 'No… I will never return there. My Lord will decide my path when the times comes.'

'Yes, and perhaps the Order is not lost to you or Anomen.' Another glanced to the man himself, he and Minsc talking on the edge of the camp; Fritha felt the grim smile twist. 'They will take him back –matters here will guarantee it.'

Brieanna did not share her confidence. 'I do not believe whatever accomplishments Anomen returns with will sway the Order in this- he disobeyed them directly, and has caused much trouble for them with his presence here.'

'They will take him back. I will see to it.'

A strangled cry as Brieanna's pack was kicked over in her frustration. 'By the Gods, Fritha! When are you going to stop trying to make his decisions for him? Anomen chose to come and accepted the consequences as they were – is that so terrible?'

'Well, it hasn't worked out so well for him so far, has it?'

'Not by your judgement, but by his?'

'I don't know, why don't you go and ask him now the Order have _kicked him out?_'

'Fritha-'

'No, I am done here.'

And Fritha turned on her heel, stalking back around the wagon and more than ready for some company which did not involve a lecture, a familiar pink head catching her eye from between the caravans.

'Here, Imoen!'

'Fritha,' the girl called back, skipping over to her, 'where are you going?'

'To find Jivaj and his brother- do you want to come with me?'

'Well, just for a bit,' the girl relented at last, 'I was going to spend the evening with Vals.'

Fritha laughed. 'It _must_ be love. Come on, I just want to talk with someone who isn't going to tell me off.'

'You mean Anomen?' Imoen confirmed, 'What's been wrong with him lately? He's been in a foul mood all day –and I've noticed you aren't helping…' Green eyes searched her face, 'It's almost like you _want_ him angry with you.'

Fritha snorted, already turned and tugging at her sleeve. 'Like he needs any help with that.'

The truth was, she didn't want Anomen angry with her, but it looked increasingly like it was going to be inevitable if she continued her current course, and Fritha was undecided as to how bad a thing that would be. Well, she wasn't going to find out just stood there. Another insistent tug.

'Come on, Imoen, I need a drink.'


	26. Secrets and Lies

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Secrets and Lies**

Night had fallen quickly over the plains, the stars dusting that field of black as night sky crept lower and darkness swallowed all but their ring of wagons and the large campfire within. Imoen glanced back to the group she'd just left, half hidden in the shadows of Harjit's caravan. Fritha had found Jivaj and Badal soon enough, the girls joining them and a few of the other hands after the evening meal to talk and flirt over a couple of bottles of their father's apricot liqueur, Fritha wielding that fan as a duellist handled a blade, looks parried and smiles guarded with a skill that would have brought a confirmed rake to his knees. Entertaining though it was to watch her, the men were steadily falling back into Alzhedo as the alcohol flowed, and Imoen was too tired to concentrate on translating just then. Besides, livelier though that company was, it lacked a certain something she had been glad to grow used to, that familiar arm closing about her as she settled next to Valygar, the man sat in a small knot with Minsc and Solaufein playing a listless hand of cards.

'Ah, I'm glad I left when I did, that liqueur has gone straight to my head.'

'Young Fritha did not decide to return as well?' asked Minsc, Boo loose before him, his roving kept in check by the pen of legs, the ranger's frown sent across the camp at another peal of laughter as though he would have liked to corral her friend similarly.

'Nah, not yet,' Imoen chirruped, eager tongue enjoying the lasting sweetness on her lips, 'I can't imagine she'll be long though.'

A lie, but one that served them all well, Minsc going back to his cards, and Imoen watched the round play out in the crook of Valygar's arm, the camp feeling rather empty for their much increased company. Anomen had stayed only long enough to eat dinner before he'd walked off into darkness to 'make his prayers' and he had not returned since. Imoen let her drooping eyes travel to those left in an effort to keep them open. Their own knot was far enough from the campfire to let the cool breeze temper its heat, the warmth as intoxicating as the liqueur she had left. Harjit and the few older men of the caravan were sat on the other side of the fire talking amongst themselves, the merchant noticing her watching to send her a smile and a nod that she returned, the smile lingering as she turned back to her own group, Solaufein laying the winning hand onto the grass before him to universal indifference.

'So, Anomen's still off praying,' Imoen began, drawing a deep breath and letting the heavy smell of woodsmoke rouse her, 'Where's Brieanna?'

'She said something about getting some sleep and has already retired,' answered Solaufein, the man gathering up the cards, though he made no move to deal another round. 'She seemed… displeased.'

'Shar's Moping Face, is _everyone_ in a mood this evening? Well, nearly everyone,' Imoen conceded as Fritha's laughter drifted over to them. Solaufein glanced to the noise with a mild frown.

'The day has been a long one,' Minsc offered, 'and this heat saps strength from the spirit, leaving the soul open to shadow.'

'But not you, eh, Minsc?' Imoen teased, hoping to see that usual broad smile, but the ranger just shrugged, gaze on his knees as he fed Boo a corner of cracker he'd drawn from his pocket.

'No, but there is a sadness which falls over all hearts in the quieter moments of the evening, for those who are far from their homelands. Ah, how I long for the snowfields.'

Imoen sighed; perhaps she'd left Fritha too soon. 'It must be strange being so far from home.'

'Does such not apply to all of us?' asked Solaufein. Imoen shrugged.

'Not in the same way. The Heartlands are much the same as here, only cooler. And as for Candlekeep, it was my home for when I was there, but it's not the sort of place you can miss –I guess I miss the people more than anything. What about you, Sola,' she teased, glad to move on from this so far depressing subject, 'missing the Underdark? I can boss you about for a bit if you're feeling homesick.'

She watched his lips twist in that wry smile.

'I thank you for the offer, but being subject to another's whims is one thing I do _not_ miss. As to your question, there are things I remember fondly, not least the fare. The food here is quite different to what I would have eaten in Ust Natha. Elaborate banquets were but another way to show one's power in that city. I did not pay much attention to the usual delicacies of the table, but there was a dish, _rothjlk,_ made from the liver of the rothé calf which has been pickled the same beast's milk and pressed in the jelly from its hoofs to make a kind of jam…' He trailed off at the revolted silence, 'Well, no doubt it would not be to all tastes.'

'Well,' reasoned Imoen, 'I can't say I'll be asking for it at the next tavern we reach, but I haven't been anywhere yet that didn't have some sort of strange local dish to offer the unsuspecting foreigners.'

'Indeed,' added Valygar, 'the Athkatlan delicacy is fried octopuses.'

The drow frowned. 'Octopuses, you mean…'

'Yeah,' nodded Imoen, clawing a hand and wiggling the fingers like tentacles, 'those things that look like sea-borne Illithid heads.'

'They catch them young and fry them whole,' Valygar elaborated, 'though the cheaper variants merely use chopped octopus or even squid.'

Now it was Solaufein's turn to look repulsed and Imoen laughed brightly.

'See, it's the same everywhere! What do they eat in Rashemen, Minsc?'

'Hmm, many things, though for your talk, I am thinking of _svid_: boiled ram's head, where tongue, jaw and eye all may be eaten, though I have never had a taste for it.'

'The eyes!' cried Imoen, 'Gah! I think I'd rather have that rothé thing.'

A round of chuckling, Solaufein turning a smile upon the girl.

'And what of your home, Imoen?'

'That's easy, black pudding!'

'Black pudding?' repeated the drow, clearly thinking of the small black oozes that populated his former home.

'Yeah, it's a type of sausage made from pig's blood.'

'Pig's _blood_?'

Imoen just nodded at his disgusted look. 'It's very nice.'

'What of you, good Valygar,' laughed Minsc, the man seeming cheered by this talk, 'Do you miss your estate? Young Mab's cooking would be enough to tempt back many men.'

'And whose this _young Mab_?' questioned Imoen promptly. Valygar's arm tightened about her in unspoken reassurance.

'The housekeeper at my estate. And no, Minsc, I cannot say I miss the place, Mab's skills in the kitchen, or not. My home was ever changing as I travelled. Perhaps when I finally return to Athkatla, I will spend enough time there to form a bond with the place that other's speak of, but I do not feel such now.'

'If we return,' muttered Solaufein darkly. Imoen snorted.

'Oh, come on, Sola, don't feel you have to take up the role of the doomsayer just cause Vals in a good mood for once.'

'Forgive me, I am just keenly aware of what we face here. Armies and dragons -not all of us may see this through to the end.'

'Which is why we're going to need something to look forward to,' pressed Imoen, 'What are your plans when we finally leave here?'

'I do not know.'

'When we were young, Fritha used to go on and _on_ about travelling the planes –you could go with her.'

The drow did not share her smile. 'Perhaps.'

'Well,' offered Valygar, 'whatever may come, you will be welcome at my home.'

Solaufein nodded his thanks, but said no more, the silence prompting Minsc to question, 'And what of young Imoen, will you, too, return to Athkatla?'

'Me? I suppose at first, though I've been meaning to get back to the studies I started in Suldanessellar. I might head west; I hear there's this whole _country_ of wizards beyond the Sea of Fallen Stars.'

Valygar was frowning deeply and Minsc didn't look much better.

'Joke, just a joke,' sighed Imoen; she had _definitely_ left Fritha too soon.

'The Red Scourge should not be spoken of in jest, young Imoen, for they bring great evil to this land.'

'Yeah, all right,' she sighed crossly, 'but if I can have a laugh about Bhaal coming down here and spawning me as one of his baseborn progeny, then I can have a laugh about anyone. Ah, I might call it a night,' she continued, more than done with their megrims. 'Sleep well, you lot.'

She disengaged herself from Valygar, _slightly_ more sharply than she had intended, making to her feet and surprised to find the man following suit, though she did not wait for him, the girl only a few paces from her tent when he caught her.

'You go to sleep in with Brieanna?'

'No, Vals, I thought I'd go and kip in with Harjit's horses. Course, I'm in with Brieanna, where else would I be?'

Valygar frowned, a usual enough gesture from him, though even for that he seemed uncharacteristically flustered, the man glancing to her only to look away again, seemingly very interested in the fire they had just left.

'I merely wondered if you would like to share a tent with me tonight. Minsc can sleep in with Anomen, when the man returns.'

Imoen felt the grin tug, her stomach unreasonably fluttery considering how they'd spent the previous evening.

'Yeah, all right, I'd like that.'

Valygar was smiling once more, any reply cut off by another peal of laughter behind them, Jivaj up and topping up cups as Badal fetched out his flute, one of the other men already on his feet and offering to retrieve Fritha's lute case, the girl catching her eye to call across to them.

'Imoen, Valygar, come join us.'

Imoen turned back to Valygar with a smile, reaching out to give his sleeve an encouraging tug towards his tent. For all her friend's unspoken promises of an evening spent in laughter, just then, there was nowhere else she wished to be.

xxx

'It looks like… a cloud.'

Fritha drew a terse breath, her shoulders aching from where they were pressing into the hard, cold tiles. Pain –she may as well get used to it considering the hangover she was going to wake up to.

'Sarevok, I've _told_ you, this isn't how you play the game. You have to use your imagination. Now tell me what you see.'

'This is pointless,' snapped the body next to her. Fritha ignored him.

'It is not pointless. You have to say what you think they look like –other than _clouds_. It provides a window into your mind.'

'And _why_ would you wish that?'

'Because I am _trying_ to see how far the Essence influences us. Would all Bhaalspawn see similar things? We both have, or in your case had, much of the blood within us. Does it influence our outlook? I want to know. Look there,' she cried, hand thrown up to the churning green tempest far above them, 'that one looks like a dragon-' a pause as wings were whipped into ears, 'or maybe a rabbit. Your turn.'

Sarevok sighed deeply, pointing to a large cloud front sweeping in from the west, boiling in the changing pressures like lumpy porridge. 'There. That one looks like a field of slaughtered Bhaalspawn with me standing over it in victory awaiting to ascend my father's throne.'

Fritha snorted 'Very funny; you know you wouldn't have made a half bad god of Murder. Shame you hadn't the power to take the Throne.'

The man was bolt upright in a heartbeat, the shelter he had provided gone and the wind was suddenly tearing at them both.

'I would rather lack the power than the will! You would waste all the Fates have seen to gift you!'

Fritha just smiled, letting fingernails pointedly tap tiles next to her and, with a disgruntled snort, he lay back down.

'We'll be arriving in Amkethran in a few days.'

'Amkethran -the place where that interfering witch-'

'I think she prefers Melissan.'

'-is trying to gather the remaining Bhaalspawn.' Fritha could hear the narrowed eyes. 'Do not trust her, sister; no one embroils themselves with the Children of the Curse without another motive.'

Fritha sighed her frustrations to the sky. 'Yes, but what is it? She says she wishes to avoid Bhaal's resurrection, but is that all? Not wanting to sound awful, but He's hardly likely to have singled some noblewomen out for His ire even if He came back. Why does she care?'

'And you do not believe she is a Bhaalspawn?'

'She says not and I didn't sense that in her when we met.'

Sarevok rumbled a bitter laugh. 'Perhaps she just wants to _help_.'

'But why?' continued Fritha, expecting no revelation even as she pressed the question, 'What link does she have to this mess that would make her want to try and resolve it? Or did she just wake up one day and suddenly decide, "I know, I'm going to help the Children and save Tethyr". Perhaps this just shows how far I've fallen, but no one is _that_ altruistic.'

'Not even _you_, sister?'

Fritha laughed. 'Especially not me. You were right before. I was dragging myself to the Throne and how I resented every step. But not now; the Throne is my goal and nothing will stop me. And yes, perhaps I'll die at the taking or even before, but you were right about that, too. Everyone dies, and this way I won't suffer some ignoble end from sickness or age. I will die trying to help a lot of people –there are worse ways to go. Don't get me wrong, I'd much rather just carry on as I am, and I _really_ don't want to become Bhaal, but the slim chance I won't is worth the struggle, and I could do much good as a god: spare the other Children, help my friends. If have to fight for anything, I will fight for that.'

A pause between them, Sarevok's voice finally coming quiet and free from the contempt she had anticipated.

'I do not know if it will get you there, sister, but for one such as you… I do not imagine you could aim for higher.'

Fritha just smiled, gaze back to the sky. 'Ooo look, that one looks like a butterfly!'

xxx

The breeze was hot and sultry, though nothing with which he was completely unfamiliar, those days that found them in the lowlands of Amn during high summer much the same. The _breath of the storm,_ Sangeeta had called it, and Valygar scanned the horizon, hardly believing that rain clouds were not gathering when such moisture hung in the air to smother breath and thought. But the sky was that same glaring blue it had been since they had left Indraviat, and it seemed more than he was tired of it by the way the others trudged after the caravan, Imoen a few paces behind him with Solaufein, while Minsc walked at Brieanna's side at their rear, the warrior talking to her with his usual animation despite the heat, Valygar finding camaraderie in Anomen's company, both of them silent as they considered their own thoughts.

It had been pleasant sharing a tent with Imoen, nicer, in fact, that sharing a bed, cramped together in the shared heat of their union. He preferred space about him when he slept, but it was pleasing all the same, feeling that small presence curled at his back, only to wake to enjoy a few moments together in the morning's peace, before they were forced to rise and face the day. But for all that, their talks of magic still gnawed at him, as did his difficulty marrying up the person Imoen was and the powers she held so carelessly at her command. He had told her he trusted her, and he did, but it did not assuage his own fears, not completely, the thoughts leaving him feeling strangely guilty, as though even dwelling on such worries meant he was playing the girl false.

At his side, Anomen breathed a weary sigh, drawing a sleeve across his brow.

'This heat feels endless –I know the summers were warm in Amn, but it was not like this, every day scorched under the same baking sun.'

Valygar understood his discomfort, heavy leathers pressing the slick tunic to his back, though he tried to keep his mind from it.

'I wonder if the weather is this fine back home –Nentat, our seneschal, was hoping for a good crop of almonds from the southern holding this year.'

'Indeed,' sighed Anomen, 'I suppose I should consider the same. I had hoped for a decent crop from the vineyard this year. Last year the season was too wet, though it hardly mattered then –as far as I can tell, my father has been its only client for quite some time.'

'A vineyard? I imagine such would make you very popular with some.'

Valygar had meant it in jest, something to divert him, but Anomen merely frowned at the curled form in the back of the wagon a few paces before them.

Fritha had spent her evening with Harjit's sons, helping to lighten their cargo by a couple of bottles of liqueur, and the was girl suffering for it today, a mere hour after attempting to continue with the caravan on foot finding her nestled upon a bed of cloaks in the back of the lead wagon, hat over her face and sleeping her hangover away.

Anomen snorted. 'May she enjoy such while she can -she will be bowed under her pack again soon enough.'

Something the knight was apparently looking forward to considering the relish with which he announced her pending toil, another scowl thrown to the cart for good measure. Fritha sighed in her sleep, oblivious to all.

'So, you have placed your estate under a seneschal to manage the venture?' continued Valygar.

'No, but the vineyard itself is run by Master Kayan, a good man who has long been in our service and lives there with his family. I recall I would sometimes play with his son, Dahrul, when we spent the summers there, before the boy left for the army -he was a few years older than me. It has been years since I have seen any of them…' Anomen's frown had taken on a thoughtful air, the man lost a moment in the memories before a sigh brought him back. 'Perhaps I will seek out Llewellyn on my return to Amkethran –he was seneschal for my father and the reason, I suspect, there was anything of the estate still left to inherit. Or perhaps I can take up the task myself.'

'_You_ would run your estate?' confirmed Valygar, 'I would have thought the demands of life within the Order would make such an impossibility.'

Anomen cleared his throat, turning to take up his flask. 'Perhaps… though I understand a few of the lords manage to find the time for both.'

Valygar merely nodded, wondering if he would ever feel ready to settle in that steady life, despite his promise to himself. 'It is a strange thing to think on, is it not? Others see the trappings of estate and title as a blessing, but it is grave responsibility, as well. All the work of those who came before now rests with you, to build upon what they begun -or lead it to its ruin.'

The knight snorted. 'I am merely thankful there was any of it left after my father's _guiding hand_.'

'Indeed,' Valygar agreed, hoping to move on from this sore subject, 'And something to consider in our future plans. We will be arrived at the desert in another day- then we have but two day's travel east to Amkethran.'

'And then what?' the knight sighed, 'We merely fight whomever this Melissan directs us? And how are we to find this Abagizal?'

Valygar was surprised. 'You have doubts as to our course?'

'No, no,' Anomen dismissed tiredly, 'but I merely wish we knew more in this than what we are told by one self-proclaimed _guardian_. I feel blind; we have had contact with both the Silver Chalice and Harpers, yet no one seems to know anything outside of scaremongering and rumours. I do not like marching into battle with the feeling another army could be amassing unseen at our backs.'

'It is a concern, but we can only fight the battles presented to us. Take heart; many other groups are involved and wary, as you say –if other dangers should arise, we will not be alone to tackle- ah!'

His shout made more than just Anomen whirl to him, though Valygar already knew his attacker by her battle cry.

'Vals!'

He tried to turn in her embrace, Imoen dancing back after a quick squeeze to rejoin Solaufein, the drow stood just behind her in passive contrast.

'And why am I being so accosted?'

The girl grinned, verdant eyes sparkling in the way that never failed to make him smile. 'Well, I was just chatting with Sola here, and he seemed to think you both looked a bit serious, so thought to come and sort that out –I don't want you sat in a mard all evening.'

'I would not dare,' he chuckled, leaning down to oblige her raised face with a kiss, and feeling strangely liberated as he realised he did not care whether those about them saw or not.

'It would seem your efforts have raised the spirits of more than just the ranger, Imoen,' Solaufein offered with a smile, nodding to the back of the wagon where Fritha was now sat, scrubbing at her face and stretching lithely, Imoen bounding over to close the few paces between them. 'Fritha! Feeling better?'

'Yes, much-' she faltered, hiding the yawn behind her hat's brim.

Imoen laughed, nodding to the wagon that juddered and swayed over the uneven road. 'I'm surprised you could even sleep in there.'

'This morning I could have fallen asleep on a clothes line.'

'What time did you get to bed?'

Fritha pulled a face, clearly at a loss. 'Er…'

'You arrived in our tent just after I came off the second watch,' provided Solaufein. Fritha nodded.

'A little after midnight then.'

Valygar felt the smile threaten –Imoen was a bad influence on him.

'And what were you doing so late into the night?'

Fritha's grin was unmistakable. 'Practising my Alzhedo.'

'Indeed,' agreed Solaufein, 'you wouldn't speak a word of anything else when you came to bed –though you apparently had _much_ to tell me.'

Laughter, Fritha flushing marvellously and pretending to wear a pout even as she giggled along with them, the girl leaning forward to catch up the end of the long white tress that hung over the drow's shoulder and lightly tickled his face in playful admonishment.

'Practise makes perfect, Solaufein _bhai_.'

'Practise?' cried Imoen, 'I know one thing that doesn't need any practise –where did you learn to _flirt_ like that!'

Fritha threw back her head for a warm swell of delighted laughter. Imoen had a point.

'Nowhere –I can only assume it is natural talent.' Fritha stretched again, removing the wooden pins to shake out her hair. 'Gods, I'm thirsty. I emptied my flask at dawn.' She mimed feverishly gulping something back and laughed.

'Here,' came Anomen next to him, thrusting his flask out at her with a frown, but the girl waved a hand before her in prompt refusal.

'No, no, I know our water is rationed and you're only offering it to me so you have more rights to your disapproval –I would rather suffer by my own hand, than yours.'

Anomen coloured, Valygar feeling the tension over them, though the knight just reined back his temper to a cool rebuke.

'Then I can only hope this experience will impart to you the folly of such _excesses_.'

Fritha shrugged, setting her hat neatly on her heat. 'Indulgence brings its losses, but nothing comes from abstinence either.'

'Perhaps you can just attempt a little temperance, then,' Valygar offered mildly to their escalating argument. The girl grinned.

'I will try, Valygar, but I can make you no promises.'

'_Ail, puran a deevat!_'

All heads whipped to the shout, the wagon they were walking behind coming to a halt, those behind them following suit.

'What did he say?' pressed Imoen. Valygar had understood, though he left Anomen to answer her, the ranger taking a step to the edge of the wagon and down the road he could see them, a dozen horses and their lightly armoured riders, likely the same group who had left the tracks he had found the day before, one bearing a familiar blue and silver standard.

'It is a company from the Silver Chalice.'

Anomen looked suddenly stiff, Fritha the same as her gaze fell on Solaufein, clearly recalling what the knight had recounted to them in more detail the other morning; of the Bhaalspawn Dragon-Mistress and her army of barbarians and _drow_.

'Solaufein, up here,' Fritha urged, dropping down to make room for him, the drow springing up into the wagon at her word to conceal himself in amongst the crates and sacks, while the rest of them moved slowly to the side of the wagon for a better view.

'What is happening?' muttered Minsc, he and Brieanna ambling over to join them. Imoen shrugged.

'Nothing, we hope.'

At the front of the wagon, Harjit had fixed a welcoming smile upon his face, last instructions muttered to the youths at his side, though he seemed to relax somewhat as the knights drew up their horses before him, the lead man wearing an open-faced helm which revealed a young, amiable face of a similar countenance to the merchant's own sons.

'_Namaste_ and good day, friends, might we inquire as to your destination?'

'Why, indeed,' Harjit called back with well-rehearsed cheer, 'we are bound to Calimport –is there some trouble we should know of on the road ahead?'

'No, and we are intending to keep it so. There are rumours circulating that a number of Bhaalspawn are heading south, possibly to join an army amassing somewhere in the Calim Desert. Those we have already detained have denied this, but we are charged with patrolling the roads for more.'

'Well, as you can see, we are but simple merchants with the cargo to prove our undertaking.'

'Understood,' the knight confirmed, a nod sent to their ragtag grouping, 'And these with you?'

'They?' the merchant answered, turning back in his seat only to pause. Fritha was staring at him, her gaze black and resolute. Harjit returned to the knight with an easy smile. 'Why, we hired them as guards back in Indraviat –for all the good they would do, hanging back there gossiping like weavers! By Waukeen, I will crop your pay if I must tell you again – spread out along the caravan!'

'Aye, you heard the man,' sighed Fritha, shooing at them as Harjit and the knight made their farewells, and the caravan was once more rumbling southward as the knight continued north, Fritha quickening her pace to their head, his younger son, Jivaj, glancing down at her with an eager smile, though she was not there for him.

'Thank you for that, Harjit.'

The merchant accepted her gratitude with a broad smile. 'No matter, no matter –these northerners do not understand of what they speak. The Calim Desert is a desolate mistress who kills all but the most wary. An army of men amassing within –ha! She would not sustain an army of sand rats! Besides, I would hardly allow them to take my guards, would I?' he chuckled, sending a friendly wink to Imoen. Fritha merely snorted.

'There is no army of Bhaalspawn to the south and even if there were, merchants would not be their target.'

Harjit nodded, raising his hand to forestall any more. 'Indeed, but best we speak of this no further. I am skilled enough with falsehoods, but sometimes it is better to truly know nothing.'

They rolled on for a few more miles, Fritha walking with them for the last hour or so, though Anomen noticed she did not engage him directly, the girl between Imoen and the drow as they considered where these unlucky Bhaalspawn were being detained. All seemed to have more faith in the Silver Chalice, at least, were treating them better than Tethyran army had seen fit, such talk holding them until the dusk drew in and the caravans grouped on the plains at the road's edge to prepare camp for the night.

Anomen sank to his knees, pitching his tent a little way from the bustle of the wagons and glad of the brief solitude, the man taking his frustrations out on the tent pegs as he hammered them into the dry ground. So it was for _this_ he had come south, for _this_ he had been expelled from the Order: nights spent watching her flirt with seemingly anyone who was willing, and days suffering her unrepentant cheek. Something made all the worse by those few moments they would find alone together, where they would fall into the easy camaraderie they had once used to enjoy, and it was almost as though nothing had changed between them. Anomen sighed, trying to remind himself he had followed them there because he had believed it was where he was needed. And he still believed that, it was merely –did she have to make everything so _hard? _

'Valygar, have you seen Solaufein?'

Oh, how the Fates _mocked_ him.

'Ah,' Fritha faltered as Anomen's frowning visage appeared over the canvas peak, 'I was looking for- Isn't this Valygar's tent?'

'_No_,' Anomen huffed, crouched and back to his hammering, '–not that you were about to mark the change last night, but he shares a tent with Imoen now. I share with Minsc, though Brieanna has taken- _Besheba's Horns!_'

'Anomen, be careful!' she cried, suddenly dropped to his side, her handkerchief unfurled and clamped over his bloody fingers. Anomen threw down the offending mallet with force enough to divot the earth beside him.

'It's fine…' he snapped, wanting to snatch his hand back, but he just couldn't bear to, the girl gently cleaning the blood away to find the wound.

'Look, you've taken the skin from your knuckle. You need to take more care with yourself, Anomen; we have enough threats from other quarters without us being a danger to ourselves. Well,' she sighed, easing herself back onto her haunches, her handkerchief left with him, tied loosely about his hand, 'I'd best get back to it. I'm supposed to be helping Solaufein and Brieanna collect brush for the fires. It might be hot down here in the daytime, but it surely makes up for it once the sun sets.'

'Indeed,' Anomen agreed coolly, attention returned to the pegs, 'a man could get tired of these brisk changes in temperature.'

He expected an embarrassed laugh or even a frown, but the girl just sighed and he glanced back to find her staring at him with an almost wistful look.

'So subtle… Anomen, you are so different from the brash young man I first met. I hope you can find someone who appreciates the change as much as I.'

Anomen swallowed, forcing the words that would bring an end to this uncertainty.

'I do not want someone, I want you.'

Her throat bobbed, face taking on a painfully pitying look.

'But I don't want you… Anomen!' she cried, her handkerchief torn from his hand.

'No, do not speak!'

'Anomen, I'm sorry,' she pressed, stumbling to her feet as he rose too, 'but I thought I had been clear. I asked you when you first arrived -you _swore_ you weren't here because of me!'

'You knew I was lying!'

'That's not the point! Anomen, you are my friend-'

'Do not you _dare!_' he roared, the Fritha dancing back at his fury as though frightened he would strike her. 'Do not you dare try to excuse what is between as merely my misconstruing your overtures of _friendship!_ When I first rejoined this group, I swore I would put all between us aside. Even as I tore myself apart with worry for you in that camp, I remained firm that my relation to you would remain one of protector. But then on that morning after you returned to us, and we kissed-'

_'You _kissed _me!_' she cried, 'What was I suppose to do? Slap your face and cry _go to!_'

'No, but you could have made it clear afterwards, if you had wished it. But you did not –You let me believe there was some chance!'

'You are just as bad! You knew what it meant to come down here, what you were risking –you said you came for duty and now you're getting all angry because you came because of a regard that isn't returned!'

'Not returned?' he gasped, staggering back, words leaving him reeling. 'Even _you_ are not so cruel as to pretend you did not realise what you were doing: taking pleasure in my attentions one moment, only to shy from me the next! I will stand for this no longer!' He took a stride towards her, meaning to take her shoulders, though she scooted back another step. 'Tell me now, Fritha, where is your heart?'

'Anomen,' she pleaded, her tone telling him all he needed, anger and frustrations all ebbed away to that churning hollow emptiness, the girl continuing even as he turned from her.

'Anomen, I care for you as my friend, but any more… Things are different now. We are different-'

'No, no more,' he cut in quietly, 'I cannot tell the lies from the truths anymore.'

And Fritha just stood watching as his form was swallowed by the dusk, too stunned even to cry, the numbness stirred by that presence behind her.

'You heard?'

She glanced back in time to see the brisk nod, Solaufein's face stony mask.

'Solaufein, could you-?'

'I am going,' he snapped, already stalking past her. 'I hope your secret is worth the pain it is causing.'

'Do not you judge me!' she yelled after him, the man whipping back with an anger she had never before seen directed at her.

'Why, Fritha? Because of what will come? Any one of us could die getting there!'

'Yes, but I'm going to!'

'Yes, you are, and when are you going to face it?'

'I have!'

'No,' he pressed, manner suddenly quiet once more as he made a step back towards her, 'you have not. And you will not, not until you have told the others and watched their faces fall in that way you dread. I must go,' he cut in, before she could choke out any reply, the man marching off in the direction Anomen had stormed, Fritha left alone in the twilight.

So she had done it; he had been told. Suddenly, it was too much even to hold her head up, her gaze falling on the peak of canvas next to her, half pegged out, her bloody handkerchief discarded before it. Slowly, she stooped for the mallet.

**…**

It did not take any time to find him, eyes that saw better in the half-light than the blazing glare of noon easily catching on that hunched figure, sat cross-legged within the jungle of long grass and staring west, where a sliver of dying sunlight still prevail against the night.

'Anomen?'

The man did not look round, his voice hoarse and strangely calm. 'Solaufein -there is some problem?'

'No… I merely wished to-'

Anomen cut him off. 'Do not bother -I know she sent you. Now you are going to assure me she did not mean it, that she just needs time… Erick was right, I should never- No,' he sighed, head dropped to his hand, 'I do not believe that. My place is still here, whatever has happened. I just…'

Solaufein nodded, more to himself than for the knight's benefit, Anomen's back still to him even as he spoke.

'It is hard, holding love for a creature which is no longer there, at least not in a form you recognise. When Phaere was first returned after she had been taken to the temple, I hoped beyond all reason she had managed to resist them. That this woman before me who stalked and sneered was but a façade, a trick for the benefit of Matron and Handmaiden both. That she was but waiting for their gaze to shift from her and then would reveal herself to me. When Phaere summoned me to her chambers a tenday or so afterwards, I was wary, such caution bred in bone after so long, but even then that ember of hope still clung to life.'

Anomen had turned where he was sat, face etched with a dull misery. 'What happened?'

For an instant, Solaufein was back in that chamber, the woman's back to him as she waited for his departure, their meeting no more than a careless relaying of orders and swift dismissal, as though he did not even mean enough to torment.

'It was _extinguished_. And though it was difficult, it was better to be over like that, than such hopes drawn out indefinitely, twisting slowly to rancour.'

'_She_ draws it out,' Anomen muttered, bitterness lost to a long sigh. 'At first I thought it a game, but I wonder now if she does not just forget herself, falling back into what we once shared.'

Solaufein could make no comment to this, the silence holding them a moment and when Anomen spoke again, his voice was trembling.

'She confides in you, Solaufein – do you believe she truly feels nothing for me?'

That the man was asking him, the once-suspected rival, showed the depth of his desperation. Solaufein sighed; it would be too cruel to lie to him, though he doubted the truth would serve the man any better.

'I believe that if Fritha has told you to go, then whatever either of you may feel, it is best you heed her. Even now, your disappointment turns to hatred. Let it die, Anomen.'

The knight turned back to the golden west. 'I plan to make my prayers.'

'I will wait if I may

The man said nothing, and Solaufein sensed he really did not care either way, the drow sinking down in the grass behind him to sit in shared silence, and they remained thus until all the sky was darkness.

The camp was set up by the time they returned, all gathered before tents and wagons, two small fires crackling cheerfully, a blackened iron pot bubbling over one. Fritha was already sat with Jivaj and a few of the other hands, and making merry by all appearances, though his ears could pick up the strained falsity in her laughter. Her smile faltered as she noticed them, Solaufein catching her eye before Jivaj was pressing again for her attentions, and she turned away once more.


	27. The Ties of the Past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Ties of the Past**

The sun was hot, though the breeze held a cool weight that promised rains to come. For once Jaheira was glad of the arid conditions, a dried up hollow that would likely return to being a small watering hole once the rains came, made for a good place to hide, any dip on those flat plains enough to conceal them from the surrounding farms and highways as they closed upon Marmont. Jaheira had brought them to a halt about an hour south of the town, the company gathered upon the cracked clay bed and mostly grouped under three scrubby acacia trees for what little shade they could come by, the long grass about them thrumming with an unseen orchestra of crickets.

The first day of Flamerule, mid-point of the year for those who followed the calendar rather than the sun and seasons, and Jaheira's thoughts lingered, as they often did lately, on the Grove she was both dreading and longing to see again. It was a strange day, halfway between the Midsummer yet to come, and the summer solstice that had passed her by that year with only a few simple prayers upon the road to mark it. But at the Grove there would have been something to celebrate the day – perhaps a gathering of those druids near enough to come, a chance to share news and plans for the Midsummer that was but a fortnight hence. She let her mind dally over the memories while the breeze played with her hair, thinking on the people and the life she had left, driven out into a world by her desire to see it bettered –and for good or ill, none could say she had not lived by her conviction.

It was close enough to high sun to take a meal, those about her gradually settling in a rough circle to rummage through packs for rations and water. Jaheira allowed herself a smile as she sat as well, feeling strangely warmed to them all after so short a time. There were more than a few pink faces in the group –she had handed out the last of her sun balm that morning, though it had done little for fairer of them- Godith and Arianne laughing lightly as they examined their glowing cheeks in the shine of Morgain's blade.

'I look like a boiled lobster.'

'At least your skin is clear –I've so many freckles now I look like been splattered by a passing cart.'

Godith laughed. 'You don't look so bad, Ari. And they'll fade again once you're out of the sun.'

'Really,' assured Morgain, 'you both look to be as fine as any maid I have ever seen.'

'Oh, aye? Seems the sun may be affecting more than just our skin,' quipped Arianne, tapping the side of her head for good measure. Morgain treated them to a deep, measured laugh –such matters were certainly no worry for him, his bared torso lean and swarthy, a mane of thick dreadlocks just brushing his shoulders to give him the air of some great, smiling lion.

'What are you three laughing at?' trilled another behind them. Arianne's smile vanished in an instant, the girl turning her back quite deliberately on the newly arrived Jeollé and pulling at Godith's elbow to encourage her to the same.

'Nothing _you_ need concern yourself with.'

Jeollé took the hint. It had not taken long for the knowledge of her betrayal to be circulated and confirmed about their group, and since they had left the boat, many had no time for their _collaborator_. Jaheira watched the girl move glumly off again to take a seat near to the only other of their company who was usually alone, Gideon hunched over and sharpening the dagger he'd acquired with long, measured strokes, deep set eyes glowering at the world from under that thick, black shock of hair. Barely a nod as he received a hunk of cheese from Seph, the gangly man returning to his own knot to share the rest -he, Lucian and Gregor: three Tethyrans bonded over their skills with the bow.

'Now, whose flasks have we here?' called Jovian blithely, the tall man dropping back into the hollow behind her, deep brown arms slung with a half-dozen swinging flasks, his fellow Amnian, Tebit, and the elf, Leandril, following him down the bank, similarly laden.

'You found some water then,' confirmed Godith, tripping over to collect her and Morgain's flasks. Tebit nodded.

'Well, it was all looking pretty grim, until our elf here _attuned_ himself and found us a shepherd's catch pool.'

'I nearly fell in,' the elf corrected dryly. 'I could have broken my neck.'

Jovian ignored him. 'Yeah, good job he was with us, or we'd have had a very thirsty day of it.'

Leandril rolled his eyes, tossing his long blond fringe back from his face. 'As I keep telling you, I am from Riatavin – I had never even left the city until I joined Melissan.'

But Tebit was shaking his head, grinning as he gave the shorter man a hearty clap on the back. 'Nah, these things are in the blood. You mark my words, just another tenday out in the wilds and you'll be skipping through the grasslands and climbing trees, spouting on about the _glory of nature_.'

The elf sighed, though he seemed to take their teasing in good humour, Jovain's attention already moved on to the woman stood across the hollow from him and doling out the bread that had been stored in her pack, her short flaxen hair held back from her face by a folded blue scarf that hid the slight point to her ears. 'Here, Chell, toss us some of that.'

She straightened to send a flatbread winging across the circle. 'Right, I've two left now. Here, Rowin, one for you and Garth. And… You want any, guard?' she called, though she put much less contempt on the word than others who used it, Enric glancing up from where he had been treating the huge puss-filled blister that covered Candis's heel, the man's flushed face screwed up as he awaited the lance.

'Ah, no, thank you, Chell.'

'You want it, Candis?'

'_No!_ Will you just get on and do my bloody foot!'

Enric adjusted his spectacles and returned to his impatient patient.

'Here, I'll have it,' offered Etien, the stocky Tethyran making no move to hide the half he had already received from Gregor. Chell barked a brisk laugh.

'You're not having it, you greedy arse! Here, Bellid,' she continued, throwing the round to the hulking figure sat to her left, the man's shoulders about as wide as she was tall, 'you can have it- big lad like you needs to eat more.'

He chuckled mildly, tearing it in two to offer half back to the woman. 'You sound like my mother.'

'I wish she sounded like mine,' muttered Kuri, the Turmian stood holding Gitali's halter while another of the locals, Amos ,crouched beneath gently milking the beast. '_Kuri, you eat like a ravening pig! I pity your wife –she will never leave the kitchen!_'

'Here, petal, that's as much as she'll be giving today,' Amos sighed, finally heaving the half-filled pail up to Serenda for the girl to make the round of waiting cups, her smile bright on her plump, tanned face. Once a farmer and a milkmaid, respectively, the pair were a gentle reminder that not all Bhaalspawn found their living by the blade.

'Ah, my Gitali, you're as bountiful as you are beautiful,' Kuri sighed, giving the cow a friendly pat, the man glancing up as Eruna entered the circle with Athic. 'Ah, fair Eruna, there's room for you over here.'

The girl quirked him a wry smile, sitting pointed down at Athic's side. 'I would like nothing more, _dear_ Kuri, but I fear your wife there may get jealous.'

He laughed loudly, throwing an arm about the beast's thick neck. 'Damn… At least I still have you, eh, Gitali?'

The cow watched him a moment with serene brown eyes and bowed to the grass once more.

'Looks like the honeymoon is finally over for those two,' laughed Tegran, glancing up from where he was spreading Jaheira's balm thickly over his raw arms –Enric had warned him the new skin would be more sensitive to the sun and he was taking every precaution.

'Aye, and don't I know it,' sighed Kuri, the man half-bent to entreat his new bride, 'Don't you remember, Gitali, when we would dance until the dawn, our hearts filled with love and starlight?'

Chell crinkled her long nose and took a healthy bite of dried sausage. 'Careful, Kuri, she has four stomachs –that's a lot of sick.'

Jaheira hid her snort in a cough, waiting for their laughter to fade and the rest of them to find their seats, a few moments drifting by in silence as all took the simple pleasure of a meal, before she finally rose her voice to the business that had brought them there.

'As you are likely aware, the town of Marmont is but an hour or so north of here.'

'Ah, Marmont,' sighed Etien deeply, 'I know it well.'

'You are from here?' asked Jaheira –local knowledge made for a useful ally, even if it was merely an idea of who to barter with at the market square. The man nodded mildly, flask paused halfway to his mouth.

'Aye, I worked as a guard at the Marked Dice, an inn come gambling hall over on the Westside -at least till the owner shopped me into the guards. That I could go back now…'

His wistful smile was quite at odds with his narrowed eyes. Jaheira enjoyed a change of heart.

'Right, well, it will not be wise for all but a couple of us to enter the town –word of the escape will have reached this far north by now and all strangers will be under suspicion.'

'So you're just going to go in for supplies and then we're off again?' confirmed young Rowin. Jaheira titled her head in an evasive half-nod.

'In a way… The next leg of our journey depends upon the welcome I receive here. I have allies within the town, and since the rest of our journey takes us along the River Ith, I plan to try to acquire a boat.'

'You've allies here, eh?' rumbled Gideon, 'What kind of _allies?_'

Jaheira steeled herself for the backlash. 'The Harpers.'

'Harpers?' cried Lucian, 'You're member of the _Harpers?_'

'Yes… at least, _some_ among them still see it as such.'

Jaheira had thought this revelation would merely make them more wary, but to her surprise, many about her were smiling, the round of muttering holding an air of optimism she had long ago ceased to feel when speaking of her brethren. The realisation landed with a dull thud in her chest, pressing there a moment, to be swallowed up by other worries. Across the circle, Kuri was looking cautiously confident. 'Well, the Harpers, is it? I know they ain't too popular here in Tethyr, but they're all right, aren't they? I mean, they work for good and the like.'

'Do you really think they'll help us?' asked Godith.

Jaheira shifted uncomfortably –somehow their distrust was easier than this guileless hope. 'I do not know. The Harpers _do_ work for the good of Faerûn,' she felt obliged to establish, 'but some are worried on the impact the Children will have on this land. My past alliances have been a source of conflict with some of my brothers.'

'You're talking about the girl, ain't you?' said Amos gruffly, 'The one your lot showed up to _save_.'

A round of grim looks. Fritha's reputation within the survivors ranged from awe to abject fear; if _they_ were Bhaalspawn, _she_ was something else entirely.

'Not wanting to cause trouble,' the man continued, in that phrase that always guaranteed the opposite, 'but how'd someone like her even get captured in the first place?'

Lucien was frowning. 'What are you getting at, Amos?'

'Nothing, I'm just curious. The girl's a powerful Bhaalspawn, as strong as that Yaga Shura I'd say. What if this all isn't part of some plan to get rid of us –sending us off to some haven, when all we'll find is a quick death.'

'Freya wasn't like that!' countered Jeollé. Arianne snorted.

'Her name's _Fritha_, and you've a nerve to even speak of her after what you pulled. Deals with the guards, I ask you!'

'Now, Amos,' reasoned Bellid in that quiet way of his, 'if they'd have wanted to kill us they could have done so after those dragons left.'

'That still doesn't explain how she got captured,' agreed Garth, through a mouthful of bread.

Jaheira sighed inwardly –it was time to step in. 'Fritha allowed herself to be taken. We heard of the camp in Marmont –she wanted to see the people there freed.'

More than a few about the circle looked sceptical –Amos gave them a voice.

'She wanted to rescue a load of people she'd never met?'

'It is true,' confirmed another, Jaheira surprised to see Enric adding to her assurances. 'Fritha threatened to torture the location of the camp from me when I was captured after my patrol lay an ambush for them-'

'I like her more and more,' laughed Chell.

'Later she allowed herself to be caught by my company and taken to the camp, so Jaheira and the rest of her group could track her.'

'All to save some Bhaalspawn any one else of her power would be happy to see dead?' Amos snorted. Jaheira shook her head; with attitudes like his, it seemed inevitable the Children would wipe each other out.

'Fritha believes if the Children are saved, then Bhaal cannot return –she works as much for herself, as you.'

This more selfish slant seemed to lend an air of believability to the thing, Kuri piping up to convince those few still with doubts.

'Come on, you all know the girl was with me trying to escape that place –that's why she was up before the block. We can trust Fritha, and we can trust Jaheira, too, no question.'

'He's right,' said Gideon, in an unexpected show of support, the man glaring about him from under thick brows, just daring anyone to say different. No one did.

'Good,' nodded Jaheira, taking advantage of the silence, 'we are decided, then. I will enter Marmont with Athic, collect the horses we left in the town and restock our supplies. Then Athic will return here, while I contact a friend of mine within the Harpers. Even if he refuses to help, he will not cause trouble for us, and upon my return we can plan the next stage of our journey, be it by boat or by foot.'

Nodding about her, and Jaheira rose, leaving them to their meal and talk that seemed more subdued than before, Athic throwing the last few things into his pack as Eruna moved to join her at the clearing's edge.

'How long do you think you will be?'

'About four hours or so -though I imagine Athic will be back much sooner.' Jaheira straightened to heave her pack on to her shoulder, her gaze drifting about that large circle of bodies to catch on the bespectacled figure sat mildly in amongst them; a hound amongst wolves. 'Eruna, keep an eye on Enric while we are gone. If he makes an attempt to leave the camp, you know what to do.'

The girl looked aghast. 'You don't think-'

'This is not about what I do or do not suspect. But the precaution must be made.'

'Are we ready for off?' rumbled Athic behind them, a hand giving Eruna's very messy braid a friendly tug. 'I'll pick you up something nice in town.'

The girl smiled, a lot of worry behind those hazel eyes. 'Just come back safe, Athic.'

'Aye, you be careful, too, flower.'

**…**

Jaheira avoided eye contact, but kept her head high; the last thing she wished was to look like she was trying to go beneath notice, the press of people and carts moving slowly through the gates and kept constantly on the move by the guards. A small company of six or so watchmen were arranged about the gateway noting all who entered, though they made no move to halt anyone and, the druid wondered if it was not all just for appearance's sake, a show to calm a worried populous.

Apparently, they looked enough like the usual mercenaries to be waved through with the clatters of wagons and merchants eager to make a coin in the town. The talk of war might have reached there, but the threat did not boil on the horizon as it did in the south and about the capital it was business as usual, albeit it a business watched over by a newly berthed garrison. Jaheira drew a breath, trying to quell the heavy dread that was grinding low in her stomach as they passed under the gate and she felt the packed earth beneath her boots become cobbles, the high stone walls for an instant looming even higher, hemming her in into that chaotic press, and she was suddenly glad of the large presence beside her, Athic unruffled and amiable as he elbowed his way through the crowds.

'Excuse me- sorry there, flower –here, mind yourself, mate. Gods, look at this place,' he muttered, nodding to another group of guards gathered at the busy shrine to Shaundakul that held a prime location just before the gates, 'you'd think the Bhaalspawn army was only a day behind us.'

'Marmont is a wealthy town – its citizens will demand protection, even at the cost of the farm holdings that surround it.'

They walked on, the breeze of the plains lost in the sheltered city and Jaheira felt almost suffocated by the muggy heat. The press of the gates was a few streets behind them now, though the wide avenues were still busy with guards and citizens both, the inn they had once stayed at emerging from the curve of the street.

'With Tymora's Grace, they will not have sold our horses on yet. Once we settle the bill, you can head to the market and I will go straight over to the Oyster and Pearl and contact Temas. I do not wish to be here a moment longer than we must.'

'Aye, well that-'

A large arm across her chest halted her dead, those walking behind cursing loudly, though Athic ignored them, sidling causally to stand in the shade of a butcher's awning.

'Recognise him?'

Jaheira followed his nod to the inn and the raised wooden terrace before it, her eyes falling on the knot of soldiers taking ale about one of the packed tables. Something about their dark-haired captain sparked a memory, an image of him lain upon grass, the bloody welt where the apple had struck bright on his temple -and now she considered it, a few of the others looked ominously familiar, too. Her stomach twisted to add another knot to those already there. It was the company who had halted the caravan on the road to Marmont, plucking out the Children one by one.

'Unfortunately, _yes_.'

'Do you think they'll recognise us?'

'I do not know, though I suppose we are about to find out.'

They would have to be sat on the edge of the terrace, wouldn't they, right next to the gateway to the central courtyard and the stables within. Jaheira led the way as they weaved across the street, her haste nearly seeing her collide with more than one hurrying citizen and it was all for naught, a fuss of pilgrims on stout mountain ponies appearing in the gateway to halt them right beside the men. Jaheira did not look up and, for their part, the guards ignored the activities of the street, their voices loud above her as they engaged in some boorish assessment of the tavern's serving women. A polite nod, Jaheira forcing an easy smile as they shifted back to allow the clerics _twice_ the room they should have needed to pass, and they were at last inside the courtyard, the soldiers' appraisal lost to the general din of the street and her stomach loosened somewhat –she was getting too old for this.

The ostler was quite disappointed to see them; there had been a few inquires about Brieanna's fine grey warhorse, and he would have made a good profit on the beast, even with the month of stabling. But he let them settle the bill without complaint, a groom quickly saddling the beasts with the tack they had arrived in, if only to save them carrying it, Athic leading the horses after her as they stepped back onto the busy street, the tall beasts providing a convenient cover from the terrace at their side.

'Good then, we can part here and I will meet you back at the hollow.'

'Aye, I'll head over to the market and pick up what we'll need. You be careful now.'

She nodded, his warning already forgotten as she turned to set out again, her mind running over the many paths her meeting could take -Temas could be absent, unwilling to help, or even unable, so many possibilities…

She was only two steps along the street, when that voice sneered her name.

'_Jaheira_.'

And the druid turned with a growing resignation to face the taller woman, her angular, tanned face made all the sharper by her ugly smirk, ash blond hair scraped back into a tight, unflattering bun.

'Parim,' replied Jaheira simply; the woman's anger did not give her time for more.

'You are a _fool_ to show your face here after the trouble you've caused! Rahir told you to stay away from that camp!'

Jaheira knew if this was to end, it would have to be quickly. 'I do not know of what you speak, Parim, and I have little patience to find out.'

She did not even manage one step, two men she had dismissed as idle bystanders suddenly at her arms. Jaheira kept the building panic from her voice with some difficulty.

'I am not here to cause trouble, Parim.'

'No, you never are,' the woman hissed, leaning in now she was sure the druid could not strike her, 'but it follows you, like the reek of all your feral kind. Poor Temas was sent away in disgrace after it was found he helped you from the city. But you always could find allies, couldn't you? Dermin had been my mentor until _you_ arrived –and then he changed his song, didn't he? _Jaheira will take command, Jaheira will lead here._'

'_Because,_' the druid rejoined, putting a scathing emphasis on the word, 'as I recall, a month before I arrived, you headed a group sent to investigate a caravan the Harpers believed were smuggling black lotus across the border, only to be discovered and murder the entire convoy -_including_ the civilians travelling with them!'

'_They gave us no choice!'_ Parim screeched back; they were beginning to draw some looks. 'You were always Dermin's pet and then you turned and bit him, just like the mongrel you are!'

'You are pathetic! You could have rebuilt his trust, proved yourself to him again. He gave me responsibility because he knew I could be trusted not to let sentiment cloud my judgement!'

'Judgment? _You murdered him for that Bhaalspawn!_'

The guards on the terrace were definitely looking over to them now, some stood and craning to better see the source of this disturbance, Athic still stood before the gates with the horses knowing enough to realise she was in trouble and looking torn. A snatched glare from her kept him there. If the guards were to get involved, they ran a chance of them both being discovered. Jaheira returned her focus to the woman before her.

'So are you here for revenge?' she asked quietly. Parim's face was a cool mask once more.

'No. Rahir _wishes_ to speak to you.'

'I… will come.'

The woman smiled. 'Yes, you will.'

And Jaheira did not struggle as her stave was taken, her arms pushed behind her and, under her cloak, she felt the heavy iron cuffs lock cold about each wrist, Parim a pace before their three as they escorted her along the busy street, Athic left to stare helplessly after her.

But it was not to the Golden Garter they took her, Jaheira trying to make a note of the turns and streets she was whisked down, the way becoming quieter and more dilapidated as they went, and she suspected they were somewhere in the east of the town when they at last halted. They were at the back of what seemed to be another tavern from the commotion that was emanating from the front of the building, Jaheira held firmly at each elbow while Parim announced them to a dull iron door, before she was being bundled inside and up the stairs. Along a narrow corridor, doors flashing by her until one was opened and she was pushed inside a small room, big enough only for the bed and chair it held, the window boarded up to leave only narrow cracks of sunlight to pierce the gloom.

With the layout she had seen, the place had likely been a brothel to the tavern below before the Harpers had taken it over –Jaheira tried not to think too much on that as her gaze fell on the sturdy bed. Her captors were fussing under her cloak, one of the cuffs that bound her unlocked, though her relief was cut short as it was promptly snapped about the heavy bed frame with a dull chime, her pack and belt removed to leave her completely weaponless.

The two men, finally satisfied she was secure, departed to leave only Parim, though she had little time to crow about her victory, the woman scooting from the door to make room as Rahir stepped in. He looked fatter than before or perhaps it was merely her intense dislike colouring her view, his bulk trembling under the tent-like tunic as he waddled in to make the room feel even smaller, narrow black eyes almost lost in that round, bulging face.

'So you are back, Jaheira.'

'As expected, it seems,' she rejoined sharply, but the stout man just chuckled, jowls trembling.

'Such vanity, Jaheira. We survey all who enter the town now –we have done since news of the attack on the camp reached here. Indeed, the local garrison find our help invaluable.'

Jaheira could barely choke out the words in her shock. 'You are working with the _guards?_ What happened to Harper impartiality? We are not even supposed to operate within Tethyr's borders!'

'Exactly!' Rahir agreed smugly, 'The guards have always suspected our presence here in Marmont as within other places of influence across Tethyr –they would be foolish not to. But how long do you think such animosity will continue when the Harpers help avert the coming war? We work together to end this Bhaalspawn threat once and for all, and I am proud to be the first to build an alliance with the authorities for the good of Tethyr and of Faerûn as a whole.'

Jaheira lunged for him, unmindful of the manacle's bite, her only desire: to see that superior smile torn from his face.

'You fool! You arrogant fool! You would sell these people to the guards for your own gain!'

'_You_ are fool, Jaheira, for returning here! I know the camp you were heading to fell, the merchants bringing tales of dragons and demons ,and an emerging Bhaalspawn army. So _what_ are you doing back here?'

Jaheira swallowed, her story prepared from the moment she had laid eyes upon Parim's sneering face.

'I returned to Marmont to ask the Harpers for aid. There are powers arising to the south and ones bent on war. My companions oppose them, but we need help, contacts in the southern cities with whom we can organise a resistance.'

'Indeed,' Rahir considered slowly, 'and where are your allies in this?'

'I left them in the south, in the town of Indraviat.'

'So you came all this way north, alone, just to ask your _trusted brothers_ for aid?' The derisive snort said all that was needed regarding her explanation, the man leaning over her with an air of menace that spoke of a political strength well belied by his fleshy physique. 'I know you were at that camp and I know you travel with two of their kind, two famed Children of the North -I imagine that pair will go a long way to exonerating the Harper's name here.' His smile lingered as he turned to the woman next to him, 'Parim, when she entered the town, was any with her? That dark elf, perhaps, or one of her wards?'

'No, but their reports state there was a man with her at the gates: tall, a northerner by his pallor, dark-haired and way-worn. I can likely get a better description if needed.'

Rahir nodded once. 'Do so, and put the word out -I want him found. As for you,' he continued, returning to her with that familiar sneer, 'you will remain here until I find out what you are planning. Much has been set in motion since last you were here, and I will not see it ruined by your meddling.'

Jaheira dived for him again, her free hand just whispering against his tunic as he turned from her. 'Rahir! Rahir, you cannot do this! You arrogant fool! Rahir-'

Her rage was cut short by the slam of the door.

**…**

Eruna closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the brightness bath her face and neck, her robes parted to her camisole and hitched to her knees, many of those about her in similar states of dishabille after so long. For all Jaheira's warnings, Enric had made no move since their departure, and Eruna had found herself relaxing in the easy camaraderie. Their few tents had been loosely pitched to provide some shade from the beating sun, and it reminded her of those later summers spent with her friends, a group of similarly aged youths who had for the most part grown-up together to find apprenticeships about Loudwater, every tenth-day finding them in the garden behind her mother's inn, lolling the rest-day away in the rare summer heat. The brevity of such pleasures had always made her inclined to enjoy the sunshine -they used to joke a frontier summer began in Flamerule and was ended by Eleasias, and that this was certainly not the case in Tethyr, had yet to extinguish her enjoyment of the thing. Ah, how she could drink a small ale now, or perhaps a cup of chilled mead from her mother's cellars, Etien indulging in similar reminisces as he mused on the town just north of them.

'I can't believe Marmont's just over that hill. When the guards came for me I didn't think I'd ever live to see it again.'

'Well, to be fair, you haven't yet, mate,' quipped Lucian. 'I expect your old boss doesn't know how lucky he is in that, eh?'

A round of grim chuckling, Etein's grin taking on a wistful edge.

'Aye, and to think once we were as close as brothers…'

'So, you're not tempted to sneak back for revenge, then?' asked Chell, lolling next to Bellid in a manner that suggested such effort would be beyond _her_.

'What, against Arber?' Etien confirmed, at last naming his betrayer, 'No, best let it die.'

'It is so sad,' sighed Leandril, 'the way the blood can come between people. How long had you and he been friends?'

'Oh, a good ten years, I'd say. Arber's a few years older than me –he used to keep an eye on me when I was growing up, and got me my first job clearing cups at the gambling hall –well, it was his father's back then, of course.' The rueful smile was back and tugging at Etein's mouth, 'Ah, the scrapes we'd get into.'

'And then he found out you were a Bhaalspawn and he just abandoned you to the guards?' asked Godith. Etien shrugged.

'Well, after a fashion… I'd known I was of the Children since I was twenty, when my mother passed on. She told me on her deathbed, and I told a few others I trusted not long after, Arber and his new wife, Corrine, being two of them. Ah, Corrine was such a pretty thing, far too good for him. He promised he'd straighten out after they married, turn the hall into a respectable inn, but he never did. Well, you know how these things happen… We used to joke Arber always drank as much ale as he sold, and one night after she'd put him to bed, we were having a drink together after the hall had closed, and one thing led to another…'

'You slept with his _wife?_' cried Rowin.

'You _bastard!_' laughed Kuri.

Etien was laughing himself, a warm chuckle that bubbled right from his stomach and Eruna found herself smiling too, if only for whom it recalled to her.

'We swore, at first, it would only be that one time, but… Arber found out just as this whole Bhaalspawn thing was kicking off, and the next thing I know, I've turned up for my shift and half the garrison has arrived to arrest me.'

'Well, I've change my mind,' snorted Leandril, shaking the long fringe from his eyes, 'I think you got off quite lightly, because I'd have _killed_ you! Wait-' he stopped suddenly, the look on his face enough to banish every smile there as he craned his neck above the bank. 'I can hear horses.'

A few hurried to their feet, Eruna standing as well to see the approaching rider, a second horse cantering along behind him, the man cloaked despite the heat. Gideon was taking no chances.

'Seph, nock an arrow. Jeollé-'

'Wait,' cut in Leandril, green eyes squinting against the glare, 'it's Athic with the horses.'

'Athic, what's wrong?' cried Eruna as the man finally thundered to a halt before them, cloak thrown back to reveal his ruddy face, 'Why are you cloaked? Where are the supplies?'

'I didn't have time to get them. Jaheira, she's been taken in by the Harpers.'

'They've arrested her?' cried Serenda, 'Can they even do that?'

'Well they have, flower.'

'But why?' reasoned Seph, 'She said she was one of them.'

'She _also_ said they don't like her associating with us _Children_,' reminded Chell darkly. Eruna swallowed the sudden tightness to her throat.

'What do you think they'll do?'

'I don't know,' said Athic baldly, 'But there was no love lost between her and people who came for her.'

His words seemed to remove all semblance of calm.

'We should leave, get out of here!'

'Oh shut up, Jeollé,' snapped Arianne, 'anyone would think Bhaal was the god of cowards the way you go on.'

'So what _are_ we going to do?' pressed Etien. A long pause as all considered it.

'Did you see where they took her?' asked Enric. Athic shrugged.

'I followed for a bit – the town is crawling with guards and leading two horses…'

'She could have told them we're here already,' said Amos, 'Jeollé's right, we should go.'

'Go where, fool?' snapped Morgain, 'Jaheira was leading us somewhere safe!'

'Well, now we'll just have to strike off on our own – we'll be all right, no one's looking for us up here.'

'Yeah, we can all leave,' growled Gideon, the low timbre of his voice somehow cutting through the panic about him, 'and we'll likely all be fine, too, but this ain't about that. Jaheira got taken because she was trying to help us. There were rules in the slums: you robbed, you murdered, you did what ever you had to survive, but you _never_ betrayed your gang. Anyone who wants to leave – then go, but you ain't a part of this group anymore, so don't expect to be coming along with us when we leave here for that haven.'

'Or for the gaol,' muttered Lucian. Eruna ignored him; the time for arguments was over.

'So what is the plan?'

'Jaheira mentioned she'd a contact at the Oyster and Pearl,' offered Athic, 'we could start there.'

The girl nodded, trying to feel the same resolve she hoped she was projecting. Jaheira had charged her with these people in her absence, and now she would have to prove herself up to the task.

'Good. Well, it looks as though we're going to be walking now; we can't afford a barge and the Harpers won't be getting us on one – or not one heading where any of us would want to go. We'll split into two groups. Most of us can head to the river and begin walking upstream – I don't know where Jaheira was heading, but it was in that direction, I'm sure. If we don't catch up to you, well, do what you can to survive and leave Tethyr. Athic and I will take a smaller group into the city and attempt a rescue. Any volunteers?'

About her, six hands slowly raised –a team of eight, including her and Athic; it would be enough. Athic nodded once.

'Right, then, Rowin and Serenda, enter the city with the horses and stock up on supplies, then join the others moving upstream. With any luck, we'll meet up with you soon.'

Eruna rose with the rest of them, Athic at her side as the group seemed to instinctively split, Rowin helping Serenda mount one of the horses, as Bellid mildly organised those leaving, Gideon, Enric and the rest of the volunteers gathering in a grim knot on the northern bank. Athic watched the activity with a sigh.

'I never should have let them take her in the first place.'

'This isn't your fault. Athic.'

Another deep sigh –she was unused to seeing the man so pensive. 'Eruna, Did you ever imagine when we left the Frontier Lands, even after we left Saradush, we would be here one day, avoiding soldiers and Harpers to lead some group of Children across Tethyr in a mad bid to halt Bhaal's return?'

'No, but I always knew I would be with you.' Eruna smiled; suddenly infused with that same feeling she'd had when she'd first left home with him all those years ago, that young girl, so nervous and green and yet filled with a stirring belief that, when stood together, nothing was without their reach. 'Come, Athic, we've not lost yet.'


	28. Cast Shadows in the Present

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Cast Shadows in the Present**

'So far, so good, then,' murmured Athic, their knot easily overlooked in the sultry bustle of Marmont's main marketplace. He could hardly believe the last time he had been there it was just to spend an afternoon wandering the stalls with Eruna. Now it seemed as though every fourth man was a soldier, though perhaps that was due to more than a bit of paranoia on his part, a patrol of guards jostling past and the group turned as one to take a clear and direct interest in the shaved ice stall just beside them.

They had entered the city in pairs to meet up there before the Red Boar tavern on the western side of the square, the great temple of Tyr cresting the rooftops opposite them, gilded spires gleaming against the clear blue sky. Athic's stomach gave a growl. After a tenday of field rations, the smell of grilled fish wafting across the market was making him hungry and he wondered if Serenda and Rowin would find the time to treat themselves, the pair already disappeared into the throng with the horses for their much-needed supplies. Back in the knot behind him, Etien was grinning, gazing about the marketplace with same excitement as one of the many children who played in groups on its edge.

'Ah, look at this place; it feels like I've been away forever.'

'To be fair, you've barely been away two months,' reminded Leandril practically.

'Aye, but that camp, it changed a man.'

'That it did,' agreed Gideon quietly. Chell snorted.

'Oh aye, let me guess, you were all sunshine and smiles before your capture.'

He treated her to a rare smirk. 'Something like that.'

'Right,' began Eruna, something urgent in her whisper bringing them sharply back to the task, 'Here we'll split again. Enric, Kuri, you're with Athic and I –we'll go to this tavern and ask after the contact Jaheira mentioned,' she glanced to him, 'what was his name, Athic?'

'Temas, flower.'

'Temas Flower?' repeated Etien, 'Sounds like another elf to me.'

Leandril rolled his eyes; Eruna did not even acknowledge the quip with that.

'Etien, do you know of anywhere the rest of you can wait?'

'Aye, there's a tavern not far from here where they've learnt to mind their own business.'

It was agreed then, the group dividing once more and all too soon Eruna was stood before a dingy tavern frontage, the once whitewashed brickwork now the same dirty grey as the cobble path before it. As a name, the Oyster and Pearl conjured an image of opulence this tavern not only failed to match, but seemed to go out of its way to thwart.

'Are you ready?' asked Enric, his arm offered to her and awaiting her hand. It has been decided they would enter first and take a table, just a couple enjoying a quiet drink –Kuri had thought it best not to show all their cards before they had even begun the game, he and Athic still at the other end of the street chatting with a heavily painted woman who looked like she spent much of her time stood on that corner.

Eruna threw on a smile and slipped an arm easily about Enric's, the older man holding the door open for her. The tavern beyond was just as she had expected, the low-ceilinged, gloomy room, where the walls, hangings and padded benches were all subdued and faded by the dull film of pipesmoke, the complete absence of any other patrons making their presence seem all the more conspicuous, but she didn't worry. With the obscure locale and the ten years between them, anyone who cared would likely just assume she was Enric's mistress.

They took a table next to the bar, Enric ordering wine from the greying Calimshite barkeep, while Eruna fussed over her hair and pretended to check her nonexistent rouge in the brass globe of the table lamp.

'So,' Enric murmured, the pair now holding hands across the sticky table, wine poured but untouched at their side- Eruna wouldn't have braved the discoloured cup even if she had wanted a drink, 'Athic mentioned you have been in Marmont before?'

'Yes, though not here, and not for long. We stayed in Marmont for two nights before we left for the camp – I spent the day walking the town with Athic, and then in the evening, I went with the other women for a drink in the Dovecote, an alehouse next to the shrine to Sune.' It all seemed so long ago now – Eruna felt her eyes drift unconsciously to the door.

'You sound to know the town well,' offered the cleric.

'Perhaps the nicer parts of it – I doubt the knowledge will be much use to us today,' she added darkly. The groan of hinges cut off any reply he intended to make though, Athic entering first, Kuri at his heels as he strode up to the bar in that indomitable way of his that had once so caught her eye.

'Hello there, I was hoping to speak to a man named Temas –does he work here?'

'Work here?' the barkeep repeated, his accent still strong for one who spoke Chondathan so well, 'No, no, but he is due here in an hour or so. I can tell him you were looking for him, or you can wait here, if you wish – he can be reluctant about going to places he does not know.'

Athic's wariness made her own nerves prickle. 'Perhaps we can come back later then.'

'Well, why not stay and have a drink,' pressed the older man hastily, 'as I said, he will not be long.'

But Athic was already half-turned from the counter, Kuri ushered before him. 'No, I don't think-'

The door banged open, four men bursting through to surround the pair, while behind them, another two piled from the backroom to stand either end of the counter, a tall, sneering blond woman issuing her orders from before the door.

'Stand where you're at, and make not one move!'

Athic went instantly for his sword, the dagger's point between his shoulders stopping him dead; the barkeep had a speed that belied his wizened frame.

'Not so quick there, friend.'

The woman smiled. 'Thank you, Aleef. Cantor, their weapons.'

Two men stepped up to disarm them, Kuri holding his hands away from his sides with a cautious resignation Athic had yet to learn.

'What- what in _Hells_ is going on? Get your hands-'

A jolt through her abdomen at the crack of the cosh, Eruna half on her feet before Enric's hand had snapped about her wrist, dragging her back to her seat even as the barkeep shouted his objections.

'Please, you are startling my customers!'

'Yeah, yeah,' the man grunted, more focused on trying to haul Athic from his knees, 'Come on, you, get moving!'

As quickly as they had come, they were gone, Eruna at last shaking Enric off and dashing to the grimy windows in time to see the pair being bundled into the covered wagon waiting outside. A snap of the whip and it rumbled off, Eruna watching it retreat down the street, the anger and fear trembling through her, arms tingling with the building magicks as she slowly turned to fix upon the only man still left.

'_You!'_

Aleef's spindly hands were before him, conciliatory, placating, the man bobbing nervously in a repetitive half-bow.

'Now calm yourself, miss, please be calm. I am sorry, but they arrived long before you did, and I had little choice in the matter. Please believe me when I say I am no ally to their kind.' He gestured to the chairs they had left, taking the empty one between them. 'You came here looking for Temas? Well I cannot help you. He is away from the town and I do not know when he will return. I know why you are here –it is because they have taken _her_, is it not?'

Neither of them answered; Eruna felt dazed and slightly sick, all the sounds about her dulled behind the echo of that sickening crack. Aleef laughed faintly, though there was little humour in it, the old man catching up Enric's cup for a long draft of wine.

'By the Smiling Lady, I hope she is worth all this. Jaheira brought trouble upon more than merely herself. Why do you think Temas is out of town? That Rahir, the Harper leader here, was not happy when he found out my friend had helped her before.'

'But why did they take Athic?' pressed Enric.

'They saw him enter the city with her this morning and have been looking for him ever since. Your friend, Jaheira, will not tell them why she is here -at least, not in any way they believe, so they are hoping he will know more about her plans. They knew enough to guess Jaheira would likely want to speak to Temas, and that she might have told others. Those meddlers have had this tavern watched since noon –why do you think the place is empty?'

The more hysterical part of Eruna's mind considered that because even plague-riddled rats had standards. She shook her head; this was no time for panic.

'Why are you telling us all this?'

Aleef sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair, his mind even further away by the distance to his eyes.

'Because Temas would want me to help you. Temas is my friend –he helped me when I first came here, and he is a good man, too good for the company in which he found himself. Within the Harpers, all believe Temas was sent away on a task that took him far across Tethyr as punishment for disobeying Rahir, but in truth he left Marmont because the Harpers here have changed and are doing that which first so angered the people of this land. Meddling in local politics, and acting for _good_ –when that is the good of _themselves_. Only this time they have ensured their own protection by making an alliance with the new garrison here, both united by the task of capturing all Bhaalspawn foolish enough to enter the town.'

Eruna felt the choking dread rise in her throat. 'Oh, Athic…'

Aleef looked grave. 'I can assume your friend is of that cursed heritage?'

'They both are,' provided Enric.

'Ah, well then hope the Harpers do not discover such. They will only wish to question them about the druid at this time, but if Rahir finds they are Bhaalspawn, then your friends will be handed over to the guards and rotting in a Darromar prison cell before the dawn.'

Eruna drew a deep breath, the sour reek of stale beer somehow strengthening her resolve.

'Where will the Harpers have taken them now?'

The man shook his head, taking another mouthful and setting the cup before him with a resolute _snap_.

'I am not sure and I do not know where your Jaheira is being held either. But there are a few places you can try -here, fetch out a quill, and I will tell you what I know.'

**…**

Compared to the tavern they'd just left, the Black Horn was like a palace, light from the high, slightly dusty windows opening a large room of scrubbed wooden tables and threadbare benches, a decent scattering of patrons crowding them for so early in the afternoon. Eruna paused before the doors, scanning the immediate throng, before moving with Enric through to the snug, their voices alerting her before she even spotted them as they talked about one of the two things they _all_ had in common.

'At least you lot didn't have the guards letching over you as soon as their captain's back was turned, leering bastards.'

'Some of the guards tried it on with you, Chell?' confirmed Gideon mildly, 'They have a death wish?'

The woman just laughed, loud and warm, Leandril supplying with a smile, 'Well, it certainly seemed as much from where I was standing, though it _was_ woefully foolish of them to make lewd advances to your rear when you had just stooped for a brick. After Enric had finished re-aligning one's nose and making the other cough up his own teeth, Chell was dragged before the Commander.'

Etien was laughing as well, now. 'And how in Hells did you escape the block after _that?_'

Chell drew herself back with a prim flick of her hair. 'I just explained to Merenc what had happened -told him I was protecting my _womanly virtues_.'

'Little did he know she gave those up years ago.'

'Oi, watch your mouth, Etien, or you'll be experiencing a repeat of the event firsthand. After that, Merenc decreed that any soldier caught _pressing his advances_ would be discharged without pay. At least then the guards left the women alone –or at least kept their attention for those that sought it,' she added grimly. Etien nodded, glancing about for a change of subject, the man finding it in their approach.

'Ah, you found us then- hang on where are the other two?'

'Gone,' provided Enric succinctly as he took the chair next to him, 'the Harper's were waiting for us. They took Athic and Kuri.'

'Taken?' cried Etien, in a pitch Eruna was surprised the stout man could reach, 'Bane's Boil-Covered Arse! We're here to rescue one of the group, and so far all we've done is lose another two!'

'_Shush!_' hissed Chell, giving his arm a quelling thump for good measure, 'Keep your voice down – they would have hardly let this happen, if they could have stopped it.'

Etien threw her a scowl, but lowered his voice all the same. 'Well, what in Hells are we going to do now?'

'Do you have any leads?' asked Leandril

'Too many,' sighed Enric, 'The Harpers have strongholds all over the town, though most are over in the Westside.'

'We can't just go visiting them one by one,' cautioned Chell unnecessarily, thumb tapped against her strong chin as she considered it, 'This place is crawling with guards, and the Harpers will likely keep their own buildings under close eye. We need a way to narrow the search.'

'And quickly,' added Enric, 'Athic and Kuri will be gone from here by nightfall.'

Etien sighed, thrusting himself back in his chair as though he could distance himself from that mess similarly. 'Even if we find those two, we have to free them without bringing the whole town down on our heads, and then we'll still have Jaheira to find.'

Eruna felt her jaw set. 'If we find Athic, we'll find Harpers. We find Harpers on _our_ terms, and we can find Jaheira.'

All seemed to hear her intimation. Enric was rigid in his chair, Gideon's liquid black eyes gazing across the table as though he had never seen her before. He nodded once.

'Indeed, so how are we to find Athic and Kuri?'

Etien sighed again, knocking back the ale in his cup with an air of one who would have preferred something more bracing.

'I know someone who might help, but I _don't_ want to ask him.'

**…**

Athic kept his spinning head down, the men pressed either side of him happy enough to leave him to his thoughts. He could hear the cry of gulls and voices shouting, the wheels beneath them rumbling over the cobbles as they had for the last quarter hour. He spared a glance to the Turmian opposite, Kuri pale and agitated in the gloom, pressed similarly between two stout men. Athic dropped his eyes once more as the wagon swung around a corner and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him –at least Kuri had been spared the cosh.

Of all the messes he had found himself in over the years, this one had to rank somewhere near the, well, the upper middle, if he were being honest, but as with most trouble, you could only really assess the danger after you managed to escape it. Until then, they were always the _worst_.

The cart rumbled to a halt before he could consider this further though, the canvas thrown back and there was a brief flash of sunlit docks before they were plunged into darkness once more, the pair bundled into a long narrow room, part of a warehouse by its rough wooden walls, a few broken crates still scattered about it. A rough shove sent him sprawling, the dusty floorboards coming up to meet him and he fell heavily to his hands and knees, Kuri landing next to him with a thud he felt through the floorboards. Strong hands were already pulling at him, trying to make him sit and turn, a cuff to his temple making the bile rise.

'Come on, move yerself.'

'Careful there, Trev, I think he might cat.'

His friend heeded the warning, the moment sat while his bonds were removed allowing Athic's head to clear, the man blinking furiously to take in the long plain room about him. It was cramped with people and through that forest of legs he caught a glimpse of the quays outside to realise finally where they were, those long, divided warehouses rented out by visiting merchants to store the purchases of their stay, before they were loaded onto boats. Athic did not miss this subtle allusion.

The men stood above them were shifting, allowing for the entrance of two others: the tight-faced blond who had directed their capture and a stout man of Calimshite descent.

'Who are you? What in Hells is going on here?' demanded Kuri, nerves finally overriding his previous patience, the man struggling to stand again until the woman's boot convinced him otherwise. The Calimshite took a measured step forward, barely sparing a glace to Kuri as he scooted back, still clutching his ribs.

'All _you_ need to know is I am Rahir, I represent certain interests in this town and ones which you _may_ have come into conflict with. Cooperate and I might yet see fit to release you. Right, let us begin, what are your names?'

A glance between, Athic cleared his throat –a lie would be pointless; cheek would be painful.

'I'm Athic, he's Kuri.'

Rahir smiled –it held a predatory look. 'A good start. And what are you both doing here?'

'We're mercenaries. We were working down in Attla und Ith when all this trouble got stirred up. We could tell war was brewing, and decided to head north before we got caught in it.'

'I see. And how do you know Jaheira?'

Athic affected an even shrug. 'We met her on the road a few days out of Attla. She said she was travelling to Marmont, so we joined her.'

'So you met her on the road from Attla.' Black eyes narrowed with suspicion, 'She was travelling alone when you met her?'

'Yeah,' agreed Kuri artlessly, 'we were surprised, too, at first, for the way is dangerous enough in company. We soon found out why though –by, that harridan's a temper on her.'

The woman snorted, but Rahir was not so easily amused. 'And yet you took the time to investigate her disappearance.'

Kuri nodded. 'Yeah, course. I mean we weren't friends or nothing, but if she's in some trouble we thought it best to look into it –if nothing else, we don't want it following us. Look can we go, now? We've answered your questions and we'd only planned to stock up here before heading out again.'

Rahir's smile did not even waver. 'Not quite yet…'

A nod to the woman beside him and she turned back to the door behind, the way parting before a well-armoured man who looked more than aware of his own importance, a red plumed helm resting neatly under his arm. Even Rahir seemed to straighten.

'Are you finished finally, Rahir? I am a very busy man.'

'We are about to begin now, commander.'

'What's this?' snapped Kuri, unnerved; _now_ Rahir was amused.

'Nothing to concern you,' he chuckled, 'Just a short test to ensure you are not of that heritage currently outlawed here in Tethyr.'

'You're going to test to see if we're _Bhaalspawn?_' Kuri cried, 'You- You can't test for that!'

The woman smiled, dropping to a crouch before them and slowly drawing her dagger.

'Yes, we can, and all need is a drop of blood, though I can take more if you wish to do this the hard way. Your hands, please –and _don't_ try anything.'

Athic did not satisfy her with a wince, the prick of pain across the end of his thumb slowing to a throbbing sting as she squeeze a rich bead of scarlet from the end, the droplet hanging there, suspended for an instant before its own weight brought it sailing down to pat upon the flat uneven stone sat so neatly in her other hand, the mottled blue surface etched with a chaos of runes he did not recognise. Athic watched the blood, _his_ blood, begin to bubble and hiss. The woman smiled.

'As I suspected.'

Kuri was next, the Turmian watching his blood boil with a detached smile. The woman wiped the stone upon her trousers and straightened smoothly.

'Both positive, sir.'

The commander nodded once as though it confirmed all he already knew, turning promptly to Rahir. 'Right, you may as well hold them here and load onto barge after dark. They will be in Darromar by sunrise.'

'As you say, commander.'

The creak of the door, the many bodies filing out to leave them alone in the darkness. Athic ran his hands up through his short hair, wincing as he caught the lump already swelling on the back of head, another wave of nausea held back only by his temper.

'_Besheba's Twisted Horns!_ What in _buggery_ are we going to do now? Jaheira's taken! We're-' He turned sharply at the sound of snickering, Kuri's face screwed up as he laughed quietly into his knees.

'And _what_'_s_ so funny?'

Kuri shook his head, still chuckling away to himself. 'By the Lady, Tymora's a sense of humour. Twice, now, _twice_ I've been arrested for being a Bhaalspawn!'

Athic was still having trouble seeing the joke in his companion's phenomenal bad luck.

'So?'

'_So_,' the man repeated, his grin a flash of white in the gloom, 'I'm not one.'

'What?'

'I'm not a Bhaalspawn. Ah, you've got to laugh, haven't you? I was first arrested by the city watch in Darromar for, well, I managed to convince a couple to join me in a game of dice one night in the local tavern. Took the shirts clear from their backs, which was very funny until they found the weighted die I'd been palming all evening –a brawl began, got out of hand, and only ended when some bloke from Zazesspur got stabbed. The watch could have just tried me there for my part in it, but I was a foreigner and the root of more than a bit of trouble for them, and I suppose it seemed more just to send me off with the Children.'

'But didn't you tell the soldiers who took you?'

'Course I did!' Kuri laughed, 'I denied it with every breath I drew. I denied it right until put me on that barge, and then, surrounded by the rest of my _brethren_, I decided that going on about how I _wasn't_ infused with powers of a dark god might have been a bit foolish. Weakness only invites trouble,' he added wisely,

'So, are you sure?' pressed Athic, 'Couldn't you be one and not know it?'

But the Turmian seemed unconcerned. 'Nah, I think I'd have had an inkling by now, don't you? Besides, I've got a whole family back in the Gate – mother, father, two sisters, not to mention my twin brother, Kavin. I remember my Aunt Gitali,' Kuri frowned, finger wagged before him, '_you leave here, Kuri, and mark me, no good will come of it_ -gods keep her, the old harridan may have been right. But I don't regret it,' he continued, with the philosophical stance Athic had come to expect from the man. 'Life back at home was strict –_too_ strict for me. My father may have left Turmish, but he still wanted us raised as a _proper Turmian family, _and my mother never spoke a word against him. My arranged marriage was the last straw- I left a fortnight after they announced it, and that was that. I heard afterwards my father disowned me, but I'm still in contact with Kavin and my two sisters. I even write to them sometimes, when I've coin enough to send the letter. Nah,' he sighed, 'I'm no Bhaalspawn –I wonder how many at that camp really were.'

Athic shook his head and though better of it as stars prickled the gloom. 'Then why come with us?'

'Why not?' Kuri laughed, 'I'm not so worried about any haven, but a man needs allies and you lot are the closest things I've had to friends in a long while.'

Athic threw a glare at the door and the Harpers who no doubt waited on the other side.

'So that test…'

'Fake, I suppose,' Kuri reasoned, 'The Harpers are likely using it to get rid of anyone they don't like.'

'Those conniving _bastards!_'

'I tell you one thing, it comes to it and I ain't getting on that barge quietly this time. I'll go down fighting.'

They shared a grim nod; Athic had seen enough of that camp to know he would not be caged similarly.

'Agreed. I just hope that lot manage to get us out of here before then. And _then_ we've still Jaheira to find –Hell's Teeth, we've made a right mess of this!'

'Ah, Eruna will get to us, mate,' assured Kuri, 'she's a sharp one… I meant to ask actually, are you and her…?'

It took Athic a moment to realise at what he was driving, the long pause giving his refusals an unflattering haste.

'No, no, we're not -I mean, she's lovely,' he amended, 'but no. She's like the sister I never had. Why do you care?'

'No reason,' said Kuri quickly.

Athic frowned, feeling that same weight in his stomach whenever he thought of the girl being hurt. He had promised her mother he'd protect her, and though the woman had likely meant against more physical threats, Athic still felt his duty pull.

'Look, Kuri, I'm not warning you off, or making you swear you won't hurt her or something stupid like that, cause it's a rare bastard who goes out of his way to hurt a lass, and she'd not put up with it anyway. But don't mess Eruna about, all right? I'm not blind. For a long while she favoured me in a way I couldn't return – she deserves some happiness.'

'All right, mate, I was only asking,' laughed Kuri, the man suddenly highly interested in the small cut on his finger, 'I just wanted to know if she was taken, I don't plan to ask you for her hand or anything.'

Athic snorted, the gesture drawn to a sigh as he leaned back against the crate behind him, while only a wooden wall away, the docks rang with gulls' mocking cries.

'Yeah, well, I may well ask her myself, if she manages to find us in time.'

**…**

Eruna gazed up at the tall, ramshackle hulk of a building, the place so large it could have once been warehouse, aged-darkened wooden walls, thick with lichens and soot, stretching up to cast a shadow over the dingy street it dominated on the less salubrious western side of the river. According to Etein, it was a gambling hall and inn both, though from looking at it now, Eruna thought _flophouse_ might have been a more accurate description -of the second floor windows she could see, there were no two windows sized the same, the glass panes a mosaic sourced from other windows, lantern panes, and what looked to have once been bottle ends. Leandril and Enric were pressed up against one of the grimy windows on the lower floor, the elf turning back to let Eruna see the frown that she'd, until then, merely inferred from the set of his shoulders.

'We would have to be mad -this place crawling with guards!'

'It will be fine,' reassured Etein, the hesitation in his voice giving him away, 'they're not looking for us yet, and Arber will be all right.'

'Be all right – you slept with his _wife!_'

'I know, I know,' Etien sighed, seemingly regretting the mistake for more than this current hitch, 'but Arber wasn't the sort to hold a grudge. He was angry at the time, but now… He'll be all right,' he repeated, sounding less than convinced himself, the round of sceptical looks merely sparking his temper. 'Listen, he was the only real friend I ever had in this town that I can trust won't have sided with the Harpers –if you want help then this is the only man I know who can provide it. I'll go in alone- if he raises the guards for me, then, well, just leave.'

'And another is lost to this _plan_,' muttered Gideon. Etien ignored him, pushing through the door, and Eruna hurried to find a place next to Leandril at the window. Etien certainly wasn't being shy about it, marching straight to the bar that lined the right wall, past tables of guards and patrons stooped over dice, cards and the popular Calimshite tile games, while in the centre of the room long frames were set into the floor for bones, skittles and other throwing games.

Eruna pressed herself closer, the dust smooth and oily under her fingertips; she would have to remember to wipe a similar smudge from her nose after this. It was like watching a play, only with no sound, but one with an outcome she was desperate to see, the tension building in her stomach. Etien had reached the counter, nodding to the barmaid for the girl to turn and call to someone behind her. A man stepped forward, olive-skinned in the usual local colouring, his long, sagging face aged more by the late nights and ale he was reputed to enjoy. He was absently drying a cup as he turned, sending the girl to the patron he'd left with a nod, when, at last, his eyes fell upon Etein and the cloth was thrown to the floor, the man clearing the bar in one leap and Eruna felt the jolt all through her as the men connected, Arber throwing his arms about his friend.

It was a joy to watch, the pair coming together to thump each other's backs and laugh tiredly, like men who'd lived too long, Etien finally turning to beckon to the window he knew they'd be about, the pair already heading for a door in the back of the room.

By the time Eruna and the others arrived, the two men were already sat with drinks in their hands, the small room housing a large table and little else, and she assumed it was used for private games. In the corner, a small cask provided a ready refreshment that the pair had already taken advantage of, Etien and Arber both with frothing tankards, a large carafe and half dozen cups set on the table before them.

'So,' Arber began, gesturing for them to help themselves to ale as they took seats about him, dark, puffy eyes surveying their company. 'These are the friends you mentioned. Aye, I can see why that camp may have had a bit of trouble holding them.'

Etien murmured a nervous laugh, the relief of their reunion ebbing as time allowed for the cool memories of their rift to return.

'Yeah, well, you look to be doing all right here, Arber. I notice you've a couple of pretty barmaids helping out now- well, not that you didn't have help before… I- ah-'

Arber cut him dead with a look. 'If you want to know where Corrine is, just ask. She's gone, Etien. It turns out _you_ weren't the only man she was seeing behind my back. A month after you were taken, she tells me she's leaving, her and Garruld are going off together.'

'_Garruld? _The cook over at the Tarnished Tankard? He's got a good ten years on you, and the girth of a pregnant horse!'

Arber snorted, taking another long draft of ale as though to mask the bitter taste.

'Aye, I couldn't believe it meself at first, but then I began to hear more about it and… He cared for her, Etien, treated her properly when to me she had become little more than the resident barmaid, and to you, something to do on a ninth-day eve. I can't blame her; I suppose she just got tired of longing for something better. They left for Darromar and opened a bakery together. They're doing really well for themselves – Garruld hopes to open a second shop by the spring, and they're looking to start a family.' He drew a well-fingered square of parchment from his jerkin, throwing it to the table before him with a soft _pat_. 'She told me when she wrote to ask for an annulment.'

Etien drew a long breath, pushing back his chair with a dazed look. 'Hells, Arber, I'm sorry. I… I'm just really sorry.'

'Aye, me too,' his friend sighed, 'I never should have shopped you in to the guards. So, you're not back here for revenge then,' he continued, thrusting the letter back in his pocket, 'And you can't be here for money, since you know well enough by now, I never have any.'

Eruna swallowed and found her voice to answer him- this man on whom so much rested.

'We need your help, to cross the Harpers and likely the guards, too.'

Arber laughed grimly. 'You always could pick your enemies, Etien. What have you done this time?'

'_We've_ done nothing,' corrected Gideon, 'but some friends of ours have been taken by the Harpers and we want them back.'

'You know of any places around here they could be?' continued Etien. Arber was frowning, fingers rocking his half empty cup.

'Aye, I know a few places, but security in this town has been stepped up since you left, Etien, they'll already know you're coming before you're within two hundred yards of any Harper stronghold, and they'll be ready for you too. No, what you need is an idea of exactly where to go and a way to get close.' He stood suddenly, the scrape of his chair making Eruna heart's jump.

'Come with me.'

Back into the tavern he led them, and behind the counter, Arber striding straight through the kitchens with barely a glance thrown to the two maids who started back to their work at his appearance, the door opposite ajar and Eruna followed him through into a long, tall room that was likely the height of that whole building, every high window with shutters folded back to the warm breeze, racks of clothes suspended there and fluttering before them and she came to the belated realisation that he had brought them to the laundry.

Two long stone sinks were set against the walls opposite, clothes in various states of laundering piled in baskets on the wooden benches behind them, a large mangle at the far end of the room just waiting to torture a willing back.

'And you've brought us to your washhouse,' concluded Gideon in a sneer.

Arber ignored him, moving to the nearest basket and pushing in a hand to uncover a muddy cloak, the red sun of the Tethyran army bright against the deep green wool.

'There,' Arber snapped, throwing it to Etien, 'that should fool all but those who know you.'

'Arber, mate, where'd you get this?'

The innkeep snorted. 'Marmont now holds more guards than there are berths at the barracks, so a few of the inns about the town are being used to house them. Course, they aren't supposed to be partaking of their host's amusements while on duty.' Arber nodded in the direction of the tavern they'd just left, 'you can see how many of them are following their orders. These won't be missed for a while yet.'

'And when they are?' asked Chell quietly. Arber just shrugged, tossing the woman a crumpled green tunic.

'I'll just say someone got in here and stole them. I've enough dirt accumulated over the years on the old Guard Captain, Ferros, that will see this blows over right enough. There'll be enough uniforms here for the lot of you, though you'll have to do a bit of rooting to find them. A few of the officers' horses are being stabled over at the Scythe and Sheaf. Speak to Hamid, tell him I'll write off the last of his debts here if he lets you have one for the afternoon –though mind you leave it behind when you get out of here. Right then,' he continued, a grin twisting his worn face to leave him looking rather pleased with himself, 'I've provided the means, now how you use it is up to you.'

Etien threw the cloak over his arm, other thrust out to grasp his friend's hand. 'Thanks for this, Arber.'

'Aye, well, the time where I side with the guards against you has been and passed. Leave by the backdoor, and safe journey, Etien.'

Etien just nodded, focus back on the cloak he held as though he could not manage more, the other silently fanning out about him to rummage through the piled baskets. Eruna eyed the pile of soiled tunics before her; Arber was right, they had the means, now all they needed was a plan.

**…**

Enric gazed out into the bright, bustling street, eyes fixed upon the long stone build at the end, the shield above the door bearing the salient boar of the town's heraldry: the guardhouse. A gentle snort, Enric reaching up to absently pat the neck of the grey gelding stood patiently next to him, while behind the others made their final preparations, Etien, Chell and Gideon all twisting in the unfamiliarity of their uniforms, the elf still fussing over the buckles to Gideon's leather cuirass. The stables over at the Scythe and Sheaf had yielded more than just a mount, four helms and three of the army's standard leather breastplates handed over for a modest bribe, Eruna and Leandril to remain hidden outside, the pair too conspicuous even under a helm.

Eruna had wondered whether Chell should not be left with them as well, but Enric had met enough women in the military over the years and Chell looked the part –much to her chagrin. Enric drew a long breath, feeling the weight of his old chainshirt and the balance of the satchel at his hip and sword on his belt, letting the familiarity of the sensations and the knowledge of what he could be facing enter him and be accepted in the time-honoured ritual he had performed since that very first battle. As a medic, he had never been on the front line, most of those five years in the army spent in the carnage left behind them or travelling with smaller squads, his skills their last pause between life and death. But however long he served, the moments before every battle were still the same. Enric drew breath after slow breath, the others' nerves vented in hissed quarrel.

'This helm is too tight.'

'Well, of course, it is, Etien, it's got to fit over your fat head.'

'Thanks, Chell. Here, Gideon, swap with me.'

'No.'

'So the plan again,' pressed Leandril, the elf finally finished with Gideon's breastplate. 'You go in, Enric convinces them you've just arrived in Marmont having journeyed from the camp-'

'These clothes stink enough to lend weight to the tale,' muttered Chell.

'-charged with locating those who escaped detention, and you'll ask to see any Children they're currently holding.'

All eyes were on him; Enric nodded once.

'Yes.'

'And if they don't believe us…' asked Etien quietly. Enric remained firm.

'They're just the town watch; I am a commander of the Seventh Battalion -they will believe us.'

'They might not even know where the Children are being held.'

'Well, if not, then we begin to visit the places Aleef gave us,' snapped Eruna.

'That's not much of a backup…'

'You have a better idea, Etien?' questioned Chell archly. The man snorted, throwing up his hands as though after everything, what was one more suicidal march into danger?

Enric rolled his neck and placed his own plumed helm securely on his head. 'There, how do I look?'

'Here,' came Eruna, gently reaching up to remove his spectacles, the man chuckling nervously as he slipped them into his pocket.

'I will be fortunate now not to announce myself to the slop-boy.'

The girl just nodded, too nervous for a smile, Leandril linking an arm about hers.

'Come, we'll have a good view over here.'

And any reply she made was lost to the din, the soldiers leaving the shelter of the alley to march along the busy street, people hastening from their path. Enric led the way with the horse that was supposed to be his, the man throwing the reins to Etien as they reached the guardhouse, who tied the beast to the hitching post without falter, the two guards at the door straightening to salute his passing and serving only to bolster him – this would work.

Inside, the large room was neatly arranged, an enormous, round table dismantled and leaning against the back wall, likely to make room for the four, long desks that were now arranged in at a right angle against two of the walls, the few guards sat behind them searching through papers or scribbling in ledgers with much tutting and sighs, all under the sullen air of those who were unused to such formalities and the resented the change.

Enric reached up and removed the helm he had only just placed on, drawing from deep within him the memory of that cool, meticulous man.

'Who is in charge here?'

Every head glanced to him, the blurred figure of a stout, middle-aged man hastened to stand behind his desk and offer a wary salute.

'Good afternoon, sir, I am Ferros, Captain of the Marmont Watch, is something I can do for you, ah?'

'Commander Merenc,' Enric barked, 'of the Seventh Battalion. I am here investigating rumours of Bhaalspawn in the town.' A condescending smile, 'I understand the watch here have had some success in detaining them.'

Ferros merely frowned. 'The watch here can take no credit for that, not since the garrison arrived, but you are in luck. Commander Helsteen?' And Enric felt his stomach drop as the iron door beside them swung back to reveal a tall man of local colouring. 'Commander, this is-'

Enric straightened to throw up a sharp salute and instantly berated himself; they were _supposed_ to be of equal rank, such reactions ingrained after so long.

'Commander Merenc of the seventh battalion, I understand Marmont under is your protection.'

Helsteen slowly raised a hand, as well, casting over them with a contemplative frown. He had a commanding bearing for his apparent youth –though _that_ was more assumption than fact, his weak eyes softening everyone to their mid-twenties.

'It is so -you are Merenc, you say? I had heard rumours you were killed when the camp under your command fell to Bhaalspawn.'

Enric snorted; a disdain to hide his discomfort. 'A rumour disseminated by men all too eager to desert their posts and flee before the uprising. No, I did not die, but escaped to regroup with a handful of more loyal soldiers. We returned to the camp, logged those Bhaalspawn who have fallen against camp records and now we search for the rest. We have tracked a few here, and would confirm you have them in custody.'

'And you say you arrived just now?' continued Helsteen, 'You should have informed the guards at the gates, they could have brought you straight to the garrison; it was only by chance I was here.'

'I did not wish to trouble them. Truly, I plan to stay in Marmont only as long as is necessary. The rest of my squad are in the marketplace restocking our supplies even now. We need not take these Bhaalspawn from you,' Enric added carefully, keen to assuage any worries he was there only for a share in the glory, 'but we need to confirm who you have in custody before we move on.'

Helsteen nodded, a polite smile curling his thin mouth. 'I see… well, Merenc, let us see if we cannot oblige you. Deven, Gaffird escort the Commander to the holding warehouse.'

The young Gaffid sprang to an immediate salute. 'Yes, sir!'

'If you just follow us, aye?' grunted Deven, the older man hauling himself from his chair with an indifference that earned him a glower from the younger soldier, Enric nodding for the boy to continue before him as he turned to follow them out.

**…**

The walls were pressing in on her, that room a suffocation of darkness and stale air. Jaheira closed her eyes, letting the feelings of anger ebb –it had taken a long time to retrieve the splinter when she had thrown it in temper the last time. The wooden chunk of bed frame had been gouged off by the manacle in her previous frustrations (her wrist looked little better), and now served her as makeshift pick, the woman knelt, arms tired from the continuous effort of being held above her shoulders and fingers stiff as she slowly worked the pick into position, struggling to open the lock to her shackles. All that time with Imoen -why had she never asked to be shown?

Outside, dusk was falling, something showing in more than the room's deepening gloom -the swifts in the rafters gathering for evensong, while the street below grew busier with people making their way home, and she thought of the others on the move in their ragtag herd as -By Silvanus, she prayed they had kept moving, prayed they had had the sense to go –but where? Another wave of anger was locked behind gritted teeth; she should have fought Parim when she'd first arrived to take her, should have just bolted and lost them in the city –Athic would have known enough to have taken the horses out to the others, and she could have joined them later. Or not, she considered, recalling how they had recognised her at the gates. But it was too late for such regrets now – she had trusted in her _brothers_ and once again they had disappointed her.

That snake, Rahir, perverting all the Harpers stood for… Just as Galvery had done, and Dermin, and when had the ideals of the Harpers diverged so glaringly from her own?

The rattle of the door handle startled her, Jaheira flipping over to slip the splinter into her boot, irritation flaring at the thought she would have to start all over again, only for it die, quenched by the sudden burst of hope as her gaze fell upon that ratty, red-whiskered face.

'Temas!'

He did not return her smile, such a snub from the ingratiating man enough to show her his allegiance, the thickset Harper who was on guard there lingering behind him with a smirk he'd clearly learnt from Parim.

'Jaheira,' Temas greeted tonelessly, 'I had heard you were here. Still content to make trouble for us, I see.'

'I am not here to make trouble, Temas! I am sorry Rahir took his ire out on you after you helped us before, but what he is doing here now –deals with the guards-!'

He would not let her finish. 'These _dealings_ will assure the Harpers' acceptance here in Tethyr.'

'Are they Rahir's words, or yours?'

'Rahir speaks for all the Harpers here.'

'He does not speak for me!'

Temas nodded, the lines that etched his weathered cheeks plumping with a smile.

'Then, there is no other course open to me.' Slowly he drew the short sword at his hip, the guard's dawning confusion exploding in a crack as Temas whirled to uppercut his jaw, a strike to his lolling head from the pommel leaving the man unconscious at his feet.

'Temas!'

'Gods, my hand,' he hissed, shaking out his knuckles and crouching to the body, 'I am getting too old for fisticuffs. Ah, here's the key.'

Jaheira was laughing, eagerly holding up her shackled wrist for him to unlock, the suddenness of her salvation leaving her giddy.

'Temas, gods, it is good to see you! I had heard Rahir sent you away.'

'Oh, Rahir did not send me anywhere,' he corrected blithely, a hand helping her to her feet, 'I left of my own doing. You know what the Harpers here have become, Jaheira.'

'So you quit the Harpers,' she concluded gravely. Temas laughed, bright sideburns trembling.

'Oh, no, I've been in Darromar. The cells there have an idea what is going on here, but a few agree with Rahir's actions, and most are wary enough to ignore them -all remember the split that saw Khelben leave. But there are a handful of others, _troublemakers_,' he gave the word a roguish waggle of ginger eyebrows, 'who see what Rahir has become. The wheels turn slowly, but we're gaining support, both with Harpers here in his own chapter and more senior members in Darromar. When enough are with us, he will be ordered to cease his current dealings, or asked to leave the Harpers for good.' Temas spared a frown for the man at his feet. 'My cover here will be blown now though, I'll have to keep my work to Darromar from here on.'

Jaheira stared back at him, a man she had once dismissed as a dull, peripheral member of their cause.

'Thank you for this, Temas.'

'Not a matter. I couldn't leave you here, could I? Especially not now we're _both_ on the wrong side of Parim.' She laughed at that, the man grinning as he dragged the guard inside and locked the door behind them. 'Come, I heard some friends of yours were taken by Rahir and the others after they arrived to look for you. They are being held at docks ready to be shipped to Darromar come the dusk, but we've time to reach them yet.'

**…**

Enric kept his movements sharp, his stiff stance mirrored by those who marched behind him as their group followed the two guards along the stone quays of the riverside. He could see no sign of Eruna and Leandril, but he trusted they were close by, the long shadows of dusk making a lair of every alleyway, while in the widened river, barges and boats bobbed on their moorings, white sails a rainbow of pinks in the dying sunlight. They were almost at the western end of the quays now, the area deserted enough to make Enric wonder if there were not some unseen arrangement keeping it that way, a long warehouse catching his eye, though not so much for the building itself, but for the two men stood casually outside, one middle-aged and of a local colouring, his younger companion, blond and tanned and Enric realised belatedly, he was not supposed to know of any alliance with the Harpers.

'Are these men of the guards?' he barked loudly, 'Why are they not in uniform?'

'They are not guards, sir,' supplied Gaffrid, his disdain for the men quite audible, 'but _allies_ recruited by Commander Helsteen. I am not permitted to say more, but he will surely tell you should you ask him.'

'I see.'

Deven ignored this exchange. Their approach had been noted a while ago, the older Harper raising his hand to greet them as they closed enough to be recognised.

'All right, Deven? Who've you got here, then?'

'More soldiers from the south – they want to see who we've taken recently.'

'Does Rahir know?' came his tow-haired companion. Gaffrid bristled.

'This is none of _his_ business! This man is a commander of the Seventh Battalion and under direct orders of the Queen; now, show him the prisoners!'

'Look,' Deven pleaded tiredly, no attempt to hide the exaggerated eyeroll, 'just help us out will you, mate? You know how Helsteen gets.'

The two Harpers shared a frown, an unspoken agreement passing in the look, the older man sighing as he turned to the door he was standing before, fumbling for the keys at his belt.

'Aye, all right, then. We caught these two sneaking about where they shouldn't have been yesterday morning.'

'Yesterday?' repeated Enric, the realisation dawning an instant too late and the door before him was hauled back to reveal the hunched forms of Demet and Cruiss, two men who had left their company at Ludsbeck village to make find their own haven, the pair blinking blearily in the sudden light.

'What?'

'Carstil?' murmured Demet.

'Ah, they are two of them, yes,' Enric agreed hastily. 'On to the next then.'

In the cell, Demet was struggling to his feet. 'Carstil, you bastard, you betrayed-?'

Chell took matters into her own hands, stepping forward to smartly slam the door. 'There, now open the next!'

Neither Harper heeded her.

'Here, why was he calling you Carstil?'

'If, if you must know, Carstil is my given name,' Enric faltered, 'some of the detainees used it as a mark of disrespect. Now, then, the next cell.'

Deven and the Harpers were frowning, Gaffrid looking uncertain as who to side with as his companion half drew his sword.

'Just who are you?'

Enric straightened, eyes blazing. 'As I said, I am Commander Merenc, and I am finding myself growing impatient with these delays! Now, on to the next!'

No one moved, the tense silence broken only by the cry of distant gulls, the slap of some loose rigging starting more than just Deven, hand twitching over his hilt and Enric did not even see him move, Gideon suddenly stood over the man, bared blade scarlet and Gaffrid was given no time even to cry out as he too was cut down, Chell and Etien darting forward to silence the Harpers, Enric furious as he whirled upon the instigator of this needless carnage.

'You bastard, Gideon! I could have convinced them!'

The man just snorted. 'They knew.'

All whipped back at the clatter of footsteps, Eruna and Leandril tearing from the alley just yards away.

'What in Hells was that?' the elf demanded of the bodies. Gideon shrugged, crouching to wipe his long dagger on the nearest.

'They were on to us.'

'Never mind that,' snapped Eruna, 'Chell, get the keys and get these doors open.'

'Here,' called Etien behind them, the man stooped over the blond youth he had dispatched, the young man groaning as he clutched the stain that was blooming across his abdomen, 'this one's alive.'

'Good gods,' cried Enric, at last started to action and hastening to his side, hands already groping for the bandages in his bag, 'Lie still; I'll get you something for the -ah!'

'_Hells, guard, get out of it!_

Strong hands wrenched him back, Gideon shoving him sideways to loom over them both, a boot poised over the youth's stomach.

'Now, if you want to see tomorrow, _mate_, I suggest you tell me where-'

'Jaheira!' came Eruna's cry, Enric sparing the approaching figures only the briefest glance as her arrival distracted Gideon, the medic at last free to begin his treatment. Demet and Cruiss were already released, the pair stood in amongst them, Etien taking the time to fill them in, while Chell and Leandril moved on to the next cell, Eruna rushing forward to meet the woman in a hasty embrace.

'Oh, Jaheira, you're all right!'

'Yes, with no small help from Temas, here. Where is Athic?'

'He and Kuri were taken by the Harpers, we think they're-'

'Stand fast all of you, and make not _one_ move!'

And Enric felt his stomach clench, Chell and Leandril frozen before the second door, the rest of them whipping back and forth as guards poured from the alley Eruna had just moments before rushed from, their swords already drawn, a group with crossbows taking up position behind them while a squad of guards stepped in to block escape at the other end of the warehouse. Of the advancing soldiers, Helsteen was at their head and smirking smugly, the watch captain, Ferros, behind him and seemingly distressed by the slaughter they had arrived too, a small group of men and women without uniforms advancing with them and Enric recognised the blond women from the Pearl in their number, their smaller group headed by a heavyset Calimshite, the man's face glistening in the humid heat. Commander Helsteen was still barking orders, the man halting as his guards fanned out instinctually to surround them.

'You, toss me those keys. You, move away from that body.'

A merry jangle as Chell's keys went sailing across to him. Enric rose slowly and took a few steps back, the man relieved enough to see another of the Harpers hurry over to tend youth; now it was merely his own group he had to save.

'Helsteen? What is the meaning of this?'

It was hardly a convincing show, even for his bluster, and Helsteen agreed with him.

'Do not bother with the pretence; did you think I did not realise from the very beginning? Commander Merenc was a close friend of my father's before the first war took him.'

At his side, Captain Ferros's weathered face went slack. 'You- You _knew_ this man was an impostor, Helsteen? You sacrificed the lives of my people for _this?_'

'Their deaths will not be in vain, Ferros, if I am not mistaken this group and their Harper guide,' he nodded briefly to Jaheira, 'are fugitives from the camp, the good _Merenc_ here claimed to be hunting, and with them I have a feeling we will be able to root out many others of their cursed ilk.'

The captain looked too stunned to even reply to such cold strategy; the fat Harper leader took a more ego-centric stance.

'Even so, Helsteen, you should have spoken to me before you decided this. _I _command the Harpers here, and it was not only your own men who were sacrificed.'

'We can discuss this later, Rahir. Men, arrest them,' barked Helsteen, his soldiers moving to take weapons and round them into a small group on edge of the quay, none amongst them foolish enough to tempt such odds. The commander looked more than pleased with himself, neatly sidestepping the bodies to stroll forward and set himself before the warehouse, ready to follow his prisoners. 'We will hold them in the watch house for interrogation.'

'I will take custody of Jaheira,' asserted Rahir. Helsteen did not even do him the courtesy of pretending to persuade him.

'No, she is important to my investigation. She will join the others with me.'

'But-'

'He's right, Rahir,' the blond woman cut in, 'You thought she could be reasoned with, but now you see Jaheira for the traitor she truly is. She is set on her path – let it lead her to the same ruin!'

Helsteen threw a cool glance to the Harper leader, 'Do you wish to deal with the other insurgent?'

Rahir looked at Temas, for the first time showing some sign on indecision on his fleshy face; the red-haired Harper seized his chance.

'Rahir, look! Look at what this alliance has brought us! Kanth is dead and Loris is on his way. _This_ will be what you are remembered for after the war, not any alliance or how many Bhaalspawn you caught, this!'

'Temas, you fool,' the blond woman snapped, 'your insubordination cheapens their deaths!'

But Temas would not be silenced and the man was clearly popular enough within his own group that he had a willing audience.

'What has happened to you, Parim? Are you so blind that you cannot see what the Harpers are doing here is tantamount to murder?'

'_Murder?_ The Bhaalspawn are dangerous!'

'You're not wrong!'

And suddenly, the door behind Helsteen was thrown back, two massive hands grabbing the man before he could even cry, one at his neck as the other neatly snatched the dagger from his belt.

'Athic!' gasped Eruna, a strangled mix of fear and joy.

'Back!' the warrior snarled, moving from the doorway and wrenching Helsteen with him for Kuri to appear in the mouth, 'Step back or I'll cut his throat!'

The commander looked too amazed to be frightened. 'That door? But, I- I had the keys!'

Leandril chuckled lightly, brandishing the small pick he'd palmed. 'What do you think I _did_ for a living back in Riatavin?'

'So,' concluded Captain Ferros slowly, 'seems we're at a stand off. You kill the commander there, and the archers here will open fire.'

'Oh, I haven't played my hand yet, mate,' laughed Athic grimly, 'You want a Bhaalspawn, I'll give you one. Kuri.'

The Turmian nodded, pointing to the blond at Rahir's side. 'You -Parim, is it? Throw me the stone.'

'The stone?'

Rahir was instantly beside himself. 'Don't, Parim, it is a trick!'

Athic certainly wasn't playing, Helsteen choking as the dagger began to bite. 'Give me the stone or he dies!'

'Give it to him –give it to him now!'

A last puzzled glanced thrown to Rahir, and Parim fished a large pebble from her pocket, Kuri catching it easily. Athic nodded to him.

'You ready?'

Kuri held up the stone, Helsteen giving a strangled yelp as the dagger bit deeper, Athic angling the blade to let blood bead down it and drip, pat, pat, pat on the dull grey rock. The commander's eyes widened as it began to hiss.

'What? I am no Bhaalspawn!'

'No,' grunted Athic, finally releasing the man, dagger ready for any reprisals, 'and neither are we, and nor were likely half the poor bastards handed over to you.'

'It was all a ploy by the Harpers,' explained Kuri, 'to curry favour here in Tethyr and win back the acceptance of the people. When Jaheira found out, she was taken in and we were arrested to keep our silence, too.'

'Lies,' screeched Parim, shaking in her rage, 'all lies! Jaheira is a traitor!'

'Then, how would you explain _this?_' roared Helsteen back, the stone thrown to ricochet painfully off her leg, 'Guards, arrest them!'

The Harpers backed into a wary knot as soldiers moved to surround them, Parim's ire turned upon her leader.

'No! You bastard, Rahir, I trusted you!'

'Be silent, Parim! Your ranting helps no one!'

Enric let the noise of their continuing argument fade as their own group gathered before Helsteen, Eruna fussing joyously over her friend.

'Oh, Athic, I was worried sick.'

'Come now, flower,' he chuckled, patting the head that was pressed to his chest, her arms flung about him in her relief, 'I'm all right –I knew you'd come for me. And next time, you can be the one that gets taken. I'm quite keen on the idea of them trying to hold _you_ in some poxy warehouse. Boom!' He threw his hands up with a great laugh, Eruna giggling fondly, a hand still on his arm as though to assure herself he was back with her, Kuri left to congratulate the rest of them with a broad grin.

'You found us then; good work.'

_That_ was apparently open to interpretation, the commander surveying them from under a grave frown, neat white handkerchief spotted with blood where he made to staunch his neck.

'So, what now?'

Eruna was ready with her answer. 'We need to leave here as soon as possible.'

'Agreed,' nodded Helsteen, 'I confess I will be glad to see the back of you. Be assured, I will be making my own investigations into what happened here.'

A salve for any prickling consciences, though Enric suspected it would be more an exercise in covering his own failings. Well, a Darromar cell was as safe as anywhere else for one of the Children in those troubled time, and he swore in himself if he survived what was to come, he would return to the capital and see those already taken freed.

'Well,' continued Helsteen briskly, 'you are free to leave as you will.'

'And we shall,' Jaheira assured him, 'though you could surely aid us in that; I first came to this town to acquire a boat.'

The commander heard her less that subtle intimation. 'Take the barge there with the carved prow. It belongs to the Harpers here, but I do not imagine they will be using it now.'

Helsteen really _was_ keen to see the back of them. Jaheira nodded, turning at once to the red-haired man at her side.

'And what of you Temas? Will you come with us?'

The man smiled and shook his head. 'No, I must remain in Marmont, and heal the damage Rahir and my _brothers_ have caused. With hard work and honesty perhaps our name here can be salvaged in a few years.'

'Come, we should be going,' urged Leandril, their group moving down the quays towards the Harper's barge, Parim and Rahir still fiercely banding the blame between them, the woman scarlet in her growing rage.

'Look what you've done here, Rahir: the whole cell arrested for your ambition! Now they will likely send us all to Darromar, to be jailed with the Bhaalspawn we sent there!'

Around her, the other Harpers shifted nervously, snatched glanced thrown to Helsteen as though worried this was only giving him ideas. For the fact Rahir was now sweating profusely, his temper, at least, was cool.

'Parim, calm yourself!'

'_Calm?_ You bastard, you have _ruined_ us!'

'Listen to yourself, Parim,' snapped Jaheira tiredly, 'as ever you see fault in every hand but your own. All choose their paths in this world; Rahir may have led, but you followed him willingly.'

If this had meant to calm her, it had the opposite affect.

'You _BITCH!_'

It happened in a heart beat, Parim striking the guard at her side to grab the loaded crossbow, her intent plain and Temas dove in to grab her just as Gideon's dagger took flight. A dull thud and Temas was on his knees, blade sticking neatly from his back. Parim's scream broke the shocked silence.

'_Murderers!_'

And swords were suddenly drawn, the harpers scattering, some running to surrender as others pressed the fight, the confusion of bodies helping neither side as the guards attacked. Enric threw his sword to Jaheira, the woman without arms, but with a clear will to use them and he himself was unwilling to join a fight where half merely wished to escape it, a man breaking from the press to charge for him, Enric about to let him make good his escape, when he saw the blade flash.

'No ,you don't!' boomed that voice, a great fist grabbing the Harper with force enough to whirl him about, the dagger Athic had taken from Helsteen making short work of his attacker. Enric stuttered his appreciation.

'M-My thanks, friend.'

Athic just grinned, the smile frozen on his face, his look almost surprised as a blade tip emerged from his unprotected chest, Parim's victory brief as a soldier cut her down, and she and Athic fell as one. Parim's death had signalled the end, those harpers left surrendering to the overwhelming odds, weapons joining the bodies that already scattered the quays. That moment of calm, hearts slowing as everyone glanced to one another and-

A scream went up, a howl from torn soul, Eruna throwing herself upon the body.

'Athic! No, oh, no…'

Enric crouched over him, but there was nothing to be done; the blade had pierced his heart and Athic had likely died before he'd even hit the ground, Eruna unmindful of the blood soaking her skirts as she clung to his arm, keening as though the sword had impaled her too, Kuri hovering behind her, tears running freely down his face. They were not alone in their grief, Harpers and guards stooped over the fallen.

Across the quays, Jaheira hurried to her old friend's side, the man still clinging to life even as the cobbles beneath him pooled red, thin rivulets tracing their way down to the river. Gideon was crouched over him, trying in vain to staunch the gaping wound with a blood-soaked rag, the warrior snatching a guilty glance to her as she arrived above him.

'I- I didn't mean –I thought-'

'I know… Oh, Temas.'

Jaheira seemed to know instinctively there was no hope, moving to place her hands gently over his own, rather than the wound, the older man's lips curling to a wan smile as he found her.

'Do not worry, Jaheira, I am not afraid.'

'No, Temas, do not talk,' she murmured, easing a hand from his to wipe the gurgled blood from his chin, though he did not heed her, face screwed up with the effort.

'You must not lose faith, Jaheira. Any man can be misguided, but the Harpers as an ideal are still good. We need people like you, those firm in their convictions. Do not forget…'

His voice faded and his life followed. Enric glanced up as the cool droplets, fine as pinpricks, bristled his neck, the rain that had threatened all day, patting lightly on cobbles as though to wash them of this sin. Eruna was still weeping, Kuri trying to heave her up as Chell and Etien covered the body with the latter's dark green cloak, a couple of soldiers helping them to carry him on board the waiting barge. Enric sat back on his haunches and gazed about him; to Helsteen assuring Jaheira he would see to Temas's funeral; to the bodies that littered the quays, the soldiers moving between those Harpers who'd had the sense to surrender, his gaze falling finally on Rahir, pale and distrait, the man knelt with the others with a sword resting between his shoulders and staring out at the carnage his pride had wrought.

Enric rose and turned away, following the others up the gangplank.


	29. Amkethran

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Amkethran**

It was late afternoon, the sky a yellowing curl of parchment in the waning day though the sun still held its heat, beating down on their backs as they walked those last few miles through arid foothills, the western tail of the Marching Mountains looming before them, rich peaks of caramel in the sinking sun.

Their group had parted company with Harjit and the caravan two days ago, when the road had finally reached the great sand-sea of the Calim Desert, Harjit's caravan joining with another to begin that perilous tenday from oasis to oasis, while their own group turned east, taking the less-travelled road to Amkethran.

Fritha raised the handkerchief she'd held since noon, wiping the sweat from her lips and brow and wishing she could do as much for her back, tunic clinging unpleasantly to her slick skin, her pack all the heavier in that cloying air. She was bringing up the rear alone, the rest of the group scattered before her following Valygar and Imoen along that dusty trail, where only thorn brush and scrubby patches of bursage had found a place to grow. No one was speaking, the effort seemingly beyond them as they trudged on, intent on their path, though her own gaze was otherwise occupied, lingering on the broad shoulders just ahead of her. The skin of his neck was darker now, tanned from the many days of walking, a slight turn to his head revealing the beard that needed a good half hour before a mirror –Fritha wondered if he ever considered shaving it off completely.

Anomen had avoided her from the evening of their fight, and she herself had made no move to seek him out over the next few days, his anger at her simmering to a cool truce and they had not spoken since, her company limited to Minsc and sometimes Imoen -when the girl could pry herself from Valygar's side.

Fritha sighed, pausing to reach for her flask, her handkerchief momentarily forgotten and in her desperate lunge to catch its fall she dropped the more precious of the two, opened canteen landing at her feet, the girl unable to do more than watch as those last few mouthfuls glugged into the dust. Fritha hadn't even the energy to curse. At their head, Imoen's cry split the air.

'Is that-? I can see the monastery! We've arrived!'

Indeed they had, though Fritha could see little there that was any cause for celebration. Valygar had brought them to halt on a high bluff, a sprawling fortress just to their north, curled against the cliffs on a narrow shelf of rock, a high stone wall of the same arid brown encircling the squat towers and plain stone keeps within, while in the gully below a small settlement huddled, buildings clustered in the gully bottom and stacked against the eastern cliffs for what little shelter they could afford from the hot winds that were ever whipping up from the south, where the village trailed off before the encroaching desert.

'What's that down there,' came Imoen again, 'some sort of camp?'

A fair enough assessment, Fritha's eyes sweeping across the small encampment that was clustered on the desert's edge, the usual grubby canvas peaks interspersed with colourful hillocks of rugs, blankets and whatever else had been to hand, the ramshackle appearance leaving Fritha with the suspicion that the few Children who had managed to follow Melissan had found their refuge there.

Before them the path -well, she presumed it was such, a narrow trail that was more gravel than dust leading away to split after a few paces, one trail following the bluff around to the north to skirt the monastery walls, while the other dipped steeply down into the valley proper.

'Right,' said Fritha, now at their head as they set out once more and fighting against momentum as she moved down the slope in a staggered jog, 'we should head to the monastery first and find Meliss-'

'Ah!'

Fritha whipped back at the cry, Brieanna suddenly slumped into Anomen, the man's arms under hers and preventing her from toppling over completely. Brieanna was teetering precariously on one leg, spitting curses at the ground.

'What is it?'

'I- nothing, just my ankle -These damn sandals!'

'Can you walk?' asked Valygar. The woman was nodding, tentatively easing her foot back to the path.

'Yes, just- _ah!_ Perhaps not.'

Fritha bit back a sigh, arm thrown to a small outcropping of rocks a little way back up the path. 'Why don't you go and wait there –it's close by and we'll come and fetch you as soon as we've secured rooms at the inn.'

Brieanna looked deeply embarrassed, trying to disengage herself from Anomen even as she wobbled.

'I- well- as you say.'

'Come, my lady,' the knight pressed gently, 'put your weight on me.'

And Fritha felt her stomach twist as he bore her off, the girl turning back to the path, flushed and very foolish.

'You all right?' murmured Imoen at her shoulder.

'Yes, I'm fine, let's go.'

The entrance was not easy to find, just a plain gate set in the high walls, though it was marked for them by other means.

'Get your hands off me! You fools, you will ruin all for which we have strived! I said unhand-!'

Melissan was struggling with two cowled men, the woman a blur of blue and red robes as she was no less than hurled from the gates to land in a heap on the path before them. Fritha slowed her pace to a casual stroll, trying to keep the smile from her voice.

'Well, if it isn't Melissan; it seems your popularity is on the ebb.'

'Fritha?' the woman cried, barely able to believe it, taking the hand Minsc offered her and struggled to her feet, 'Where have you _been?_ I've been here almost a tenday myself and I left well after you.'

Fritha shrugged. 'We took a detour to this camp where the Tethyran army was herding all the Children.'

Melissan was agog. 'Then, they- they are _free_ now?'

'Those that survived.'

'Well, where are they then?' she pressed eagerly, eyes sweeping the path behind her as though expecting to see a small army crest the bluff at any moment.

Fritha smiled, enjoying that rare feeling of being the one with all the answers.

'Never you mind, Melissan. I would not wish to tell you anything which would merely endanger you later, should someone try to force the information from you. Suffice to say, they are somewhere safe. What has been happening here?'

'_Nothing_,' the woman sighed, voice rising with the glare thrown back to the gates, 'just another succumb to the same _paranoia_ as that _fool_ Gromnir! The monastery here has been devoted to gathering records on the Children and Alaundo's prophesy since the Time of Troubles that they may bring about an end to the taint upon this land -their thoughts, not mine,' she assured a scowling Imoen. 'But as I continued my research and received reports from my scouts, Balthazar the leader of the order here, grew suspicious –he accused me of aiding the Bhaalspawn who are rising up in violence! I swear, this threat of war has everyone running mad! But all was not in vain, after a tenday in their libraries and reports from my scouts I have finally determined Sendai's location. She is hidden within the sprawling forests of Apagis, thirty leagues north-west of here and amassing an army with which she to march on Tethyr.'

'Oh, so there _is_ an army amassing somewhere,' laughed Imoen, 'at least the Silver Chalice won't be disappointed.'

Melissan said nothing – perhaps she expected them to turn about and set off right there and then. Fritha smiled.

'Right, thank you, Melissan, I will be sure to act on this information in due course. Now, what do you know of Abagizal?'

'Abagizal?' the woman repeated, 'I- I don't believe I have ever heard that name before. Is he a Bhaalspawn?'

Fritha nodded slowly. 'Yes, I think he just might be, and more than that, he seems to have dragons at his beck and call. They came to the camp while I was there –it was carnage. I saw the creatures head south afterwards to the mountains. They're down here somewhere and I want to know where.'

Melissan was wringing her sleeves with the deliberate air of one who wanted to make an order sound like a suggestion.

'Fritha, I can understand your desire for retribution, but it may take me some time to find him. Sendai is a threat here and _now_ –and I am sure to have Abagizal's whereabouts on your return.'

'No, the dragons are the greater threat here. Armies may clash on equal terms, but a dragon could destroy a whole town from the air and who knows how many he holds in his thrall.'

'She is right,' added Valygar, 'It takes time to raise an army, and longer to march it anywhere. You must supply it, direct it, sustain it. Not so with dragons.'

'Exactly; Abagizal is my next target.' Fritha smiled broadly, 'If you cannot find him, perhaps this Balthazar can…'

'As though he would deal with _you_,' Melissan huffed, taking her frustrations out on her dusty robes, 'he hates all the Children regardless of their motives. Well, I suppose I must go then and learn what I can of this Dragon-Lord. The monastery libraries might be closed to me now, but I have other sources. I will reassure those Children already gathered here that all is in hand and take my leave.'

Fritha nodded once. 'Good hunting, then.'

'And to you.'

And off she bustled, back up the path they had travelled, their group continuing the way down through the village and Fritha had the distinct impression they saw most of it on that short walk to the inn. Merely a hatching of dusty streets surrounded by fields of hopeful crops that were dying in the furrows, and Fritha suspected most of the village's food was brought there by trade. Such assumptions that were put in doubt, however, as the street they walked opened to an empty market square that even the faithful had seen fit to desert, a temple to Waukeen standing silent to the north, once welcoming door now barred, brightly painted frescos faded and peeling, the once fine copper bell in its tower the greenest thing for a league. And everywhere they walked, those men who looked at everything and weighed up the gold it could bring them.

'There are a lot mercs about for such a small place,' observed Imoen somewhere behind her.

'Indeed. I do not expect there will be any room at the inn.'

Valygar was likely right, but Fritha felt compelled to try anyway, leading the way across the square and along the next street, the low rumble of talk guiding her to the end where nestled at the base of the eastern cliffs, a large plain building of whitewashed plaster rose over three storeys, its many windows shuttered by the usual wicker screens, a sign, carved rather than painted against the desert winds, proclaiming _The Zephyr_ to all who bothered to read it. And Fritha imagined most there didn't, mercenaries of every creed spilling from the darkly yawning doorway below to crowd about the tables set in the yard before it, the low wall which marked the boundary covered similarly, lines of men and the occasional battle-worn woman all sat drinking in the afternoon's heat.

An overworked maid halted them before they'd even reached the door, a tray heavy with cups both full and empty resting upon her hip, tanned face bearing more lines that her age would have suggested, worn by the air and the life there both.

'Don't bother going in if you're looking for lodgings; every room is let and sleeping about five men to each.'

Behind them two rough-looking mercenaries set twined leers upon Imoen.

'There's room for you in my bed, girl.'

'Aye, he might even let you get some sleep.'

Imoen ignored them. 'What are all these lot doing here anyway?'

The maid shrugged as best she could with a laden tray at her hip, nodding back at the bluff they'd just descended.

'Oh, him up at the monastery hired them, though don't ask me what in Hells for -all they've done since they arrived is bullied us villagers and gotten drunk. Even the owner here, Zakee, is sick of them by now.' The maid snorted bitterly, 'As if we haven't enough troubles.'

'Here woman, where's me ale?'

'_I'm coming!_'

Fritha sighed, turning away from her and the tavern both as the maid marched off to appease another table with their order, the girl taking a moment to run a critical frown across the barren jumble of flat-roofed peeling buildings. The monastery looked larger from down there, a presence that loomed over the village, more stern master than vigilant guardian. She gazed up at it, the high walls that could have been stone hewn from those same cliffs. A place of walls and silence, just as Candlekeep had been, but were they there to keep something out, or something in? She was not sure in either case.

'Something's not right here. '

'_No_,' gasped Imoen, bringing Fritha back to the street before them and the insouciant figure who was sauntering so blithely toward them, 'I can't _believe_ it…'

Fritha could have almost laughed. So, Fates, was this a gift, a test, or something entirely different?

'_Havarian_.'

The man had yet to spot them, though such was hardly surprising –Amkethran did not seem the place anyone would visit by chance, Saemon still strolling towards the tavern. He looked well enough, perhaps a little older than she remember, but that could be said of all of them, Fritha stepping casually from the yard to leave the gateway unobstructed, those behind following suit, and it seemed the sailor would pass them by without even noticing, when-

'Afternoon there, _captain_.'

Saemon faltered, perhaps at her voice, or maybe the title, the man whipping to her, blue eyes wide with a genuine surprise, though Fritha did not miss the wary glance spared for his surroundings –that snatched moment to confirm an escape route, should one be required.

'Fritha? By the Four Winds,' he laughed, sweeping his arms wide in welcome, though he was not foolish enough to press the embrace, 'I never thought to see you here!'

'Prayed you wouldn't, more like!' snapped Imoen and Minsc looked little more impressed.

'Boo says this is not a good day for you, sailor.'

Solaufein, on the other hand, merely looked bemused. 'You all know this man?'

'Oh, yes,' smiled Fritha, 'for it was by Saemon's deceit, I came to fall so easily into Irenicus's web and lost my soul.'

'I _see…_'

If Saemon had been wary before, it was nothing now he had the drow's icy glare boring into him from the shadow of that deep brim, the sailor's attempts to retreat a step halted by Valygar as the man leaned pointedly on the gatepost behind.

'Come now, friends,' Saemon reasoned, falling back on that well-oiled charm, 'I know my crimes were great, but that is all past now, and though my actions were utterly _despicable_, all I did then was to ensure the safety of myself and my crew.'

'Your crew?' repeated Fritha coolly, 'You did not seem so concerned for them when you left them to drown two days out of Brynnlaw. Tell me, was that blade you stole worth their lives?'

Saemon swallowed dryly, all the guile gone from his face, his tone flat with bitter honesty. 'I cannot change what happened, milady, only move on from it.'

'And so you moved here,' continued Fritha, trying not to enjoy the pain that lingered about him, 'Amkethran – the mercenaries' haven.'

'Yeah, what's going in this place?' added Imoen, 'Yaga Shura kept a smaller army.'

Saemon paused, running a frown over them as though weighing up his answer.

'A lot has happened here of late, and now I see you I wonder if it is not all coming to a head. Come,' he continued, suddenly resolved and setting out northward, 'my lot are camped nearby and in the only place here not under the shadow of that monastery.'

Saemon led the way past the houses that were stacked, block upon block, against the eastern cliffs like a child's building bricks, until the cliffs curved into that northern wall, the seat for the monastery that loomed far above, that face of stone sheer and impenetrable, but for a thick black fissure that opened so innocuously before them, barely more than a man's width, Saemon stepping through it and they followed him, one by one, into the darkness.

Just inside and all instantly came to a halt to let eyes grow accustomed to the gloom after the brightness of the sun-scorched gully. Wherever they were, it was much cooler than outside, and Fritha had not realised how used to the heat she had become until that shiver rippled over her, her vision clearing to find them stood in a large cavern. It had likely been a much smaller cave once, opened by the shifting plates above and widened over the years by the people there, rough tool marks glistening on the damp walls, where lichen and mosses grew in patches, dull maps of distant lands, and somewhere echoed the splash of running water. Behind her, Solaufein's sigh; Fritha wondered if he felt homesick.

It seemed more than he would have called the place home, too, the dozen or so people scattered about the room glancing up at their arrival, though Saemon's presence enough to reassure them, and they returned to their tasks without comment, packing baskets and stacking crates as though that temple of Nature was just another large warehouse.

'Ah, Esaemon,' greeted a large man of Valygar's swarthy colouring, straightening from the dusty crate of bottles he had been counting, 'returned so soon? I thought you were going to speak to Zakee about-' he stopped, suddenly suspicious as he noticed them.

'And indeed I shall, Abdem, but I ran in a few old friends, as you see. I'll be sure talk to Zakee before the day is out though. Any tea left in the pot?'

The man nodded once, returning to his work to eye them warily, Saemon blithely ignoring him as he showed them over to where a collection of upturned boxes were ringed about a small fire, a large pot nestled in amongst the dying embers.

'So, what's going on?' pressed Imoen, as soon as all were seated and served. Saemon smiled, filling his own cup last and dumping the empty pot back on the fire, a certain weariness to the gesture.

'That, my friend, is a very broad question.'

'Then, what are _you_ doing here, _E_saemon?' clarified Fritha sharply.

'Ah, you noticed that did you, milady?' he chuckled, a sip of tea wetting his throat for the tale, 'Well, after the Gallanté sank, I eventually found myself back in Athkatla, where I gave the Shadow Thieves a revised version of events-'

'You told them we were dead!' snapped Imoen.

'-and joined another crew of smugglers –my own ship being sunk, of course. And all rolled along easily enough for a month or so, until _your_ unanticipated return. The Shadow Thieves discovered the depths to my deceit and I was forced to leave Amn.'

'Bloodscalp aim to take the coin for our _safe_ passage from your hide?' asked Fritha. Saemon laughed.

'That he did and quite determinedly, too -he has a bit if a soft spot for you, milady.'

Fritha just smiled, warmed by the thought.

'He put three times what I charged the Shadow Thieves on my head –my own mother would have turned me in after that, and it was no longer safe for me in Amn, or anywhere they knew me.'

'So you came here?' confirmed Valygar.

'Indeed, I did. I took a boat to Tethyr and found myself work as a guard on a caravan that ended up passing through here, and I liked it so well, I stayed.'

'You mean you finally found a rock under which the Shadow Thieves wouldn't look,' sneered Imoen. Saemon just sighed, seemingly resigned to her anger.

'I do not begrudge you your suspicions, milady, but I sincerely thought this village was a place I could find some peace. That was seven months past now, and the caravan I arrived with was the last of the trade this place saw. You may not believe it to look at it, but Amkethran was once a bustling village. As I understand it, a few years ago, they made their way through crops and keeping goats upon the hills, as many do in the Marching Mountains. But as the rains moved north and the desert crept ever closer, this way of life died. There has been a drought here for the last three years, but the people persevered and, with the help of the monastery, they continued to survive. The desert about here is dangerous, as well the monks know for they use it in their training and initiations, and the monastery offered their services as escorts and guides to those caravans wishing to cross these perilous sands under the condition they stop here to replenish their water and trade, and life in Amkethran continued on. But a few months before I arrived, the monastery began to demand a tithe for this work -and then they refused to help altogether, and the caravans stopped coming. Those who could afford to leave, did so, and the rest just remained here to rot.'

'But why suddenly stop their help?' asked Fritha.

'I was not here then, milady, but it seemed there was a change in leadership up at the monastery. The old master died and a new one rose to take his place.'

'Balthazar,' offered Minsc gravely.

'Aye, you have heard of him already? It does not surprise me. Their order may claim to be working towards some nobler goal – ending the Curse, or the like- but how does bringing an army of mercenaries here aid anyone? Then the woman, Melissan, arrived a tenday past with that ramtaggle following. I could always tell at sea when a storm was in the air– something is brewing and this wretched place is going to be the eye of it.'

Fritha leaned back on her seat, coolly appraising. 'And where do _you_ sit in all this, Havarian?'

'Well, you will amused to hear I kept to what I know. The monastery overlooks us smugglers for the most part, as long as we pay them a tithe for what we move. There are many goods the merchants would bring from Calimshan, goods that they would prefer did not pass under the scrutinising eyes of the border patrols. We have an arrangement with such men, collecting goods from agreed places in the desert, along with our payment in food which we can trade to the villagers here, while this other merchandise is sent on its way with couriers over the mountains into Tethyr.'

'Oh, listen to him,' laughed Imoen, 'he's a regular Ilmateran.'

'Look, I know you have no reason to believe me, milady, but I _do_ regret what happened. I would not have even gone through with it at all once I discovered what that mage and his sister were all about, but once I was in with them there was only one way out of it. And look at it this way, you two got through all right in the end.'

Imoen looked furious at the mere suggestion.

'You're tempting another broken nose, Havarian,' warned Fritha.

'All right, all right,' the man appeased quickly, 'look, I can't change what I did, but I choose my masters with a lot more care nowadays and I'm trying to make amends as I can. Here, I've got to go, but Cassin will sort you out with supplies if you need them, and at a good price, too. And if you need anywhere to throw down your bed roll then you are welcome here. Here, Cassin,' he called into the cave behind them, a short Calimshite man glancing up from his work, 'a good rate for this lot should they want to trade.'

He turned back in time to see Fritha's nod. 'Thank you, Saemon.'

The man just returned the gesture, making to his feet to prompt them to the same.

'You lot be careful, and if you hear anything you think will be of use, send it our way –knowledge holds it's value like gold round here.'

He did not linger for anymore goodbyes, the man leaving them then, marching back to the cavern mouth to be lost to the glare.

**…**

Anomen and Brieanna were just where they had left them, the pair sat side by said upon a large flat stone that had toppled from the cliffs behind innumerable years before, the man kindly offering the woman his flask at the moment they crested the slope, which she waved away with very fixed smile; Fritha did not bother with usual, meaningless greetings.

'There's no room at the inn, come on, we can make camp with the other Bhaalspawn –we'll explain why on the way.'

And slowly, for Brieanna was still limping, the group made their back through the village, heading south to the desert's edge and the camp that was clustered at the diminishing foot of the western cliffs, where the bluff they had arrived on curved around to gradually slope down into the endless sands. Fritha brought them to a halt a few yards from the camp proper, their arrival generating some interest, heads peeking from tents as they pitched their own. Imoen uprooted a dead gorse bush for kindling, and but a few moments later the were settled about a small fire that they had built more from habit than any need, the hot winds making the canvas about them ripple and flap.

'So,' considered Anomen gravely and with more than a little disapproval, as Imoen and Valygar between them finished their tale, 'we merely plan to wait here until Melissan tells us where this Abagizal might be found, and all the while Sendai raises her army?'

Fritha frowned –well, at least he was making this easy.

'Of course not. I just told Melissan that because I had the _distinct_ impression she would put a whole lot more effort into her search for the Abagizal, if she didn't think I would do anything else. We will wait here until Jaheira arrives back – if Melissan returns with Abagizal whereabouts before then, we will set out for him and leave a message here for Jaheira telling her so. If Jaheira arrives before news of Abagizal, we will leave for Sendai.'

'Still trusting in the Fates to lead you?' the knight offered quietly. Fritha just snorted.

'They've yet to lead me wrong.'

'And until then, we must just wait here?' Anomen sighed, giving the fire a frustrated stab and throwing the last gorse branch on, 'Sendai's army could be on the move before we have even found this Dragon-Lord.'

'Whereas these dragons haven't done a thing yet which would indicate they pose a more immediate threat- oh, _wait_.'

'I do not deserve your scorn, Fritha.'

'Well, I don't need your doubts!'

'Ah, forgive my interruption,' faltered a voice above them, Fritha turning with the others to find a youth of her own age stood on the edge of their camp and looking as though he was trying not to fidget, a hand nervously smoothing the untidy crop of blond hair, his tanned face still bearing the glow across his nose and forehead from where the sunburn was fading. He took a tentative step forward, pale brown robes leaving interesting trails in the dust, 'Ah, Fritha, is it not?'

'Yes, what of it?'

The man blinked, as though considering whether he did, indeed, want to answer her, his throat bobbing to continue, 'Ah, nothing, merely I am Lukyle, a sort headman for the Children here, as much as we have one -Melissan told us you would likely be about.'

'And I don't suppose she bothered to name the rest of us?' inquired Imoen. 'Thought not,' she chirruped at the mute shake of his head, the girl blithely rattling off the introductions and offering him the place beside her to continue, 'So what is it you do here, Lukyle?'

'Well, nothing really,' he offered, dropping into a crouch next to her, 'just take reports from the scouts when the Lady Melissan is away and keep the rest of the camp in order.' He smiled, bolstered by his own words, 'I used to serve as cleric to the mayor's office in Greenest before my _condition_ became known. If any have problems, they know to come to me.'

'But Melissan is not here now?' confirmed Brieanna. Lukyle shook his head.

'No, m'lady, she has already left on her own business. I believe she is attempting to contact a few of the monks here who dare defy their new leader. I understand many of them are displeased with the way Balthazar runs matters, not least his treatment of the villagers, though most monks are too loyal to offer any dissent.'

'I can't imagine what _that_ would be like,' muttered Fritha. Perhaps Lukyle sensed the dissent among them, the man hastening to stand once more.

'Well, I merely came to bid you welcome. There is an old well the villagers used to use for irrigation just up on the bluff there, and the smugglers have food to trade if you've the coin for it –you can usually find a few of them gathered on the edge of the market square. You need anything else, those in the camp all know me, so, ah, just ask.'

'He seemed friendly enough,' offered Imoen at his quickly retreating back. Minsc followed her gaze with a frown.

'Indeed, for a man so poorly welcomed. Boo says hospitality is all men's duty; you should have set him more at ease, young Fritha.'

Fritha sighed, heaving herself to her feet before the energy to do so deserted her completely. 'Yes, well, I might go and see about some water. Pass me the flasks, Minsc.'

The Rashemi did as he was bade, passing her the two large boiled leather flasks that held their water rations between the springs and streams which were all too rare in those lands, warnings they would be heavy when full falling on deaf ears as she gathered up the group's collection of canteens and left the camp to walk the short distance up the bluff behind them.

A few moments to climb the dusty path, and she was stood on the same cliffs they had arrived on but hours before, albeit more towards its southern end. The sun was low now, casting long shadows into the gully below her, a brimming pool of gloom where beneath a lost village, long ago submerged by rising waters, slept in cool sanctuary. She was almost temped to dive in.

Fritha hauled off her tunic, using the balled cloth to take the lingering dampness from her arms and neck as the warm dusk air did the same for her thin camisole. Should life really be this hard, where war loomed ever over her and all her decisions seemed able to determine was _when_ she hurt those she cared for? Looking on the brighter side though, if her life continued to prove this miserable, come the end, she might not be so loathed to leave it.

The well was old and, before the Children had arrived, likely unused since the drought began and Amkethran exchanged farming for trade, just a simple wooden frame erected over a rough hole a couple of yards across, a wooden pulley hanging over it, while a notched post in the earth at her feet provided a place to hitch the rope. The years had not been so kind to other parts though, the leather bucket that she hauled from the darkness degraded and malleable after so long left in the water and care had to be taken when pouring -something she realised after half the first bucketful ended up slopped, rather refreshingly, over her sandaled feet.

It was slow, hard work, the old well bored deep into the bedrock, and for a time the only sounds were the squeak of the pulley and the pant of her breathing, until the rasp of feet on gravel joined her song and Fritha paused to watch his approach. He did not greet her, turning instead to look over gully as she had, and she wondered for a moment how he saw that world of light.

'So, it is as you wanted –Anomen hardly looks at you now.'

Fritha sighed, the ache in her shoulders matching the one under her ribs.

'Yes… Here, come here,' she beckoned, closing her arms about his lean frame, her voice muffled against his shoulder. 'Don't be cross with me, Solaufein. Of any of them, I can't bear to have you cross with me.'

The two hands placed gently on her back confirmed her forgiveness.

'I am not angry with you, Fritha, I merely…'

'I know,' she sighed, pulling back to let her eyes search that striking face, as though she would commit every fine angle and smooth plane to memory, 'you spent a lifetime keeping secrets and watching what you say, and you finally thought it behind you –and it will be soon. For what it is worth, I _am_ sorry.'

'_I_ do not require an apology.'

Fritha dipped her face to this subtle reproach.

'Unlike someone else, you mean? I didn't want to do it like this, but he's not the sort of man who takes a hint. I tried for so long to distance myself from him, but he wouldn't have it, and then I would forget…' And again she felt that warmth in her stomach bloom, recalling the easy laughter that had held the promise of something deeper. She pushed it away. 'And then he asked me outright –what else could I have said? We _needed_ this. And I _will_ tell the others, I promise, I'm just still trying to get things straight in myself first. I need to be firm, be ready when I tell them, because I know what they'll be like and I can't stand there listening to them all desperately debating a way to save me and have that glimmer of hope spark again. I need to be sure, and then they can know. Look at this place,' she sighed, turning her gaze over the village below, the windows dark in the deepening dusk, hollow black eyes into those soulless buildings, 'a wretched dustbowl with more than enough troubles of its own. Why are we here?'

'The village likely sprang up because of the monastery; ironic that the thing that once afforded it protection, now puts the place in danger.'

Fritha sighed, settling her head upon his shoulder once more. 'Because of us, the Children. Bringers of destruction; harbingers of Murder; tainted; cursed; me.'

Heavy footfalls on the path behind them. Fritha drew a breath, letting the earthy scent of Solaufein's presence bolster her and turning back in time to watch Anomen's slow ascent.

'I came to see if you required any help with the water. Brieanna wishes to begin cooking.'

'Ah, no,' Fritha faltered, suddenly guilty she had been neglecting her duties and tossing the bucket back into depth with a echoing splash, 'I'll just be a moment.'

'Here,' offered Solaufein, stooping for the only flask she'd filled, 'I will return with the first.'

Fritha nodded, turning back to the well as he set off down the path, the girl hauling on her tunic to set her back to the rope, Anomen left impassive spectator.

'It is slow work, I see.'

'Yes.'

The man said nothing more, just watched her work in silence and she did not think he would speak again when-

'I am sorry for my manner before. I did not mean to fault your plans, it is merely the waiting I cannot bear. I worry by the time we know our part in this, it will be too late.'

'I'm sorry, too,' she huffed breathlessly, the sweat stinging her eyes. 'You have every right to say if you're uncertain. Everyone has a voice in this group.'

One last heave brought the bucket from the hole, Fritha quickly tying off the rope, her haste making her clumsy as she struggled to catch the swinging pail.

'Here,' Anomen offered, reaching over to set it neatly at her feet, each avoiding the other's gaze.

'Thanks.'

'Fritha… I understand much has passed between us, but I would have us remain friends, if it is possible.'

She swallowed, a hand tightening about the thick leather handle. 'I would like that.'

A sigh above her, his voice softer as he pressed, 'I said once I have faith in you, and whatever happens, Fritha, I always will. Nothing can change that.'

Fritha did not look up – she couldn't.

'Thank you, Anomen.'

'Well, I should return to the others.'

He turned away with a rattle of armour, Fritha suddenly filled with one last desperate bid to make all right between them.

'I'm sorry, Anomen, how things have turned out. I really would like for us to be friends.'

Another silent nod, blue eyes gazing impassively down at her, and he was turned and continuing down the path, pulling away from her with long, easy strides.

They both said they wished to be friends, but such empty words could not mend the gap between them, and Fritha did not think now that anything would. She rubbed a hand along her sternum, trying to ease the ache within.

_I have faith in you_ –Loviatar's Black Heart, that man could twist the knife.

After such efforts, the water was too precious to waste, her hands steady as she poured her latest offering into the waiting flask, the drip of the few tears she allowed herself rippling the surface and she stayed crouched there until they had subsided completely, the girl once more setting her weight to the rope, and the second flask was only a few more buckets from being filled when that voice halted her.

'Fritha?'

Fritha sighed, emptying the last few drops into the flask, ready with her greeting even before she'd turned to her.

'Hey, Imoen, something wrong?'

The girl grinned, skipping the last few steps to encircle a friendly arm about her elbow.

'No, but when Anomen arrived back without you, I realised he hadn't actually come up here to spare your back, so I thought I'd best come lend you a hand myself.'

Fritha laughed weakly, amused in spite of herself. 'Chivalry is truly dead.'

'But you're all right?' the girl pressed, the arm about her tightening. Fritha gently shrugged her off, hidden in the pretence of stooping for the battered leather bucket.

'Yes, I'm fine, and nearly finished here, too. But I meant to ask before, how are you? Have the dreams started again?'

'Yeah,' Imoen sighed, turning from her to gaze unseeing over the barren village, 'they began a couple of days ago, though they don't make much sense at the moment–maybe they're just dreams this time.'

Fritha nodded, stretching her aching arms. 'I heard you cry out last night when I was on watch -though I didn't dare come to see why now you're sharing with _Valygar_.'

A round of debauched laughter.

'Fritha, I swear, you're worse than me!'

Fritha just laughed, bucket discarded as she grabbed her hands to spin her round.

'_Never!_

'What's got into you of late?' gasped Imoen, released at last, a hand to her head in her dizziness, 'You used to mope around in a near constant mood.'

'Ah, there's no time for that now,' Fritha dismissed easily, 'You fancy a walk out to the tavern this evening?'

'Another night on the drink; you'll be able to bottle your blood for sailors soon.'

'I'm hardly that bad – so are you coming?'

Imoen chewed her lip ponderously. 'Is everyone going?' 'I don't know, I haven't asked them yet.'

'Well, maybe if everyone's going, me and Vals can stay here -keep an eye on the camp.'

Fritha snorted –they'd be lucky not to come back to the place picked clean. She stooped again for the bucket.

'Passing up the tavern for an evening with the swain. Ah, young love; I hope its not catching. Here, hold that, you can help me fill the smaller ones.'


	30. In the Cups

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Sorry about the rather irregular posts of late. I'm decorating, at the moment, and it seems to have left my mind as disorganised as my house. _:-P_ Thanks to everyone who messaged/reviewed regarding the last couple of chapters and thanks, of course, to my hardworking betas. Please R&R _^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

**In the Cups**

Anomen walked on, glad to be at last free of his armour. The description the others had given to him of that deserted village was not quite enough to convey the eerie sense of hopelessness the place seemed to hold, warm winds banking sand in the empty streets, windows black and hollow in the deepening dusk, the mercenaries that lingered in knots on every corner openly appraising him as he passed, though none approached.

Imoen had mentioned there was a temple there, also adding that it had looked as abandoned as the rest of the village. But in such small places, the main temple often housed smaller altars of any affiliated gods, and shrines to other faiths popular in the region were usually nearby. Anomen had every confidence he would find what he sought; the desert was a constant danger there, and it was in such places the god of Watchers found the faithful. And so after Fritha had returned with the water, everyone had made their best attempts to wash and change, and their meal had been eaten, he had left the others to idle the rest of their afternoon away in cards and sleep, and set out on his own.

It was good to be away from them. Anomen found it easier when he did not have to worry about how they were interpreting his _careful_ neutral demeanour, the man on constant guard against their concern, or worse, their _pity_. He had always been a private person when it came to his emotions, barring his temper, his mind added sharply. Perhaps that was why he had first come to like Fritha. Her manner had been so easy and accepting –he had told her things he would have been loath to speak of to anyone else, even close friends. And now…

And now, it was over, and even his sadness was overwhelmed by the utter, all-consuming void within. In but a year, he had lost his family, the Order and his love, and after everything, it truly felt as though, outside of his faith, there was nothing left in him to lose.

The temple looked, as Imoen had stated, quite deserted. Anomen knocked on the sun-bleached wooden doors all the same, the sound booming about the empty building beyond them. Gruff laughter across the square.

'Don't bother, mate, no gods look on this place anymore.'

Anomen considered they might have a point. The alley alongside the building was deep in shadow and wonderfully cool, something at the end catching his eyes and he walked on with an increasing sense of disbelief to reach a much smaller square, a raised, walled piazza in the centre where the shrines he sought were likely housed, though that was not the source of his amazement. At each corner, rising four or so yards above the whitewashed walls, dusky green branches twisted and stooped graceful limbs over the square within. He ducked under the cool bower, stepping up into the piazza to find dappled sunlight falling upon six shrines to serve varying faiths. It was empty of worshipers though, only a bent old caretaker lingering there, his skin dark and creased like old leather, breaking the stillness with his huffed exertions, threadbare linen robes hitched up about his spindly knees as he fussed over one of the huge wooden tubs that held the trees' roots, the man slowly pouring water over the rich, red earth.

'Er, excuse me?'

'Yes? Oh, come in, come in,' the man greeted, suddenly all smiles as he bustled over to draw him inside. 'It has been a while since I have seen a new face – you from the camp, yes? I thought you have not the look of those mercenaries. No need to look so distrustful, all those who would give worship are welcome. Here, take a little,' he offered kindly, stooping to scoop a cup of water from the bucket behind him, 'I'm sure my trees can spare you some.'

Anomen nodded, thirstier than he had realised as he drained it in one.

'My thanks.'

'No matter, no matter,' the man clucked, eyes screwed up as he peered at the symbol hanging low on his chest. 'Now what have we here, a Helmite, is it? I've not seen your like in a while, but there was a time when some of the caravan guards would come and give worship here, while their masters were over at the temple throwing coin at the _Merchant's Friend_.'

Anomen decide not to comment on this audible bitterness. 'Yes, I noticed the temple to Waukeen is closed now.'

'It is so, it is so. People are fickle, and gods even more so. The coin left and so the priests left with it. But I remained, just as when my own temple was lost.'

Anomen was more than confused. 'Your own temple?'

'Indeed, brother, I am Ekansh, priest of Chauntea. When Amkethran was a farming village, all came to give worship at our beautiful hall, walls but pillars opened to the land, our roof ever changing with the patterns of the sky. Life was plentiful.' The bright smile finally faded from his face, 'But then the rains left and the soil was lost to the desert, and each year our harvest dwindled despite our prayers. I tried to teach my brethren there was a cycle to all nature, spoke of different crops and ways to farm, but many here believed Chauntea had forsaken us. None ever came forward and no blame could be laid, but one night I awoke from my bed to find a great crowd had gathered, some running for water, others just stood transfixed as the shrine to our Great Mother towered ablaze.'

Anomen was aghast. 'Someone set fire to the temple? Do you know who?'

'I had my suspicions at the time, but…' Ekansh just shrugged, as though such old grudges were not worth keeping. 'Then the monastery stepped in and eventually the Waukeenites came with their merchants and their gold and built another temple. All thought I would leave then, but I remained here to tend the shrines and create a new place of worship for my Lady.' He was smiling once more, a fond hand lightly patting the trunk at his side. 'From seeds of the trees that used to line our hall, and nourished with ash from that tragedy,' he laughed suddenly, 'I must have walked a thousand leagues back and forth to that well in these last two years.'

'But two years?' Anomen blurted, 'These trees look to be as old as you!'

Ekansh laughed again, an almost impish twinkle to those dark eyes. 'I still have some power in me yet, brother. I would you could see them in flower, but that time has been and gone. But, here,' he offered,' plucking a twig from the branch above him and crushing one of the leaves, the strong scent of peppermint infusing the air. Ekansh chuckled at his surprise, pressing the twig into his hand, 'There, for your lady, should you have one.'

Anomen ignored that painful twinge to nod, his thanks forestalled by the light patter of footsteps, and they both turned to see Melissan tripping lightly up the steps behind them, the woman halting in her surprise. Ekansh reassured her with a smile.

'Welcome, lady, to the shrines of Amkethran.'

'Ah, thank you.'

The man merely nodded, returning to his chores, their pair left to the mercies of uncertain silence. Melissan recovered first.

'Good afternoon, ah, Sir Anomen, is it not?'

'It is so; you are here to make your prayers, my lady?'

'I was…' she admitted, though her gaze remained upon him, a hesitation still about her even as she closed another step between them. 'I am glad to see you here actually, I was hoping to speak to one of your company's more… _rational_ members away from other elements. Sir, you are a warrior of Helm and a man of good standing and faith. This search for Abagizal could take over a tenday, perhaps even longer – do you believe that it is the best course to remain here idle while Sendai raises an army?'

Anomen certainly did _not_ believe it the best course, as well Fritha knew, but there was not a thing in that world that would either tempt or torture him into such an admission. However, his thoughtful silence was all the encouragement Melissan required.

'I know the others perceive these dragons as the greater threat, but they have yet only to strike at other Children. This army could bring a war to Tethyr as bloody as their revolution, and I would not see this land so torn when such wounds are far from healed.'

He regarded her coolly, her words only echoing his own thoughts. 'Are you certain that Sendai poses such a threat to all of Tethyr? I was of the understanding that even Yaga Shura would not have besieged Saradush but for the Children hiding within.'

'I know there are doubts to any course in these tumultuous times, but we _both_ know that what I say is right. Fritha may have made her decision in this, but I believe if one such as you were to put to her the pointless folly in this search for Abagizal.'

Anomen snorted; the girl made an art lately of ignoring those about her. 'Fritha knows her own mind, and I will not be the fool who seeks to change it.'

'Even if you know it to be wrong?' pressed Melissan urgently, 'Fritha is a good woman, but the influence of the blood is strong, and grows only stronger as the prophesy comes to pass. You could find the person you know lost to it if you do not act; even now she is content to let Tethyr burn in her thirst for vengeance against these dragons!'

Melissan seemed to instantly know she had gone too far, though Anomen's thunderous frown could have left her in no doubt. 'You assume _much_, my lady. Fritha is many things, but she would never put her own desires over the wellbeing of others.'

The woman bobbed her head, deferent to his temper as she tried a new tack.

'She is your leader and your defence of her does you credit, but I know you serve a higher order than she – Helm charges His followers to be vigilant, to seek out and destroy evils at their source, before they can take true hold.'

'Do you speak now of Sendai or Fritha, I wonder. I need not you to remind me of my duties and my faith, though I am more than curious as to why you would attempt to use them to manipulate me.'

Melissan looked flabbergasted. 'I- I am not, I am merely trying to prevent war from raging across Tethyr!'

Anomen smiled, satisfied he had riled her so. 'Forgive me, my lady, but the way you present your arguments suggested otherwise – perhaps this is why many of those around you believe you working against them.' He paused just long enough to enjoy her indignant mouthing. 'So that we are sure we do not misunderstand each again, allow me to make this _very_ clear: whatever may come, whatever may pass between us, I am Fritha's man to the last.'

Melissan regarded him from under fine amber eyebrows, her movement crisp and curt as she straightened her wimple and adjusted her cuffs.

'I see. Well, then I can but say she is fortunate to command such loyalty. I am leaving the village tonight, though I cannot say for how long –until I find this Abagizal, I suppose,' she added sourly.

'We will be here upon your return, my lady.'

She snorted, turning smartly on her heel to sweep from the shrine, and it was only later, after Anomen had risen from his own prayers and was walking back to their camp, he realised she had not made her worship.

xxx

'I believe it is my shift at the rudder now, Mistress Jaheira.'

The woman started, no longer lost in the soporific lap of water about the creaking hull, and she was surprised to find herself sat in darkness, the swollen sail a glary grey in the deepening twilight as she guided the boat on through reed-lush banks, the forest but a dark wall of trees hemming them into to that narrow river. Had it truly been under the glare of noon she had taken the helm?

A hesitant smile from the boy and she relinquished the tiller, Rowin's young face holding the same quiet gravity that hung over the rest of that barge and those people who were all too aware of the sacrifices made to bring them this far. Jaheira left the lad with barely a nod, noting for the first time all day the growl of hunger in her stomach. It went ignored, the woman stepping from the cover of the canvas that had been stretched above the tiller to head for the bows opposite, the deck pitching gently under her footsteps as though the day seated had left her legs asleep.

The breeze was warm and heavy, the previous rains merely closing the air instead of clearing it. Unseen birds were finally quieting in their roosts to match the murmur of voices from the deck below, none of the usual laughter to break the stillness. She raised her hand in silent acknowledgement to Lucian's wave, he and Bellid leading the two horses along the bank next to them, Gitali ambling stoically behind. They had collected the others the previous evening, their disorganised group easy to spot where they were trooping along the bank, bodies lost to the darkness to leave only their bobbing lanterns, a tenebrous gathering of marsh wisps.

The only thing _that_ evening had drawn were swarms of midges, the insects tempted from their forest of reeds to make a feast of her. Jaheira batted them away in hopes they would find easier prey, another smaller cloud hanging about the mast where moths and crane flies hurled themselves at the newly lit lantern with suicidal tenacity. Rowin was still getting accustomed at the tiller, the boat brushing close to the right bank to stir the sweet, sickly scent of rotting irises, a suffocating attar, the half moon dulled behind a veil of clouds.

The creak of the hatchway behind her. Jaheira turned to see Enric's outline slowly emerge from the mouth, the man kicking shut the hatch and cursing quietly as he slopped tea over his hand.

'Here,' he murmured, sheepishly passing her the half empty cup.

The chipped pottery had held its heat better that its contents. Jaheira took a sip, the lukewarm tea bitter and overly stewed, the dregs of a long cooled pot. She drank it anyway.

'How is she?'

Enric did not need a name, his mouth twitching downward, spectacles flashing white with his glance back to the hatchway.

'I offered her something to help her sleep, but she refused it. She is sat now in the stern,' his throat bobbed, 'with Athic's body. Kuri is with her.'

Jaheira felt the tears begin to well and she let them fall, Enric polite enough to turn and allow her a moment to indulge her misery.

'I am sorry, I know he was a friend to you, as well.'

The woman just sighed, her damp cheeks feeling tight and sticky. 'Yes, but it is more than that –I used to see a balance to all things, but now… perhaps I have lived too long, but this world seems only to take and I am tired of death.'

It seemed the soldier had no answer to that; after so long, he likely felt the same, long fingers drawn absently to the pendant that peeked from beneath his dark blue jerkin, the bronze wheat sheaf bright against his chest.

'You follow the Earthmother?'

'No, indeed,' Enric corrected, self-consciously letting the pendant drop once more and tapping his spectacles further up his nose, 'my scant powers are granted by Tyr, and I do not think He will be blessing me with them for much longer, though that is as it should be –how can I serve the law in faith, when it would press my hand to such injustice? No,' he sighed, lifting the pendant to the light, 'This was my wife's when she lived. She was a good woman and far more devout than I. She bade me wear it after she was gone, a sign that death is not an end.'

Jaheira knew the Chauntean doctrines well enough. 'Growing and reaping: the two halves of the Eternal Cycle.'

'Indeed, though the thought gave little comfort as I watched her die. Forgive me,' he added hastily, seemingly embarrassed by his frankness, 'I do not wish to add to your woes. Gwynell's death was many years ago now, before I even joined the army, and I am at peace with it.'

'So you came late to service then?' Jaheira confirmed, glad for anything that distracted her.

'Yes, I was born and raised a farmer in a community of small farmsteads to the north of here, in the Starspires.'

'A _farmer?_'

He laughed faintly at her surprise 'You thought me a scholar, Mistress Jaheira? I fear my studies came much later in life. Until even a few years back, I lived with my family in Haigcairn. We kept goats and tended what few crops could be grown in the thin soil, and thought little of the lands outside our valley even as rumours of war and hardship reached us from the merchants who visited the monthly gatherings. The years passed, I buried my parents, inherited the farm and took a most beloved wife, and twenty seven winters had passed me by before this peace came to an end. It began in the goats. I believe it originated from the two new does we had bought at the Highharvestide gathering, a disease I had not seen before that swelled their udders and blistered at their mouths. We separated those infected from the herd, Gwynell devoting her care to them while I dealt with the rest and prepared the ground for the spring planting, but it was not enough. Those half dozen infected died and a tenday later, Gwynell took to her bed, complaining she was cold and aching though the weather was still mild. I had elders visit and a cleric came all the way from Remmstor, but to no avail.'

Enric gazed out into a the darkness, a faint smile deepening the creases at his mouth. 'Gwynell knew her time was near. She was so brave, more worried what would become of me, I think. After she was gone, life at the farm was not what it was –I missed her too greatly. I sold the rest of the herd and travelled to Darromar. I had little money, and was too old then to be offered an apprenticeship. My own schooling from my parents had covered only reading and numbers, but I knew enough of disease and wounds from tending the goats and I was hungry to learn, and the army agreed to my induction as a medic. So I rose through the ranks, honing my skills as a healer; I wanted to help others, to save them the misery that had befallen me -and, for a good few years, I did. But then these troubles arose and the lines blurred, and one day I woke up and realised I was on the wrong side.'

Jaheira felt the familiar anger burn. 'Yes, I am accustomed to _that_ feeling.'

'You speak of your brothers,' confirmed Enric, Jaheira's snap about this assumed fraternity dying in her throat, and with the weight of a great ocean wave it hit her: the Harpers, the last remnant of her old life was finally gone. For an instant, it was like losing Khalid all over again and she could have almost wept, the hatred she felt for those she had once held as close as family. Now they were a curse to be spat, a group that plotted and twisted for their own gains -had it always been so; had she merely never noticed it before? But perhaps it was not just them who had changed. She had misjudged Temas, dismissed him as a placating little man, but he had stood up to her brethren better than she had in beginning –and what it had cost him.

Enric took her silence for doubt. 'What we do here, Jaheira, is right, however others may see it. I believe that, and you should, as well.'

Jaheira sighed, feeling again the empty ache within her.

'I do believe it – I merely wonder if, in the end, will it be worth it.'

xxx

Imoen and Valygar had decided to remain at camp in the end, which Fritha _supposed_ had made things easier; packing up their tents would have been troublesome, and she had not looked forward to finding everything that had not been nailed down missing on their return. The inn was even busier than it had been that afternoon, both rooms of the tavern thick with mercenaries, and they were fortunate to get a table from a group who were just leaving, Fritha hardly paying attention to the looks and lewd comments as she elbowed her way to the bar for the first round. And there they sat now, in the heat and the din. Fritha felt she should at least be pretending she was having a good time since this was her idea, and she _was_ glad to be away from the camp, but a part of her wished Imoen had come, as well. Still, it was better this way. For so long it had been those two against the world; now she was due to leave it and it was good she could do so knowing Imoen still had ties and friends to support her -and now a love, too.

Fritha glanced up from her cup, and felt her stomach tighten; sometimes she fancied Minsc's dark eyes held more guile than he let on.

'Young Fritha, you are very quiet this eve.'

'What, me? _Never!_ You must be thinking of someone else. Perhaps Solaufein,' she teased, though the drow seemed not to hear her, silver eyes trained on something in the tavern behind them. He had dispensed of his hat -the mercenaries about them knowing enough to leave him alone- his long hair twisted over his shoulder in the heat, her playful offers of a hairpin to put it up with being gently rebuffed. 'Solaufein?'

The drow finally turned from where he had been considering a tall, well-armoured woman, brown hair cut short and serviceable, the thin scars pale on her long, tanned face. She was not unhandsome and she likely knew as much, the woman lent up against the bar with the casual air of one who was aware of her own worth and where her skills lay – and from the polite space left about her, others knew it too.

'That woman over there is staring at me.'

'Oh, yes, so she is,' chirped Fritha. 'Seems you have an admirer. She's quite nice looking, in a… _hard_ sort of way.'

'She is taller than me.'

Minsc laughed. 'Boo says that is many people here.'

'Are you going to speak to her?' asked Brieanna. Solaufein looked mildly perturbed.

'Why?'

Fritha was happy to field that question. 'Well, that's how it's done –I think. You meet someone in a tavern, you talk, you decide whether you like each other enough to bear a sordid hour rolling about in your room, the end.'

'_Fritha!_' cried more than one voice. Solaufein was still frowning.

'You are teasing me.'

'No, no, I'm not. I just wonder sometimes; the drow have a very different attitude to couplings, and company was much more readily available in Ust Natha –don't you miss it?'

Across the table, their two other men looked like they'd been out in the sun too long.

'_Young Fritha!_'

'I cannot _believe_ we are even _speaking_ of this.'

Fritha just laughed. 'Oh, give over, it's not like either of you are blushing virgins.'

Solaufein's answer covered their spluttering. 'No, Fritha, I do not miss it. I gave up congress for the mere sake of it long before I left the Underdark. This woman has most likely heard the exaggerated accounts your people have of the drow's carnal prowess.'

'Exaggerated?' confirmed Brieanna innocently, 'And just how embroidered have these accounts been, good Solaufein?'

'_My lady!_'

Fritha had never laughed so much in her life. 'Ah, brilliant!'

But it was not to last. Once her laughter had faded and Anomen had managed to return to a normal colour, he had asked Brieanna about the mercenaries company in Amn, or some other _banality_, and they had drifted into a conversation of their own. Perhaps Anomen was worried they were a bad influence on the woman, the pair sat now, facing each other on the edge of their table, Anomen's hand lingering at the woman's elbow, thumb twitching, ever on the cusp of a caress.

'Fritha?'

She whipped back to meet the drow's knowing frown.

'Oh, sorry, Solaufein, yes?'

'I said, after the glare of the day, the light in here is too much for my eyes. I will step outside a moment.'

'Shall I come too?'

'No, no,' he assured, a hand lightly patting her shoulder as he rose, 'remain here, I will not be long.'

Fritha slumped lower in her chair as soon as the door banged shut, chin dropped disconsolately in her cupped hands. 'Ah, Minsc, what are we going to do with ourselves?'

'Boo asks if you are sad, young Fritha.'

'No, not really, just…' She sighed deeply, feeling the rim of the table press into her chest. 'I think I might be a bit homesick. No, no, that's not the right word. I don't miss home, but…'

'You miss the life we had,' the Rashemi confirmed for her, 'all as one and travelling the Coast of Swords.'

'Yes, and yet no… I miss some mix of what we never had: those fallen returned to us, the safety of Candlekeep, our life in Athkatla, only without the worry of all that coin to raise hanging over me, visits to my theatre and tea with Renal, just the little things I could look forward to. Now, there is nothing.' She shook her head, cross at this persistent melancholy; it seemed any moment she was not actively pursuing some diversion, she was brooding about, all scowls. 'I don't know – perhaps I am just looking back with too forgiving an eye. I certainly recall some days when I would have liked nothing more than to see that city razed. What about you, Minsc? Still missing your home?'

'More with each passing day,' the man admitted gravely. 'I am no coward, but I fear something that I will die with out seeing Rashemen again.'

Fritha did not patronise him with assurances of his guaranteed survival. 'You should return home, Minsc, if you get the chance.'

'And you should return to Candlekeep.'

She shook her head, feeling the weight of that realisation within her. 'I will never see Candlekeep again, Minsc, but you could return to Rashemen, after this is over… You will return,' she pressed, 'and they will know your worthiness, I will make sure of it –Gods willing.'

'The words of outsiders will mean little, young Fritha,' Minsc warned, but the girl just smiled, glancing up as Solaufein retook his chair.

'Feeling better?'

'Yes, thank you. The terrace is much quieter now, perhaps we should consider moving outside.'

'Sure, why not? Anomen-' She turned just as laughter burst from the pair. Fritha sighed. 'Never mind, I'll go get another round in and we can take it out with us. More ale, you two?'

Minsc and Solaufein nodded, the creak of her chair finally alerting the knight.

'Fritha? Oh-'

'What has you both so diverted?' asked Solaufein, Anomen's attention still following Fritha to the bar as Brieanna chuckled, 'We are merely trading tales of our early training and the trouble that follows the audacity of adolescence.'

Anomen turned back to the drow's quizzical frown.

'Are you both so old now as to be reminiscing on a lost youth?'

'No,' Brieanna sighed in the wistful manner she often bore of late, 'and in your years I doubt it seems long ago, but it is not so much the time that has passed as to what has changed that gives the feeling of nostalgia.'

'It seems you have given this much thought, my lady,' offered Anomen. The woman shrugged.

'I suppose I have been thinking on the past much of late and of the countless decisions, both important and trivial, that bring a person to this instant of the present. With our future so uncertain, the past is the only constant.'

The knight could not comment –the past was something he fought to forget most of the time.

'Is our future so vague?' the drow continued with that dry humour to which he was partial. 'We have a course, albeit one dependant on what information our _guardian_ can bring to us.'

Anomen remained silent; all knew of his doubts concerning their current plan. He had mentioned he had met Melissan at the shrines, but had said nothing of their discourse – he did not think any about him required further reason to distrust the woman. Brieanna was frowning, a sweep of her hand sending her fat braid over her shoulder.

'_Melissan…_ I do not trust her.'

'How so?' snorted Solaufein, '_You_ have yet to meet her.'

'No, but I have heard enough of what you all have said. The way she knows so much, yet tells us so little –I do not know why Fritha even deals with her.'

'All share in this frustration, good Brieanna, young Fritha as well, though without any other to guide us… Boo says she seems unhappy of late; I wonder if this is the cause,' Minsc considered with a frown, suddenly noting her continued absence, 'Indeed, where is she?'

'Well, she went to fetch the ale-'

And even as they turned, the sound seemed to swell in the small room, Anomen finding her easily in the press, Fritha sat upon the bar and surrounded by half the men in there, scattered cups atop the counter rattling under the rhythmic strike of half a dozen fists as she sank the contents of an ale pitcher.

'_Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!_'

Brieanna turned back to their table with a shrug.

'She appears fine to me.'

**…**

Imoen let her eyes drift close, the pop of the fire and Valygar's breathing a soothing lullaby, this calming aura about her only heightened by his fingers as he stroked the hair behind her ear, every now and then catching the lobe to send shivers all across her back. They had not made love since Indraviat, but she did not mind –they seemed closer now than they ever had, the others departing for the local tavern to leave them there, sat in silence before the fire, her laid out, her head upon his thigh, his heavy linen trousers pressing the pattern of the weave into her cheek.

'We should gather some more wood before the others return… Imoen?'

The arm about her gave a slight shake.

'I'm not asleep,' Imoen sighed, sitting drowsily to nestle into the crook of his arm. 'I'm just resting my eyes. This is nice,' she continued, enjoying the scent of his body, the contrasting smells of soap and sweat, 'I'm glad we stayed here – I'd have been asleep as soon as I'd looked at a tankard, if we'd gone to the tavern.'

'Another restless night?' he confirmed, fingers lower now, stroking the back of her wrist, 'I noticed you thrashing. I would have woken you, but I had hoped you would feel better if you slept through. You look tired these last couple of days.'

Imoen snorted sleepily. 'Cheers, mate.'

'You know I do not mean it that way… What do you see?'

Imoen did not recall commanding her body to straighten, the tension from her stomach suddenly all through her back, eyes wide open and scorched by the fire's glow. He did not need to elaborate any more than that, they both knew of what he spoke, and Imoen wondered why he had not asked before now. Perhaps with the increasing evidence that what she saw would come to pass, he had not wanted to know.

'Dragons,' she admitted quietly, settling back into him, though the peace of it could not be reclaimed. 'And a woman and a village, all dust and desert – I think it's supposed to be here. Two dragons come to the village and there is a woman before the temple, and then…' Imoen trailed off. She could not tell him it was her, that ever since that night in Indraviat, she had killed the man before her. 'And then I wake up.'

'If it as your previous visions, then this could be some future event you are seeing; do you believe dragons will come here?'

'No… at least not like they did at the camp. In my dream, they fight each other, not destroy the village –well, not on purpose, at least.'

'And who is this woman?'

Imoen felt the guilt twinge, the girl pressing her body into his as though to bury herself from it. 'I- I don't know, I can't ever see her face.'

'What does she do?'

Imoen could not say she was upset by it, but it was strange, every night lunging forward to save someone only to become his end. 'There's a man there, tied up – she sacrifices him. Vals, could we talk about something else, please?'

'Of course, I did not mean-'

'It's all right,' she cut in blithely –she didn't want him treating her like some delicate flower, after all. 'I don't mind talking about it, especially not with you. And it's easier than it was. Sometimes even realise it's a dream and I can wake up.' She moved back to send him a warm smile. 'And next to you now, too.'

He had taken the time to tidy his beard that afternoon, the short hair tickling her cheek as he leaned in to catch her mouth in a kiss, this caress seemingly not enough for him, another two placed fondly on her forehead before he was satisfied, the arm pulling her back to him. Imoen grinned, nestling into his side once more.

'It's nice sharing a tent with you. Not that I minded sharing with Brieanna, but I'd come in to find her praying of an evening sometimes, she'd whip round all awkward and it would be really uncomfortable –no chance of that with you,' she added in a snort. Valygar's frown was audible.

'You are troubled that I follow no faith?'

Imoen shrugged, turning her face to hide a yawn in his shoulder. 'No, that's your look out, and I'm not exactly pious myself. At Candlekeep, most people worshiped Oghma, Fritha included, so I'd go with her to temple for no other reason than that. Then, I'd offer up a prayer here and there to Mask when I was young enough to think such things were set; thieves follow Mask, sages follow Oghma, sour-faced old men with nothing in their lives but rules follow Helm.' She shrugged loosely, almost missing that warm, safe feeling she used to get when she'd stood in temple singing prayer-songs with Fritha, dwarfed by the rest of the full tenth-day congregation, that feeling that somewhere there was a force, greater than all she knew and unlimited in power, and it was watching over her.

'Nowadays, I'll throw a coin in a shrine if I'm passing; Ilmater, Tymora, Sune. I wonder sometimes if it makes any difference anyway, apart from making me feel a bit better at the time. What about you -did you never worship?'

Valygar sighed, his broad face taking on the pensive look it often wore when thoughts took him to the past. He leaned forward slightly to add more wood to the flames, trying and failing to hide it.

'House Corthala has worshiped Mystra for generations –I was raised the same, though I left my faith long before I left the estate. Many of my family had fallen to corruption across the generations without relinquishing Her worship. I read in his diaries that even Lavok funded a great shrine to the Lady of the Weave –at the same time as he built that infernal sphere. So many corrupted souls over the years, yet they had still made their tithes and prayers -and the goddess still accepted them. Gods are gods: they care for mortals only for the worship they may give, indifferent to their motives, so I stopped.'

'Fair enough,' Imoen chirruped, 'but don't you worry about after -you know, when you pass over?'

'Because I refused to worship?' he confirmed, seemingly surprised she was worried. 'I am a good man, if the gods would punish me merely because I refuse to kneel in faith, then they are undeserving of my veneration. I will face the consequences, should they come.'

'Maybe you can stay here and become a ghost,' Imoen offered with a giggle, 'I'll become one too, and we can haunt about your estate. _Woooooo_…'

She reached out to him, fingers wiggling to mime this spectre, Valygar laughing as he pulled her back for another breathy kiss, a comfortable silence falling over them as she settled against him once more, her heavy eyes drifting over the empty camp about them.

'Are you glad we didn't go with the others?'

'Yes, I have seen enough rough taverns in my time.'

'Oh, _have_ you now? Is this where you regale me with tales of a misspent youth?'

Valygar snorted. 'Nothing so interesting, I assure you – when I travelled with Suna and the others, we would stay in inns on our brief visits to civilisation, very cheap ones I might add. The taverns we usually saw raucous enough that even my few visits in Athkatla's slums had not initially prepared me for them.'

'You'd have liked Winthrop's place then: very quiet -he used to tease Fritha about playing a few songs there of an evening.' Imoen giggled, happy in the memory, 'She used to go bright red and still be avoiding the place days later. I remember once he managed to get a group visiting from the temple of Deneir to play a little concert on Midsummer's Day, and Ulraunt actually complained! Said it had left the younger acolytes _bold and rife with __adolescent cheek!_'

Valygar's lips were twitching. 'I can understand his distress, suddenly facing a whole library of your insolence.'

'_You!_' she laughed, giving him a shove for his nerve, 'I always deported myself as any demure young lady. You can ask Winthrop -if you want to meet him,' she added tentatively, 'after all this is over.'

'I would like that.'

Imoen felt his smile warm all the way to her stomach, nestling down once more to rest her head on his thigh, the moments creeping by in the darkness behind her eyes, marked by the crackle of the fire and that soft, steady breathing, until even those sounds were slipping away from her.

'Imoen?'

'I'm just resting my eyes.'

**…**

Brieanna yawned widely, the gesture travelling the small table behind hands and cups.

'Oh, your pardon, I can barely keep my eyes open.'

Anomen shook his head, the tail of his own yawn lost in the tumult about them and he could feel the mercenaries' gruff song through the floorboards, more a chant that a melody, and accompanied by the stamp of a dozen drunken feet.

'It is late. We should return now –while we still have to energy to make the walk back.'

'Indeed,' nodded Minsc, easing himself from his chair and closing the three steps to the merry throng behind, a firm tap on the back alerting the large mercenary who was currently dancing a jig, Fritha laughing and red-faced as she bounced over his shoulder.

'Oh, hello Minsc!'

Outside, the sky was a clear field of distant stars, the cold waking Anomen enough to finally feel the exhaustion in his body, limbs dragging as they set out through that abandoned village. Fritha was now over Minsc's shoulder, and her voice echoed eerily along the empty streets.

'_I feel no pain dear mother now, but oh, I am so dry. Take me to a brewery and leave me there to die__!_'

'Boo says there is to be _no_ dying.'

'At least not until the morrow's morn,' quipped Solaufein, eliciting a laugh from the girl. Anomen tried to feel annoyed; he just felt tired.

'Why she allows herself to get into such states… But what of you, my lady,' he continued, voice rising in polite inquiry as he turned to the woman at his side, 'Is your ankle still troubling you?'

'Sorry?' Brieanna faltered before realising his question, her limp seeming more pronounced as he recalled it to her, 'Oh, yes, of course. Do not concern yourself, Anomen, it still twinges, but it is better supported now I wear my boots.' She smiled. 'It is fine if our pace is slow.'

Ahead of them, Fritha was begging to test her own feet.

'Ah, come on, Minsc, put me down.'

'No, young Fritha, I do not think walking is for you now.'

'I can walk fine –Minsc, I'm going to be sick.' Her threat saw him relent, the man carefully lowering her to the ground, hands hovering at her shoulders while she unsteadily found her balance. 'There, Minsc, see- whoa! Hello, Solaufein.'

Anomen sighed, turning away from her. The tavern they had left was aglow with light and noise that could have almost seem appealing from this distance. Anything to break the deathly silence over the village, the only other sign of life from the scattered lights up the cliff behind it, where families too poor to move still dwelled, and the occasional mercenary, no doubt, found a berth in an abandoned home.

'It is strange to see a place so empty. I am doubtful how long the village can exist as it is.'

Brieanna just shrugged. 'This place is already dead; it died when the rains left. It may have struggled on, at first, but who can fight their end? Death comes to all things.'

'It survived well enough while the monastery still aided it.'

'It is not life that only lives upon the grace of another. I wonder how long we will remain here.'

'You heard Fritha, until Jaheira returns or this Abagizal is found.'

Brieanna heard his displeasure. 'You still have your doubts?'

'I merely do not relish the idea of a tenday or more here waiting, while elsewhere our enemies prepare and gain strength.'

The woman warmed the air between them with a light laugh. 'It never fails to intrigue me, the differing views a single group can hold; I imagine some here will enjoy a little time to watch the grass grow –figuratively, anyway.'

'You speak of our most recent courtship?' Anomen confirmed without really needing to.

'Indeed… Love is a strange thing; I sometimes wonder what the pair favour in each other.'

'You do not think them well matched, my lady?'

'No, not that,' Brieanna clarified, 'It is merely Valygar is rather reserved and Imoen is-'

'The untamed opposite?' chuckled Anomen, 'Perhaps that is why he favours her.'

'Indeed, I do not wonder at that, merely why she favours _him_.'

Anomen was surprised. 'You think Valygar a poor suitor?'

The woman's lip gave a disinterested quirk. 'He is skilled in battle and does not turn from duty, but I prefer men of passion -for their beliefs, their desires, be they noble or just the mundane pursuits that fill mosts' days –if he cannot feel passion for his life, how can he feel it for me?'

Anomen had no answer to that, his gaze drifting back to Fritha and wondering, from that perspective, why she had ever favoured him, the girl leaning heavily into the drow, feet scuffing uncertainly along the dusty street. Next to him, a weary sigh. 'Ah, I shall certainly sleep tonight.'

Anomen glanced to her, Brieanna's sharp profile somewhat softened by the gloom.

'Do you miss Imoen's company now you no longer share a tent?'

'I do not mind it particularly. Though I am more accustomed to sleeping with others –even within the temple we younger sisters shared rooms. How is sharing with Minsc?'

_Cramped and noisy_, snapped his mind, the displeasure lingering ever since he had been _told_ he would be sharing with the Rashemi, instead of the narrower Valygar. Pressed together within a tent was all very well in cooler climes, but in the southern heat it was a torture beyond all sufferance. Anomen had sworn he would acquire his own tent as soon as he crossed a trader who could sell him one. Honesty, though, was not always the best course.

'It is fine, my lady. A little confined, but such trials are a part of this life.'

'Well, there is always room in my tent –as comrades, of course,' she added rather shrilly, face a picture of dismay, 'I mean, we shared before without any trouble.' She groaned, laughing quietly even as she dropped her head to her hands. 'Oh, it has been too long a day.'

Anomen said nothing, just laughed quietly along with her, the pair sharing a smile as Fritha's lament drifted in the chill night.

'_Oh__, a northern maid down to Calimshan had strayed, although with her nature it did not agree. Which made her repent, and so bitterly lament: Oh, I wish again for my own country.'_


	31. Where the Heart is

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Where the Heart is**

With little else to do and a good hour of everyone sat within that camp, baking under a high sun, Brieanna's suggestion had been seized upon with a group-wide enthusiasm that was rarely seen those days. And so there they were, sat upon the northern bluffs in the shade of the rocky shelf that seated the monastery above, their group settled on blankets and cloaks to languish in the heat. They had decided, in the end, it would be safe enough to leave their tents set up, Fritha collecting up their more valuable items to bring with them, and it was not as though they could not keep a watch of the place, the bluff high enough that Imoen could just see the eastern edge of that sprawling encampment, their small circle of tents just specks before the endless desert.

Imoen patted the leg that rested next to her; it was too hot for any more contact than that, the winds stifling even in the shade, Anomen and Brieanna sat similarly a few yards along the bluff, Solaufein alone with his lute another yard from them, while only two of their company braved the sunshine, Fritha stood playing the fool with Minsc on the scrubby plain before them, the Rashemi apparently teaching her the art of the battle cry.

That she was horribly hungover had had no bearing on her friend's industry, that morning finding Fritha bolting her breakfast to seek out Lukyle and borrow a small wooden tub, the girl dragging it up the bluff to the old well and Imoen could see their clothes now, tiny spots of colour against the dull brown canvases where they had been laid over their tents to dry.

Back in the sun, Fritha was trying to tempt another to their games. 'Come on, Solaufein, come and have a go.'

'No, no, fighting in the darkness requires stealth, not strident cries of valour.'

'You are not tempted to join them?' rumbled the voice at Imoen's side, the girl glancing up in time to catch Valygar's smile.

'Nah, I've already got my battle cry perfected -see?' She threw her arms above her head, her voice shrill, _'Ahhhhhhh!_'

The ranger chuckled, the sound lost as Minsc's roar exploded across the gully, echoing off the cliffs to fade away to nothing.

'Now you, young Fritha.'

Fritha's rather more moderate efforts ended in laughter. 'I can't,' she giggled, 'I feel too self conscious.'

'You certainly were not so afflicted last night,' offered Solaufein, 'perhaps I should send down to the tavern for some ale.'

Fritha countered this with a hand gesture that would have earned her a cuffed ear back in Candlekeep. The drow just laughed, Imoen's smile fading as her gaze fell on two stooped, cowled figures who were making a hurried march up the bluff. Monks on their way back to the monastery by their look, their simple brown robes ending at the knee to reveal wide linen trousers, the fabric gathered and bound tightly about each calf by thin ties, leather sandals slapping on the dusty stone.

Imoen watched them draw level; the path they had taken was not the most direct route back, her own curiosity mirrored in the face that was stealing glances at her from beneath the hood, the young woman seeming to slow as Imoen caught her eye, her taller companion frowning as he tried to hurry her along. Imoen raised a hand and threw on a smile.

'Hello there.'

The young woman stopped dead, her companion reluctant to follow as she turned to approach, the woman entering the shade to throw back her hood and reveal a tanned, angular face dominated by two dark eyes, her black hair cropped as short as any man's and Imoen was surprised to see the youth with her had shaved his off completely.

'You're from the monastery, right?' Imoen confirmed, not waiting for any answer as she added brightly, 'I'm Imoen and this is Valygar.'

'You are from the camp?' asked the young woman warily.

'Well, we're down there camped with them,' conceded Imoen, 'there was no room at the inn with all the mercs kicking about.'

The pair shared a look, the woman ignoring her companion's scowl. 'Are you all Bhaalspawn?'

'No, just me and Fritha over there.'

A glance back to Minsc and Fritha, the girl now trying to teach the Rashemi a slow waltz. The young woman frowned.

'Your friends are very odd.'

'Yeah, but we like them best like that.'

The youth next to her sighed tersely. 'Come, Yemi, we are not supposed to talk with _their_ kind.'

Yemi dragged her arm from his grip with a glower, the look softening as she returned to her.

'Why are you here, if you are not with Melissan?'

'Well, we came to help her stop some Bhaalspawn who plan to start a war.'

'So they do follow Melissan -come on, Yemi.'

She was losing her; Imoen threw caution to the wind. 'Why doesn't Balthazar trust Melissan? I mean we don't much trust her either, but I was curious as to what his reasons are.'

'It is not for us to make assumptions about our Master's opinion's!' snapped the youth angrily. Yemi, though, looked pensive, as though it was a question she herself had pondered more than once.

'I do not know – High Master Balthazar does many things I do not understand.'

'Like stopping help to the village and hiring the mercenaries?' confirmed Valygar. Yemi nodded, her friend seemingly frustrated at this agreement.

'Our order is committed to ending the taint of your _vile_ blood – what is a single village compared to that?'

'High Master Divaj used to say all life has value – be they peasant or pasha.'

'Divaj is High Master no longer; he walks with the spirits now. Balthazar leads us and he as decreed it is forbidden to speak with the Cursed Ones.'

Imoen sighed. 'You don't believe that, or you wouldn't be here. We're just people.'

Yemi looked torn, her head dipped as she pulled up her hood once more. 'Thank you for talking with us.'

And Imoen watched the pair continue their path up the bluff.

'You did well there.'

She glanced to the man next to her, the compliment lost in the worry that twisted in her stomach. 'We didn't learn anything.'

'No, we learnt something; not all under his command agree with Balthazar. Come,' Valygar continued, when she refused to be cheered, the man making to his feet, 'walk into the village with me –I will buy you a mead.'

Imoen smiled, taking the hand he proffered. 'Braving the tavern for me, are we? It must be love.'

Valygar said nothing, though Imoen could not miss his grin.

**…**

Anomen watched her, feeling the smile pull in spite of himself as Fritha laughed, tugging at Minsc's sleeve and encouraging him back to her when a turn sent him off in the wrong direction. Brieanna shifted at his side, a glance finding her gaze held similarly, her face bearing the same fond smile, though her eyes held something deeper he could not discern.

'She is emerging, is she not? The girl you once knew.'

Anomen sighed, turning back to watch her, the white kurti glowing like her smile, bangles and earrings catching in the sunlight. Her hair was up as usual, but much more extravagantly that he was used to seeing, a nest of braids and curls held in place with a golden camellia pin, and all worn with that air of careless charm, like some hoyden young princess from a child's tale.

'She always did seem happier from a distance,' he offered, not adding that he wondered sometimes if he should have ever tried to move closer. 'I can hardly believe we were such friends once – I had never had one like her, one to whom I felt I could tell anything, and there was a time, I believe, I was the same for her… and now it is gone.'

'It is a loss I am sure she feels keenly.'

The man snorted. 'She hides it well.'

Fritha was laughing again, now calling to Solaufein for a tune. Anomen made his decision.

'Brieanna, who did I recall to you, when you –when we-'

'A temple guard,' she cut in quickly, though the softness to her voice took the bite from it.

'You were in love with him?'

A stilted shrug that did not quite affect the nonchalance it implied. 'As much as I could be –relationships within the temple were not encouraged.'

'But his sincere affection, at last, _vanquished_ your misgivings?' he teased.

'Such a _romantic_ view of things, Anomen,' she laughed, warm enough that the derision it held was merely an undertone. 'It was actually _I_ who pursued him. He was reluctant at first, said our focus should be on greater things, though in the end it was I who finished it when I left for the Order.' She smiled faintly, dark eyes shining with a distant light. Her skin was as tanned as his now, many days in the sun bringing the auburn from her dark braid. 'It was his devotion that I see in you.'

Anomen spluttered over the word. '_Devotion?_ I think we established a while back that I am _not_ the most devout of men, for all my aims.'

Her gaze was back on the pair before them. 'No, not to Helm, to her. You are the only one who holds her in the esteem she deserves.'

Anomen considered such a relationship hardly sounded healthy, and if he were being honest, he was not sure how he felt about Fritha now, this girl who lately had brought him nothing but misery. And in that moment, he did not feel anything outside of an aching desire to fill the void within. Across the dusty bluff, Valygar and Imoen were heading down into the village, the tall man's hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Anomen's voice came hoarse in the dry air.

'Brieanna, would you like to visit the tavern with me later?'

There was nothing platonic in his offer and the woman knew it. She looked torn -perhaps thinking on the love she left for the sake of her duty, and she was not smiling when at last she answered, her head dipped in this defeat of her better judgement.

'Anomen, I… Yes, that would be… nice.'

**…**

The tavern had been the usual press of mercenaries, the barkeep trusting them enough to take their tankards of mead with them, on the condition they returned the empty cups later, Imoen finding them a place in the shade of the last empty house on that street, where they were shielded from the glare of sun and those sat outside the tavern both.

Valygar leaned back against the cool, whitewashed plaster, his gaze trained upon the vast stretch of desert before them, shifting sands sparkling in the light, whipped up by the occasional gust to prickle the skin and hiss across the stone about them. His mead was finished a while ago -he had not realised his thirst until that first sip- the empty tankard set next to him, while Imoen sat on his other side. She had made a better pace of her drink, her eyes half-closed as she leaned back, lips pink swollen with the cool liquid. The shadow there brought out the paleness to her skin, cheeks and forehead dusted with that sprinkling of freckles. Her tunic was unlaced in the heat, the swell of one milky breast just pushing past the fabric.

Valygar turned pointedly back to the desert. He was not the most physical of men, but there was a careless sensuality to Imoen, so different to the affected ladies of his youth, that it easily evaded his guard. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, his mind drawn back to graver matters as he wondered whether the sun beat so relentlessly upon his own lands. He had hoped for a good almond harvest this year, last year being too wet, but this much sun would be just as detrimental. He had visited the groves a few times with Nentat in his youth, and he imagined the holdings now: rows upon rows of the dusky green trees, all bowed under the weight of their ripening fruit, though it was nothing compared to the spring, when white blossoms clung to the branches like dry snow to scatter in blizzards with every breath of wind, the sweet scent heavy in the warm air. It was not the wilds he loved so well, but it was beautiful. He resolved to show her, if given the chance. Valygar started as smooth fingers brushes against his own.

'You lost in thought there, Vals?'

'I was thinking on my estate. I am sure it is faring well under Nentat's hand -indeed, it has for many years now- but for the first time in my life, I wish I could be there to ensure as much.'

The girl cocked her head slightly, face wearing a mildly contemplative look he rarely saw on her. 'You're really going back there, aren't you? After all this is over.'

'You doubted it?'

'A bit,' she sighed, finishing her mead to set the cup before her, hands on her heels and pulling her legs in, the empty tankard a dark pupil within that unblinking eye. 'This life gets into your blood; I noticed it in Suldanessellar. Since I left Candlekeep, part of me longed for a home, but a month anywhere and my feet start itching.'

Valygar shrugged, he had suspected as much from their few talks together in the elven city and if the years had taught him anything it was that, though in the rush of youth, there did not ever seem enough time, there was a pace to all things, and it was usually much slower than one had previously thought.

'Well, I am older than you, and have travelled enough in my time that I would likely not feel as great a pull, even without this duty upon me. If you wish to travel after this, with Fritha or one of the others, I will understand. Just know there will be a place for you at my estate, should you wish it.'

Imoen was watching him with a soft look.

'You're lovely, you know? And the others can stay at your house, too?'

'Yes, if they wish. I would say bring anyone you please back with you, though you would likely fill the house in a season. You make friends easily –it is a pleasant trait.'

The girl grinned, nestling closer despite the heat. 'Ooo, what else do you like about me, Vals? I never did get that list from you.'

Valygar smiled, feeling it stir low in his stomach as he slipped his fingers up her shoulder and under that silken curtain to caress her slender neck.

'You are natural – apart from certain exceptions.' He let his fingers sweep playfully forward to flick her cerise hair. It was longer now than when he had first met her in the asylum, the straight tresses just brushing her shoulders where they would flip out or under in short half-curls. Something Imoen seemed to have noticed as she moved to tie it carelessly back.

'It needs a cut. I can't be bothered with it long –I don't know how Fritha stands it in this heat. What are you looking at?'

'Merely wondering what you would look like with your natural colour grown through.'

Imoen drew back with a snort. 'I can tell you that: _boring_. Why'd you even care?'

'I wish to see you as you are.'

'Well, this is it.'

'Perhaps… But you first changed it to stand apart from your peers –I think you shine as you are.'

Imoen's eyebrows were twitching, but a quarter inch away from a frown. 'Well, then what does it matter what colour my hair is? You don't hate it pink, do you?'

'No,' he conceded awkwardly and deliberating each word as he continued, mindful his offer was not mistaken for a proposal of another sort. 'But if I am to return to Athkatla after this and take up my title, such a life comes with certain _restrictions_. The expectations of how a lord should live and act are a narrow course I once refused to follow, but I vowed after Lavok's end to leave my family a legacy of deeds to carry on our name in place of another cursed heir and, when you are ready, it is something I believe you could perhaps have a part in, if you are willing.'

A smile was curling her lips, slight and almost appraising as she weighed his offer.

'Yeah, I guess we could give that a try.' She let the smile linger on him a moment, before turning back to the desert. 'I'm not changing my hair though.'

Valygar laughed.

xxx

It was just before the dawn, their barge moored upon a lake of creeping mists, those awake told to stay and Jaheira did not even bother to have the gangplank lowered, the turf soft underfoot as she dropped to the bank in a spray of dew, the wet jolt through her body only thing that felt real, while before her that wall of trees loomed dark in the auroral haze: the Forests of Osif, the shadow of a dream.

It was a good two hours walk to the grove proper, but she knew the way, the forest about her changed yet hauntingly familiar even after so long. And it was _beautiful_, the canopy of ageless trees stretching up to a clear milky sky, the light filtering through to dapple a carpet of last year's leaves, or stream effulgent into glades to nourish the planets and grasses therein. The Osif was not held in permanent vernal lushness as the Trademeet grove had been, but Nature's severity seemed softened there and the parched plains of Tethyr might have been a hundred leagues away, when she passed beneath those leafy boughs.

Jaheira let a hand brush the trunk next to her, the bark nibbled back to the wood beneath; there were many herds of deer there, kept safe from the hunter's arrogance and pursued only for food not sport, her clan sharing their home with the countless other creatures, both prey and predators - all equal and in harmony in that place.

It had been her whole world once, landmarks overlooked by the casual trespasser given the permanence of names by those who had lived their before her. The rotting trunk of the Sundered One, a great oak brought down in its prime by a lighting strike in her ninth autumn, the deep pool of Eldath's Mirror, and the ever-eerie Pillars, where the air always seemed cooler, a dense copse of silver birches as old as the forest itself and grown, it was said, by Silvanus to imprison some great evil long ago, when even He was young.

And as the forest endured, so had her memories of the place, of playing there with the other children of the clan, of growing older and learning the ways of Nature and Her brood, be they of the earth or merely living upon it. Learning how to survive and protect life there, and to feel the energies that imbued all living things within that sacred place. And that ever-persisting memory, unfaded by time, of bringing there the one person who had completed her life in a way that even the forest and her clan never could.

'Hold, traveller, you walk in lands protected by the Druids of-'

She turned to the voice and there he was, crouched upon the lowest bough of the oak above her, his face bearing a few more lines and a scrubby beard that had appeared since their last meeting. The rest of his short, brown hair was tied back, away from the dark eyes that widened as they found her.

'By the stones of Aisath, _Jaheira?_'

'Hello, Nathaniel.'

'Hello yourself!' he cried, dropping from the bough with a creak of leathers to close her in a fast embrace, the man rough in his joy. 'It must have been six years since last you were here! How are you, friend? Still striving for balance in the chaos of the outside world? And where is that fine husband of yours? I never did forgive him for stealing you away from…' He trailed off at her empty look, his throat bobbing, 'Oh, Jaheira… forgive me, I did not-'

'It is fine, Nathaniel, you were not to know. But I am not here for that -I must speak with Elder Diadra.'

He nodded wordlessly, seeming to understand her need for silence, the last hour passed in only the labour of their breathing, and, at last, though trees as familiar to her as the lines on her hand, she and Nathaniel stepped into the Lowen glade. The broad clearing was littered with the few canvas shelters she would have expected for the warmer time of year, a half dozen people both recognised and unfamiliar sat about, preparing skins or sharpening another batch of wooden arrows in the endless cycle of hunting, foraging and mending that required the least contact with world outside the forest.

Their clan spent the summer there, that the solstice could be properly measured and venerated at the nearby ruin before moving deeper into the forest for winter's approach; a nomadic life that had been hers once. An older woman was seated on the far side of the glade, tanned and lithe even in her years, her wiry grey head bent over the pair of soft hide breeches she was patching, the woman wearing something similar under the leather jerkin and, the only luxury to indicate her status, a long linen tunic in deepest saffron. Jaheira ignored the sudden stirrings of her arrival about her, the long trampled grass springy underfoot.

'Elder Diadra?'

The woman glanced up and Jaheira was greeted by the same pointed, shrewish countenance, seemingly unchanged from their last meeting –from even their first meeting all those years ago, the sharp nose and pursed mouth ever softened by the merry sparkle of her bright green eyes –was it something to do with her connection to the forest or just the love she held for the woman which softened the lines upon that kind, wise face, Diadra exchanging her work for her stave to struggle to her feet.

'Jaheira, my child, you have returned to us!'

'Yes, Elder, and I fear I bring a great burden.'

Diadra's eyes warmed with a beatific smile. 'Never came trouble with you, Jaheira. Not the first time, and not since. Come,' she continued, turning to gesture southwards, 'I sense a tale in you and I have yet to make this morning's offerings. Walk with me and we will solve your problem together.'

They set out, heading south to where Jaheira knew the ancient ruins lay, while Diadra commented here and there about the changes in the forest and their clan. The herd of wild boar had been driven from the western reaches by the old Fang's wolf pack two winters back, and Luda and Shirall sealed their union last spring, and Luda had since given birth to twins; small mundane matters that eased the jumble of emotions with her.

'So,' Diadra began eventually, her tone losing its conversational cadence, 'you bring a burden, but I sense another within in you and one you have borne much longer.' A pause to their pace as soft eyes held her own. 'Khalid has returned to the land, has he not? Do not look so surprised, child, even if I did not know it would take as much to tear him from your side, you carry the wound of his passing within you still – a scar across your soul.'

Jaheira swallowed, unable to speak for the sudden ache within. Always put aside for other concerns, it never seemed to get the air it needed and, like a wound, the memory festered.

'I- there are no words.'

Diadra sighed tiredly. 'No… there are not. But for what comfort it gives, I grieve his loss with you, as will many here.'

A silence between them, long enough to respect weight of what they discussed, but broken before melancholy set in, Diadra turning to continue their path.

'So what is this trouble you worry you have brought to us, child? I will need to hear of it if we are to find a resolution.'

And so Jaheira told her, of the camp and the horrors that had been wrought within, of its end and the beginning of but a fresh set of problems for those that had survived its fall.

'The Children were freed then, but in danger all the same, with the army and bounty hunters all out for their cursed blood. And I thought of here, Elder, and the divine might of Nature that imbues this forest. I thought perhaps…'

'That they could find a place here?' Diadra confirmed, 'Yes, it is true that the power of Silvanus and the Great Mother flows strongly here, strong enough to mask their presence even from a more malevolent divine eye.'

'So?'

Diadra smiled. 'So, your friends are welcome among us.'

The relief she felt left Jaheira breathless. 'My thanks, Elder.

'No, no; no thanks,' Diadra clucked genially, 'The Oak Father would have me do no less. All life is precious, and these blighted souls are no less worthy of our aid for the unnaturalness of their beginnings.'

Up ahead, the moss-rich stone of the ruins were filtering through the trunks, Diadra beckoning Jaheira after her as the woman stepped inside that ring of sacred trees. The ruins, much like their keeper, seemed little changed by the years, a ring of six square stone pillars, their granite surfaces covered in runes as old as the lichens that encrusted them, a language that had long ago lost its meaning in that world. In the centre, a raised platform stood but a step from the forest floor, the dais still level even for the many roots which no doubt twisted beneath, two stone basins brimming with rainwater making a circle about a central pillar, the water shimmering in the slight breeze to distort the mosaic of pebbles lain within. It was an old place, its original use long forgotten and used now only by their clan to determine the summer solstice, but Jaheira could still feel the power there. Diadra smiled.

'Do you recall, child, the first time you made pilgrimage here with me? On the Feast of the Moon, that winter a year after you arrived at the forest. The return of any soul to the Great Mother is nothing to be grieved when the end comes naturally, but for those lives that were stolen too soon, we would come here to place a stone in the basin and offer prayers to their memory.'

'I remember,' she answered, seeing so clearly how the moonlight had reflected on the water, a rippling pool of silver and as cold and alien as liquid metal as she had plunged her hand within to release her pebble to the icy depths. Diadra was nodding, lost in her own memories.

'Yes, and afterwards I took you back to the Lowen glade where our small band had camped, and Berda tried to give you the last of the dates he had brought from his autumn walk out to the villages. I still recall his surprise when you took refuge in my lap and hid your face in my shoulder -it took an evening of coaxing to bestow his gift! You were such a curious child, so reluctant to reach out and take the things you truly wanted, as though you held within you still the memory of losing all you had once loved.' The woman sighed, letting a moment of silence give voice to her pity, continuing in a chuckle, 'And yet you were so bold too, even back then. So ready to stand up to any tyranny –I recall the lecture you received from Elder Yamad, the Oak Father keep him, after you and that little bully, Degan, were hauled apart for fighting over- what was it now?'

'He had taken Nathaniel's bow string and worn the end so it snapped on our hunt and nicked his face. Degan had found some amusement in the trick – _I _had not.' Jaheira frowned, feeling the old anger anew, though tempered now by years and experience. Nathaniel could have lost his bow, or worse his eye, though her reaction had helped nothing, merely driving the older boy further from their young group – and their clan.

'Yes, there was always much resentment in young Degan after his mother died – this life is not for everyone, even those born to it. I think it was for the best when he left to seek in fortune outside the grove. There were worries when you first arrived that it may be the same for you. That you would ever be longing for another life – like a seed carried far from its home climes, growing but never quite flourishing in some foreign soil. But, to all our joy, you embraced the life here and ever was I chasing after you as we went about the forests, tracking the deer herds and collecting herbs for Zafis, the Oak Father keep him. I was not a young women even back then, and well past the age I would have had a child of my own, and you had me up trees and wading through bogs! Ah ha, what a sight we must have been!'

Jaheira flushed, torn between embarrassment and laughter. 'I am sorry, Diadra, I must have been a handful.'

'No, no,' the woman chuckled, 'it kept me fit, and a place should always ring with children's laughter - our own brood were already out when you arrived this morning. Old Berda took them off fishing that we can dry their catch ready for the Midsummer festivities. And you, child, will you remain here to see the Midsummer with us?'

Jaheira felt the smile within her fade. 'I… I cannot, Elder. The others, my companions, are expecting my return. They have need of me.'

Diadra watched her carefully, drinking in the reluctance. 'Ah, another wound, I see, and one that is far from healed. You are on ill-terms with them?'

'No.., at least not with them all.' Jaheira sighed and took a moment to wonder how things had ever grown so bad. 'I travel with one of the Children, have travelled with her since the Iron Crisis in the north, before even Khalid was taken. We had a relationship once, of mentor and student, and then as friends when grief brought us closer, but then…' She paused, her stomach growing hot, the shame of the memories hard to bear even after so long, 'We were driven apart, a lingering distrust keeping us from closing the rift, and as more time went on I began to doubt her. The Harpers –_some_ of the Harpers, believe her to be a danger, a corrupted thing. I sided with her then and in times since, but of late…'

Jaheira shook her head, wishing she had just asked the girl before she had left instead of stalking off with the survivors, pride masking the worry of what the girl would tell her should she press her for an answer. 'Fritha holds a hatred for the world where once had been only peace. Recently, I came to discover things of her past that would have made sense of this change, but when confronted she turned all I had believed upon its head. And there we parted.'

'And what do you believe of her now?'

'I do not know.'

'Do you feel she is corrupted?'

'I-' Jaheira searched for an answer, but was saved the trouble.

'You are thinking, Jaheira, you are thinking on everything that has happened and on the opinions of others and all that you know of her, but that is not what I asked. What do you _feel_? You cannot read her heart, Jaheira, but you can trust in your own heart.' Diadra smiled. 'I must make my prayers now, but stay a while if you can; I know the clan would have a chance to welcome again their absent daughter, even if the morrow would see her gone.'

Jaheira smiled and went to bow, Diadra catching the gesture with a kiss upon her brow, the serenity of their meeting lingering with her as she made the long walk back to the river.

The sun was up by now, and with it her companions, Enric stood upon the deck with Rowin and the dark-skinned Morgain taking in the sail, while the rest were gathered upon the southern bank with the grazing horses, the group sat upon blankets and cloaks to share a breakfast of bread and dried fish they had found in the hold, Leandril's sharp eyes the first to spot her.

'Hail, Jaheira, what news?'

Every breath was held. Jaheira forced a smile and her answer past the sudden lump to her throat.

'They have agreed. The druids here will take you in, the forest will hide you and none will find you again, lest you leave its bounds.'

A murmured sigh across them, broken here and there by the gentle keen of quiet tears, and Jaheira almost felt like crying too, the tensions built over a fortnight of struggle finally given release. The taciturn Gideon was searching for the words.

'I- we never -you have our thanks.'

Kuri and those that had heard him were nodding fervently, Eruna sat next to the Turmian as she usually was, dry-eyed and smiling in that slight way she had acquired of late, as though last few days had aged her a lifetime.

'That is good news. Come, we saved you some breakfast.'

Jaheira sat and finished the meal with them, a raucous joviality returning that had been absent from the group since their tragic departure from Marmont, and little under an hour later they were setting out again and for the last time. They had cut the barge loose, letting the current take it back down stream to where another could claim it, but not before it had been stripped back to the tar: rations, canvases, ropes and anything else that could be salvaged heaped upon the backs of their two horses, while patient plodding Gitali was entrusted with a graver burden, Athic's body laid upon the travois she dragged, still wrapped in Kuri's cloak and bound with ropes found on the barge, a lock of golden hair looped about the one that crossed his wounded heart.

The glade was much busier than when she had left it, a combination, Jaheira suspected, of the later hour and Diadra's efforts to gather those who could be found. The few children were returned, too, sat about stooped old Burda as he showed them how to dry their catches over a small fire, the kindly man sparing her a nod as she arrived and all heads turned to the newcomers, Diadra stepping forward to meet them with a gravity that commanded every ear.

'Greetings, children, I am Diadra, Elder to the Druids of Osif and you are welcome here. Jaheira has told me of your plight, and I have relayed it to the clan, and between us we have decided the best course. Until the Midsummer, we will all remain here within the glade and after which you will be divided into smaller groups and taken into the forests by we druids who will teach you the ways of this place and how to survive here. The forest will provide for all, but its gifts are earned through work and patience. Any who do not believe they can do this, can not stay, for my clan cannot carry the burden of those who will not live in harmony with the Osif.'

There was no dissent – none spoke at all. Diadra's warning softened to a smile.

'Come then, pitch what tents you have and gather about the fire pit and we shall find friends where before were only strangers.'

A shared moment of hesitance, and in ones and twos the group moved forward to be welcomed in, Kuri glancing back as he realised he was suddenly alone.

'You ain't coming, Eruna?'

The girl spoke no answer, just shook her head. Jaheira felt her heart twist.

'Come, shall we walk out a while?'

Jaheira held little idea of where she was taking them, her feet leading them west, deeper into the forest with no care as to their destination. Eruna matched her pace, following at a careless trudge, robes hitched up and eyes down as she made sure not to trip. Jaheira had meant to use this chance to speak to the girl, but even as the words came she dismissed them. Such trite reassurances did nothing, and in the end only the ache remained; ever-present, ever-hungry, as though it would divert all thought and energy to dwelling upon its loss.

Through distant trunks Jaheira could see them drawing closer, the woman unwilling to confront the place, but seemingly unable to veer away, and then it was too late to change her course - there they were, standing on the edge of that broad glade, dominated by three towering beech trees: the Maidens. They had grown far enough apart to allow light to reach the ground, the trees dancing in a lush meadow of grasses and cowslips. And there the pair settled beneath the largest of the three to watch the other two sway with the breeze. Eruna leaned back against the trunk, gazing up into the leafy canopy with distant eyes.

'It is beautiful here. The whole forest is beautiful, but here…' She trailed off; there was no need, that place spoke for her.

Jaheira let her gaze travel the glade, seeing it how it had been, the whole clan gathered, Diadra in the robes she wore so rarely while she, herself, just stood there in the same tunic he had seen a dozen times before, however often she had mentioned this fact unable to dissuade Mirim and Parveta from braiding a half garland of soap wort into her hair. And there under that very tree that shaded them now, he had stood, as bright and fair as when he had first asked her, as though he had not once stopped smiling since, his tunic a match for that clear pale sky, the few freckles across his nose hidden under the blush of wine the men had plied him with that morning. Jaheira smiled absently –he never had been able to take his drink.

'This was where Khalid and I were joined in marriage… in the autumn, his favourite season… the leaves here were the colour of his hair…'

Eruna just nodded, her scraggy golden braid, unbound for days now, pulled over her shoulder, the girl seeming intent upon the fat flaxen brush that curled beneath the tie, trailing it back and forth between her fingers.

'Athic was my brother – even at our first meeting, I knew he was the other half of myself and I feel, I feel…' Her voice broke, the words coming in a howl, 'I feel _robbed!_ Cast out and alone! But also blessed,' she croaked more quietly, 'to have known one like him and to have been his friend and made him laugh and done good with him. And we did, you know, in the Frontier Lands and beyond. Wherever he went, Athic made his mark… Oh _gods,_ just one more hour! I would give it all for just one more laugh or tug of braid or to have him throw up my hood when I was not looking!'

There was nothing else to be said, the girl breaking down to howl into her hands and Jaheira let her cry until no more tears would come, the sobs ebbing to sighs, until even they were calmed, Eruna staring out at the trees as though the world was a dream.

'He will need to be buried – I would like for it to be here.'

'Then it shall.'

'Thank you.'

Silence fell between them again, and Jaheira closed her eyes, resisting the temptation to lie back in that cradle of long grass. The sun had peaked, warming the glade to leave her sleepy, the woman drained in her misery. Eruna's voice was soft, almost lost in the soughing canopy.

'I know we may die soon- we Children- if Bhaal comes back. If He finds us, I will try to protect the forest as best can. I won't let it perish with us.'

'And if Fritha and our company manages to stop this?'

'And the Children are all safe?' Eruna confirmed, her bloodshot eyes glazing over as she gazed into the future. 'Then I will return home and settle again with my mother, at least for a time. I think she was always waiting for some trouble, always worrying what would become of her _beautiful, blighted girl_ –it would do me good to know her mind would be finally set at ease. And, of course, I must visit the Golden Boar and tell Hantha and the others –they will be waiting for him…'

xxx

They had not made it the night before, despite his invitation in the afternoon. Fritha had returned from the smugglers with a large joint of salted pork which had taken a while to cook and by the time their meal was finished, there was little left to do but bed down for the night.

But finally, after another long day in that dusty village, the moment had come. Night had fallen, the meal was eaten, all the dishes collected and cleaned, and with a long evening ahead of them in camp, Anomen had at last found a quiet moment to ask her, and now there was no going back. Brieanna was standing beside him, the others sat in their usual places before tents and all staring up at them in roaring silence.

'_You're_ going to the tavern?' repeated Fritha, voice coming slightly shrill in her disbelief. '_Together?_'

Anomen nodded, trying not to look at her. 'That is as I said.'

'Ooo, we'll come,' offered Imoen eagerly. Fritha's attention was already back on the parchment that rested on a folio in her lap.

'I'm not sure they want us along, Imoen -you know, _lowering the tone_.'

'No, no, by all means,' pressed the woman at his side; either Brieanna really _did_ want them there or she had missed her true calling upon the stage. It was certainly all the encouragement Imoen needed, the girl dusting off her trousers as she made to stand.

'Good then. Coming, Vals?'

The tall man rose with a smile, the girl's attention already on her friend.

'What about you, Fritha? Must have been a whole day since you've been on the ale.'

'Yes, I wonder how I managed it. But I've things here to be getting on with,' Fritha glanced to the men still sat. 'What about you two?'

Minsc and Solaufein shook their heads.

'No, no, I am happy here; Boo does not like the noise.'

'And I must practise my lute –would like to write prayer song to my Lady before long.'

'See, all occupied,' trilled Fritha, 'you lot have fun.'

Something which was much easier wished than accomplished, it seemed. Anomen walked along, the inn at the end of the dark street growing closer with each stiff step. He felt rigid in his own body and acutely aware of the woman matching his pace just next to him, Brieanna examining the darkened buildings they passed with a determined focus. More giggling behind them, Valygar's deep, measured chuckle joining Imoen this time, and Anomen felt a surge of desperate resentment that it could be so simple for some. His mind churned, groping vainly for something to say. It would have all been a lot easier if she did not seem so reluctant about the whole thing. Perhaps he should ask her that, a perverse part of him suggested. Ask her why, after a tenday of her favour, it seemed she had now completely changed her mind?

But perhaps he was too content to place the blame upon her. His own behaviour must have seemed strange – to have proclaimed nothing but fraternity for so long, and then suddenly offer more. He screwed up his courage and made to take her hand, Anomen determined to capture some of the familiarity those behind him were so merrily flaunting, the woman noticing this lunge to whip her hand out of reach with a questioning frown. He tried a smile and let his arm fall back to swinging stiffly at his sides, his eyes returned to the inn.

Well, it would all be easier after some ale.

**…**

The tavern was the usual press of noisy drunkards, most of the mercenaries stood or sat, a few engaged in cards or dice, while one group gambled over a game of bones, the board chalked onto the wooden floorboards. They had managed to get a table by the door, Valygar returning from the bar with an ale pitcher and a frown, though his displeasure was not shared, Imoen gazing about the rabble with shining eyes.

'Fritha told me it was a bit wild in here, but she didn't say anything about _this_.'

'No,' agreed Valygar shortly, 'she did not.'

'Ah, poor Vals; we can leave if you-'

'Here, new blood,' shouted the older mercenary who was knelt next to the bones board, his wide grin on Imoen, 'you want a game?'

'Why not, if you've so much gold you're keen to lose it.'

A round of gruff laughter, Valygar taking a table closer to the board where better to keep a watchful eye upon the girl as she stooped for the tokens. Anomen swallowed a mouthful of ale, the game not interesting enough to warrant his attention for much longer, the discomfort of not looking at her finally greater than the embarrassment of doing so.

'They seem to be enjoying their evening.'

Brieanna smiled, eyes back on her cup. 'To be fair, I imagine Imoen could find amusement anywhere.'

'And you, my lady?'

'The evening has been pleasant enough.'

Anomen watched her take a drink, her long fingers notched here and there with long healed scars – just as his own were… This was right.

'I am glad, my lady. I was under the impression you were reluctant to join me this evening.'

Her frown did not hide the guilty cast to her eyes, the cup lowered with a terse sigh. 'Anomen, it is not that, I merely wonder whether… I have a duty here, as do you, and nothing can be allowed to disrupt that.'

'And this will?' he pressed. The woman just shook her head.

'This is not a good time, Anomen, for either of us. I understand how you feel, that emptiness inside, how you would try anything to fill the void, but this will do little.'

Anomen mouthed silently a moment, astounded that she had just come out and so bluntly presented him with the shame that had squirmed black and oily in his heart since he had first asked her, his fervent desire to assuage his conscience making him all the more earnest to prove both her and himself wrong.

'If you believe I only asked you out of need for some sort of- of _distraction_, then you are gravely mistaken! I want no promise from you, Brieanna; I merely wish us to become better acquainted.' His voice softened, a hand moving to take her own in the gesture he had been attempting all evening. 'The end could come at any time; I would explore what could be between us before it is too late.'

Brieanna gazed down at their hands, entwined upon the pitted table, her eyes distant under the frown, as though she looked at something that no longer belonged to her. 'I… yes, I suppose we could try.'

He patted her hand and moved to take up his ale cup once more, laughter from Imoen drawing his attention back to the tavern before as the girl won another hand, the ruckus about the gaming board little different to the vinous chaos that surrounded them, men shouting and laughing. At the doors, a disagreement had erupted to a brawl, the friends of both parties hastily pushing them out into the courtyard before the landlord barred the lot of them, while in the far corner the maid's shrill scolding was lost to the gruff jeers of his friends as a bleary-eyed young lad collapsed into pool of his own vomit. Anomen lowered his cup, too disgusted to drink any more.

'Helm's Beard, I never thought any place would have me longing for the Coronet.'

'The Coronet? Is that in Athkatla? I confess I visited few of the taverns outside of the main Promenade.'

'No, I doubt any from the Order would go there outside of necessity. Simon, Erick and I usually drank in the Mithrest, or Goose and Garden if Simon was meeting some of his temple sisters for a dance. And the Five Flagons over on the bridge often had minstrels as well, though they had not the room for dancing. And then there were the taverns that overlooked the harbour.'

Across the table, Brieanna quirked a teasing eyebrow. 'It sounds as though you were quite the carouser.'

'No, indeed, my lady,' he corrected hastily, 'I confess we spent most evenings completing chores for our knights or studying in the Order's library.' True enough and yet even those were times to be reminisced upon it seemed, Anomen struck by just how much he missed his friends and the life they had once shared. As a squire, he had longed for nothing for than to be knighted, but now he could see the joy in those simpler days when the three of them were squires, eager for glory and untroubled by the grey doubts that plagued him now – Sir Ryan had been his conscience and his course both, and not once had he questioned it.

'As for the Copper Coronet, it is a tavern in the slums and a known haunt for mercenaries -it was there I first met-' the correction came so quick, he doubted Brieanna even noted it, '-this company - when I was but a squire, hungry for a chance to prove myself.'

Brieanna let a smile grace the rim of her cup. 'And surely, your wish was granted.'

Anomen nodded, though this chance and the achievements it had led to stirred little pride in him anymore. 'So, were any of the taverns in Vallumscourt as fine as this one, my lady?'

'No, though I am ashamed to admit after your tales that I went to only one and only then on a handful of occasions, usually with men from the militia to celebrate some sound victory or recent promotion.'

'You had friends among them?'

Brieanna shrugged, eyes flicking upwards to think on it. 'A few. Life outside the temple was not encouraged. Let me see, there was young Darvin, Atul, Nirav…'

'I am surprised so many southerners found their way north – Atul and Nirav are Tethyran names.'

'I-' she faltered, seeming surprised he'd noted such, 'Why, yes, I never considered that – I suppose some dowdy farmer's wife wanted an exotic name from a place she'd only heard of. Perhaps she hoped the child would one day see the place its name called home –though in their cases the hope was in vain. Neither are young men; they have lived in Vallumscourt since their births and will likely die their, too, defending the town from the orcs and bandits that would prey upon the trade that feeds it.'

'At least they will give their lives for some greater cause,' Anomen snorted, another cacophony of cheers and groans booming from the games behind, 'the dregs around us would fight and die for the coin in their purse, though I wonder why the monastery's gold has brought them here.'

Brieanna took another sip, considering the matter. 'Well, thinking on it logically, you would raise an army to either attack or defend, so Balthazar either has an enemy he believes will soon move against him, or he intends to strike first. The question would be who?'

'The monastery is supposed to hold much knowledge of the Children. Could it be he plans to defend them? He certainly seems to care not a whit for this village and what else is there to defend?'

'Perhaps, but if he is concerned with their safety, why let them camp on the edge of the desert, so exposed to attack? Maybe Balthazar seeks only to protect his own – the monastery and the secrets it holds.'

Anomen scrubbed a frustrated hand across his face. 'Ah, I hate this, all these unanswered questions. I can never shake this feeling we are missing some vital piece of a larger puzzle.'

'Perhaps we are,' Brieanna laughed, 'and perhaps we are better off not knowing. Here, drink up,' she continued, topping up their cups with the last of the ale, 'we are here now, and though likely the worse tavern in Tethyr, we may as well make the best of it. Besides, from the sound of your stories, I have quite a bit of catching up to do.'

She grinned and in spite of everything, the emptiness within and the uproar about them, Anomen felt himself smile back.

xxx

Flickering light filled the clearing, broken by the press of dark bodies that mingled about the firepit and wafted the scent of roasting boar to her in appetising clouds. The Lowen glade was a chaotic thrum of people, more than even the Midsummer could usually gather to celebrate the year's turn beneath bowing leave, though those assembled this evening were not as ready to rejoice, the Children reunited after their divided expeditions into the surrounding forests to the clearing where they would eat and camp their first night in long-sought safety.

Jaheira lingered on the edge of the circle, lent against an obliging sycamore and letting the bark press its pattering into the back of her hand. It had been a long day, and she felt as though she had been holding herself stiff for most of it, for her companions sake as well as the old friends that had come in dribs and drabs to ask her of her travels, each murmured condolence on her loss merely serving to remind her of it ,and she had been grateful when the sun had dipped and the act could slip slightly under the forgiving veil of night.

But they meant well and she was not the only one who suffered, her gaze drawn to the girl across the clearing, sandy robes enriched to vivid ochre by the firelight. Eruna was talking to the old druid Burda, a quiet solemnity to her face that Jaheira wondered would ever lift. They had held the burial that afternoon. Eruna had not wept, her voice clear and strong as she had spoken of her brother to those few who had asked to attend, Kuri at her side, just as he was now.

'Ah, Jaheira,' came that smile in the twilight, the woman stepping a pace from her sanctuary to meet their approach, Nathaniel joined by Enric, the two men's knowledge of healing forming a ready bond between them. 'I was hoping to see you again before I left.'

'You leave tonight?'

'No, but the dawn will find me gone. Diadra wants the news of our decision here taken to the rest of the clan. I'll find who I can and send them here for Midsummer.'

Enric shook his head, smiling though she could tell he was embarrassed. 'You go to much trouble on our behalf.'

Nathaniel merely shrugged. 'Our sister brought you; our Elder welcomed you; you are kin now, friend, and the clan protects their own.'

The shout of his name drew all their eyes across the camp, a tall, blond woman cast golden in the firelight. Nathaniel raised a hand in reply.

'I should go and see what Mirim wants, Diadra has set her the same task and we will need to discuss our routes. I will find you later though, Jaheira; we need to catch up before you leave us again.'

A grin to her, a nod to Enric, and he was gone, the pair he left watching him stalk across the clearing. At her side, a long sigh.

'He seems a good man, they all do – even those who are wary welcome us.'

'Yes, I am glad that, at least, some of my old alliances still hold true.'

'You are still bitter at the Harper's actions?'

'Let us just say I yet have much to mourn – but I am hardly alone in that.'

Eruna was still in conversation with Burda, Kuri all but overlooked as he lingered at her arm, though he did not press for her attentions. Jaheira sighed faintly.

'He favours her, though I wonder how long it will be before she would welcome such; the feelings may die before they can bloom. Love can grow without encouragement, but it is hard to maintain.'

Enric shrugged. 'Perhaps all is not lost. I heard him asking before, if after all is done here, he can accompany her back to Loudwater. She did not say no.'

'Eruna is wise enough not to lose herself to grief…' They watched as the man squeezed her shoulder, the pair parting with a nod for Kuri to be welcomed into the more lively group behind him. 'And he seems wise enough to be patient.' Jaheira felt her brow furrow as, across the clearing, Diadra joined Eruna and Burda, the older woman's curiosity visible even from that distance. 'I wonder what has them all so fascinated.'

'When I was speaking to Nathaniel he mentioned that Eruna and Diadra had been speaking about the ruins here and your Elder told her they were on a ley line. Apparently, Eruna knows of similar ruins to the one here in the Osif placed in the High Forest, and Burda became very excited by this. He has long theorised that many other such sites exist, perhaps even all over Faerûn, and the sites were once somehow used for communications between an ancient web of druids. In the meantime though, Eruna believes she can harness the power of the lines and open a portal to teleport you back west. I think she was worried about you travelling such a distance alone – she likely asks your Elder for permission now.'

Back the trio, Diadra was nodding kindly, Jaheira rather touched the girl would put aside her own concerns for another's.

'She is kind to think of it.'

'She says it is easier when she is keeping busy.'

'Yes, it is.'

Enric just nodded, Jaheira left to ask, 'And what of you?'

'I will remain here while the Children have need of me –I owe them that much. And afterwards, I will return to Darromar and see that Temas's work does not go unfinished. Helsteen and the Harpers may be happy to see them forgotten but I will ensure that those imprisoned by their deception will be remembered and, Gods willing, released.'

'A worthy goal.'

'And one I doubt I can or will accomplish alone,' the man continued, gaze flicking to the dark knot of men opposite, Gideon sat silent among them. 'I imagine there are a few here would be glad of a chance to repay the debt that saw them safe.'

He turned back to her, eyes hidden behind flashing spectacles, and Jaheira realised suddenly that this would likely be the last time she would sit with the man who had so risen in her estimation. But she would think on him still after she left there, think on him, on Athic and on Temas whenever she needed a reminder that whatever happened, some had felt this endeavour to save those doomed people was worthwhile. As though he sensed the same finality to the air, Enric turned to her.

'I do not know when you will leave tomorrow, but I doubt I will have the opportunity to talk with you again like this…' He drew a long breath and she was surprised to see him smile, 'I wish to thank you, Jaheira, for giving me the chance to join you on your journey here, and to begin to make amends for what I was a part of. And…' he added, the beginnings of a laugh warming his words, 'and tell Fritha, right to the last, she had me fooled.'


	32. Reunion

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Reunion**

It was their fourth day in Amkethran, and another bored afternoon found them in the village for what little entertainment could be scratched up, the men sat together on the low wall outside the tavern with Brieanna, Fritha and Imoen playing a skipping game with three of the local children: Danvir, and the two sisters Amishi and Kalyani, whose mothers apparently had work serving in the tavern. The Calimshite influence was strong so close to desert, the young children playing in their simple long tunics and gathered trousers, the lad Danvir turning the rope they'd tied to the remains of the inn's hitching post, Fritha's hand at the jade rope about her neck and Imoen with an arm clamped firmly across her chest, the pair laughing as they skipped.

'_Halaster, Khelben, and Elminster,  
__Went to a party with the Seven Sisters,  
__One wore satin,  
__One wore lace,  
__And one wore nothing but a smile on his face!'_

Rippling laughter from the children about them.

'I bet it was that old tart, Elminster,' huffed Fritha, 'he's been about more than the planar sphere.'

Imoen nodded wisely –some quite hard to affect when still jumping. 'I hear he only went to the Hells cause he heard succubae will do things you can't pay for.'

'Sing another song!' cried Amishi. Fritha puffed a breathless laugh, rolling her eyes at the girl opposite.

'All right, _Apples, peaches, pears and plums, jump in when your birthday comes! Hammer, Alturiak, Ches, Tarsakh, Mirt-_'

Kalyani's eager leap stopped the rope dead, much to her older sister's delight

'Ha ha, Kal, you're out!'

'Let's do another!' came Danvir eagerly. Fritha nodded, all the more exhausted for this sudden respite.

'Uh, I'll turn rope for a bit; it's too hot here for me.'

'Is it lots colder in the north?' asked Kalyani, absently puffing her long fringe from her eyes, 'With snow and white bears?'

'It's certainly cooler where we're from, but not that cold –it only snows in the winter and you have to go further north for white bears.'

'I wish it would snow here,' sighed Amishi. Danvir nodded.

'My mother said in Calimport, the rich people _eat_ snow.'

'Eat snow? Don't be silly!'

'They do here in Tethyr, too,' explained Fritha gently, 'They crush ice and flavour it with syrup.'

'We never get anything like that _here_,' sighed Amishi sulkily.

Imoen was suddenly grinning, calling up to the tavern for Minsc to throw her a cup, the girl filling it from her flask to set in on the dusty ground, a finger hurriedly tracing out a few runes about it. 'Here, stand back!'

A clap of her hands, a flash of light and Imoen snatched up the cup, letting a solid lump of ice slide into Danvir's waiting hand.

'Wow! It's so _cold!_'

'Make me one!' cried Amishi, Imoen letting the girl help her fill the cup again, as Danvir ran the ice up and down his swarthy arm, fascinated as he watched it melt. At Fritha's knees, Kalyani was watching her curiously.

'Can you do magic, too?'

'Can I do magic?' laughed Fritha, 'I know spells that would make your hair curl. In fact, I _know_ a spell that would make your hair curl -would you like curly hair?'

Kalyani giggled. 'How does it work?'

'Well,' said Fritha, dropping to a crouch beside her, 'You section out a piece, like this, and you have to whisper secrets to it, see…'

They both watched the dark tress twist and curl to leave the girl with a bouncing ringlet. 'There.'

'And just what have they been whispering to your hair?'

Fritha whirled at that familiar voice, catching the woman off guard as she threw her arms about her.

'Jaheira, you're back!'

'What's all this?' the druid laughed as they parted, Fritha's face still shining.

'Nothing, I just missed you.'

'Jaheira!' cried Imoen, skipping over to them as well, 'You're back quick.'

'Eruna used her magics to teleport me. Come, we should speak to the others.'

Imoen and Fritha bade farewell to the children, the three women walking back up to the tavern together. Minsc was the first to notice their newcomer, his flask offered to her in warm greeting.

'Ah, good Jaheira, you have returned! All is well?'

'Yes, well enough -though we should not speak of that here.'

'How are Athic and Eruna?' cried Imoen.

'And Enric and Kuri?' added Fritha.

Jaheira swallowed the mouthful she had draw and slowly lowered the flask. 'Fine, they are all fine.'

'How did you know we were here?' continued Imoen, hopping up on to the wall next to Valygar. The druid shrugged, returning to Minsc's his flask.

'I did not. I went to the camp first where I found our tents and a young man, Lukyle, who saw me looking and told me you were here. The camp there is sizable; Melissan still commands quite a following.'

Fritha sighed. 'She gives them hope –who would not cling to that? Melissan believes Sendai is gathering an army to the north-west. She had not heard of Abagizal and left here to make inquires into his whereabouts four days ago. We were waiting to hear back from her before we decided what to do, though with you returned and no sign yet of her, we may as well start out for Sendai -don't look so smug!' she added sharply to Anomen's smirk.

'Will you take some ale?' offered Brieanna, cutting off any chance for an argument. Jaheira shook her head, narrowed eyes travelling the mercenary-packed courtyard behind them.

'No, thank you. So what has been happening here?'

Fritha sighed again, throwing her bag over her shoulder. 'Come on, I'll fill you in.'

They walked south until the street became more sand than gravel, before turning westwards to skirt the edge of the desert, that rippled expanse of yellow stretching off to meet an impossibly blue horizon. Fritha had paused to gaze across it, eyes shaded under a hand and narrowed in concentration, as though she could see something more within the golden dunes. Then a glance to her and look was gone, her smile shy and tinged with melancholy.

'How was the Grove?'

'Full of memories…'

Fritha nodded slowly, warm winds catching at the loose curls about her pearl-set ears.

'I am sorry about how things were before your left.'

'As am I,' Jaheira sighed, 'I believed you corrupted.'

'I _let_ you believe it,' the girl pressed, turning back to the desert with a sigh of her own. 'I needed you, Jaheira, when we first met. And then later, you needed me, too; an unspoken trust between us that we each would protect the other -no wonder nothing's been right since the Harpers drove us apart.' Fritha snorted, tired and faintly bitter, though the feeling fell away, lost to blazing honesty as the girl turned back to her. 'I need that trust back, Jaheira, more than ever in the coming days. I am willing to give it, if you are.'

Jaheira wanted to say the girl had always had it, but she had not, not completely, certainly not lately – the woman swallowed, fighting down that furious disappointment that, after all this time and the many years between them, it was still Fritha who always sought to reconcile them.

'And you shall have it.'

The girl nodded, turning to continue their walk, Jaheira ready to return the conversation to less poignant matters.

'So, what else has happened here in my absence? I notice Anomen and Brieanna seem closer.' She had meant to tease her, the druid frankly seeing nothing changed in the pair. Fritha smiled, fingers playing absently with the clustered jade at her neck.

'Yes… It is good they have found each other. I know you don't understand why, but Anomen and I, we can't go back to what we were.' Her throat bobbed, her words coming strangled through the welling tears, 'I watch them sometimes, the way she looks at him, like I used to, with an affection she can't yet admit. Yes, it will come right.' Fritha turned to her suddenly, eyes wide with glistening sincerity, 'I know I never said it at the time, but I am _so_ sorry you lost Khalid.'

Jaheira was beginning to get tearful herself, hastily gathering the girl to her to cluck and fuss. 'There now, goodness, Fritha, where is all this coming from? Have you been drinking?'

'A bit,' she sniffed, wearing a grin that was quite at odds with the tears that still dripped from her tip of her nose. 'It merely struck me the other day I did not cry enough before, I was too busy trying to be strong for everyone, so I'm making up for it now. It is like I've suddenly become whole again, returned to that girl I was before Irenicus, before the Asylum, and I look at the broken thing was, and I am so horrified; by my pain, the pain I caused. I cannot apologise; even when at my worst, I _was_ trying, to remember who I was, trying to lead you as I should.'

'I know you were, I know.'

'Even until recently, I hated the world. It had disappointed me; what it demanded for what it was… But no, it is a fair trade. I love you, Jaheira, please know that.'

Jaheira was really crying now, the tears falling for more than just herself but for all those lost, lives extinguished in an uncaring world, and she pressed the girl to her, that deep, unspoken affection coming in a fierce hiss.

'_Foolish girl!_'

A long moment stood in that embrace and they at last parted, Fritha offering Jaheira her handkerchief with a wet laugh, the girl unmindful of the less than practical colour as she dabbed her own eyes on her fine white kurti.

'So,' Jaheira sighed, the pair wandering once more, 'what other tales do you have for me from my time away?'

'_Well_,' the girl began readily with her unwavering fondness for gossip, 'Valygar and Imoen are properly courting now – they share a tent and _everything_. Oh, you should see them, all kisses and lingering looks, it's enough to make a Sunite sick. Solaufein has taken to the lute with an _envying_ skill, Minsc, bless him, seems to get more homesick by the day –I think it's the heat here, and that's it really.' Fritha paused to send her another gentle smile, 'I'm glad you're back, Jaheira.'

The druid felt her heart throb, arm thrown about the girl. 'Oh, as am I, child, as am I.'

The clatter of footstep fortunately forestalled another bout of tears and they turned to see Imoen red-faced and panting as she charged towards them, the girl skidding to a halt the instant they saw her.

'Oi, you two! It's Melissan; she says she's got news!'

It was so and they arrived back to find the woman, as Imoen had promised, their group moved from the wall and gathered about her in the shade of one of the empty houses close by, Melissan seemingly reluctant to approach the inn, and Balthazar's mercenaries, any further.

'Ah, Fritha,' she greeted at their approach, 'I have good news –and Jaheira is returned as well, I see –greetings to you, druid. Anyway, enough pleasantries; here, all the reports I have garnered on Sendai's location and forces, and here, a map to Abagizal's stronghold.'

Fritha gazed down at the two sheaves of parchment she now held, one tied in blue, the other, red.

'Just like that?'

Melissan nearly lost her wimple with that furious toss of her head. '_What now?_ You asked me for the information and I found it! There is no pleasing you!'

'Calm your pants, love,' snapped Imoen, 'we just thought it would take you a bit longer.'

'Well,' Melissan conceded, 'I must admit to having enjoyed quite a bit of luck, especially concerning the location of Abagizal. It seems a few of the local desert tribes have known of his stronghold for a while now, though they just believed him a djinn sorcerer of ancient power and kept their distance accordingly – they are a superstitious people.' She smiled wisely, 'Truly, the Fates are on our side in this.'

Fritha snorted. '_Oho_, that they are.'

'Where will you go now?' asked Solaufein, Melissan seemingly surprised to see the question directed to her, 'Will you remain here with the Children?'

'Oh, I would that were possible; they miss my guidance and Lukyle frets over every little thing. But I have still to root out this last member of the Five –they are lying low at the moment, likely waiting until all others are eliminated before making their move, but I am confident that the answers I seek will be found in the prophesies stored at the holy library of Watcher's Keep.'

'I wish you well on the journey, then,' said Fritha. Melissan matched her slight bow with one of her own.

'And to you -_wherever_ you decide to go.' The briefest glance to Anomen and Melissan was off, sweeping back along the street, to turn the corner and be gone once more.

'She sets my teeth on edge,' muttered Imoen, 'like eating sand.'

'Mmm,' Fritha murmured absently, 'where's Brieanna?'

'Inside,' supplied Anomen, 'she went to get our flasks refilled –she likely guessed we would be leaving soon.'

'And she was right. Come on,' Fritha continued, as the woman herself appeared in the doorway opposite, 'It's late enough in the day that we can travel safely; let's get back to camp.'

And Imoen fell into step beside her, her wide smile taking on an uncertain edge as they pulled away from the others.

'Fritha, are you all right? You looked a bit upset when you got back with Jaheira. You weren't arguing, were you?'

Fritha laughed gently and shook her head. 'No, not arguing…'

'Good, cause I like you like this, all happy, and I don't want _anyone_ spoiling it.'

They shared a smile, a peaceful silence holding them for a few paces more when-

'Fritha?'

'_Yes…_'

'What do you think I'd look like with brown hair?'

**…**

With half their belongings already packed up and carried with them for fear of thieves, it took very little time to dismantle the rest of their camp. Abagizal's stronghold was, in fact, not far from Amkethran, just under a tenday's journey south into desert, Lukyle marking on the map Melissan had given to them an oasis where they could likely find guides. Anomen seemed to realise that they would be heading south without asking, and did not press his argument for travelling north to Sendai. And Fritha was glad of it –she had had enough emotion for one day, the knight straightening to haul his heavy pack onto his shoulder.

'Right, if there is time, I will head over to the shrine here to make my prayers before we leave. Will you join me, my lady?'

Brieanna blinked, seemingly caught out as she glanced up from her half-flattened tent. 'Ah, no, I fear I have too much to do here.'

'I'll finish that off, Brie,' offered Imoen cheerfully, she and Valygar carefully rolling up the canvas of their tent, 'Just leave it.'

'No, I would not wish to delay us.'

Fritha laughed brightly, carelessly throwing things into her own pack. 'We've time, yet – I must have spent days of my life sat on the wall outside the Temple of Helm waiting for Anomen.'

But Brieanna remained firm. 'No, I do not need a shrine to make my prayers. My Lord is everywhere.'

'So it is,' agreed Jaheira. 'Not all who worship need a focus for their veneration,'

'Fair enough,' chirruped Imoen, 'See you soon, Anomen.'

The knight left them with a nod, Imoen skipping over to Valygar, the man struggling to push the rolled canvas into his already bulging pack.

'Here, let me help.'

He shied from her touch.

'Vals?'

'Do you have all the pegs?' he asked evenly. Imoen nodded, passing him the small linen bag.

'Yeah, I think so.'

He took it without a word, the girl sending an injured glance to Fritha who shrugged, no more idea than she, Imoen turning her attentions to the only men still left as Minsc and Solaufein appeared, coming down the bluff with a staggered gait, arms straining under the two huge water flasks.

'Here, Sola, let me help you there.'

Another few moments packing, Anomen returning to them with the stoic calm his prayers often stirred in him, and as one they set out into the desert.

xxx

Imoen pushed the linen scarf back from her head and shook out her hair, the roots tingling with this welcome release. They had walked well into the evening, stars blinking in the clear indigo sky to cast the dunes about them in silver, the heaped treasure of some absent lord, as though they had found camp in amongst a dragon's hoard. The night was still, a blessing since the dunes provided little cover. Jaheira was already bent over a bubbling pot and trying to keep the all-invasive sand from their evening meal as she added the dried goat meat, the others about her busy erecting tents for the few hours sleep they would get, before the cusp of dawn would see them up and walking once more, their group forced to keep their travel to the cooler parts of the day.

For a man more at home in the frozen tundra, Minsc had kept them on course and they would easily reach the oasis by the following day. As for that afternoon, Imoen was more than glad when the sun had finally relented to slip below the western dunes, rosy fingers lingering along with heat that would not leave air for couple more hours yet. Her legs were aching from their trudge over sand, each footstep sinking deep under the weight of her pack, only to be hauled forward for the next weary step, all squinting in the glare. Fritha had wrapped her blue woollen scarf about head against it, Solaufein and Brieanna hiding under hats, while Imoen had been sent over to visit Saemon and the smugglers before they'd left to get a selection of bleached linen scarves for the rest of them.

At least, they had dispensed with their armour, not that Imoen usually wore it, but it was a pain to carry, her chain vest dumped along with their heavier items and a night's worth of firewood to be dragged on the travois Fritha had borrowed from Lukyle. Imoen glanced again to the man just next to her, his frown now on the canvas as he made to put up their tent. Valygar had been in a strange mood since they had left the village, though he would not tell her why –claiming it was 'nothing' in a sullen dismissal that convinced Imoen only of the opposite. He glanced up to find her watching, no smile offered as he nodded to the bag at her feet.

'Pass me the pegs, please.'

Imoen felt she had been _remarkably_ patient up to that point. She stooped for the small linen bag, pegs in hand and hand on hip.

'You're not having anything until you tell me what's wrong. You've had a face on you since we left Amkethran.'

'It is noth-' Her glare stopped him dead, the man conceding with a sigh, 'I am merely disappointed that, after all our discussions on the matter, you used magic for something so trivial.'

Imoen cast her mind back over the day and drew a blank. 'What? No, I didn't.'

'You froze water for those children.'

A spell which was suddenly being worked on Imoen's stomach. 'Oh… Oh, yeah, I remember now. Vals, has all this been over some harmless cantrip any hedgewizard could have done?' She sighed, a slight annoyance creeping in –why he couldn't have told her this when she'd _first_ asked him. 'Well, you were right then, you _are_ upset about nothing.'

'Indeed.'

Imoen sighed deeply. 'Except _you_ don't see it like that. Vals, what happened to you _trusting me with the power I hold_?'

Valygar sat back on his haunches, his stern face set.

'Yes, I trust you and we agreed your magic was important and could be used for great good -not wasted on foolish tricks to entertain local children.'

'But it was _nothing!_'

'As you say, but when it comes to magic, perhaps the question should not be _why not?_ Perhaps the question should be _why?_'

Imoen threw up her hands, unwilling to argue so late in the day, however much of an _idiot_ he was being. 'All right, Vals, I'm sorry. I didn't think. I'll be more mindful in the future.'

Valygar didn't look overly impressed with her dully muttered apology. 'Can I have the pegs now?'

'Yeah, course. Here.'

She threw them to land at his feet and left him to the task, her anger simmering forth in a low chunter.

'_Melodramatic bastard, you'd think I'd have summoned a bloody ice storm. Trust me with the magic- yeah, as long as I don't use any-'_

'Imoen?' called a voice behind her, the girl turning back to see Fritha before her tent and beckoning her across, Solaufein at her side, 'Are you all right? What's wrong?'

'Oh, nothing, just Vals is in a strop because I was messing about with magic earlier.'

Fritha frowned. 'When was that?'

'When I froze the water.'

'Oh, yes.'

'Honestly,' Imoen sighed, vindicated in her friend's disregard, 'I don't understand blokes.'

'Well, don't ask me,' warned Fritha, 'the only man who makes _any_ sense to me is Solaufein here.'

The drow in question looked rather touched.

'So are you going to apologise?' continued Fritha. Imoen shrugged.

'Already have, but he's still working the knots from his knickers, so I thought I'd let him get on with it. What are you two up to?'

Solaufein carefully passed her the thin green folio he was holding, Imoen flicking through a half-dozen pages all ruled with stave upon stave of music in the popular Cormyran scale.

'Fritha very kindly spent the last few days writing down some scores for me.'

'It didn't take long,' the girl dismissed, but the pink to her cheeks gave her away. Imoen laughed.

'Ooo, does that mean we'll be getting a little concert later?'

'Maybe, if you're lucky.'

The chime of the cooking pot, Jaheira stooping for the first of the bowls stacked next her.

'You three -the meal is about ready should you care to join us.'

Solaufein and Imoen moved to sit, the girl pointedly picking a space as far from Valygar as was possible, Anomen and Brieanna already settled side by side a pace from Minsc, while Fritha ducked into her tent to fetch her lute.

'Good Jaheira, this meal smells so well, even Boo is tempted,' enthused the Rashemi as he received his bowl brimming with the rich brown stew, this praise echoed about the fire.

'Indeed, my lady. I, for one, am looking forward to this; a fortnight is too long without your cooking.'

'You mean a fortnight is too long with Imoen's,' quipped Solaufein.

'Well, if you don't like my cooking, Sola, I'll gladly let you take my turns.'

The drow laughed. 'Only if I can make you _rothjlk_.'

'Ooo, is that what we're having tonight?' came Fritha, finally finding a place beside him.

'You've tried _rothjilk_?'

'Yes, it was served as part of a light supper at Phaere's after-party orgy –quite nice actually, came with these thin seaweed crackers, but it left you very thirsty.'

Solaufein was smiling, eyes holding a fond regard as though another hundred years in her company would not be enough to discover every charming quirk.

'So, do you know what's it made from then?' asked Imoen slyly. Fritha considered the point.

'_No… _Don't tell me! It tasted nice, that's all I need to know!'

The air was warmed by Solaufein's mellow chuckle. 'Tell me, Fritha, what else did you try?'

'Well, there were these pickled roots, I forget the name-'

'_Hgerzid_?'

'Yes, that was them -thank you, Jaheira. Oh, and I tried…'

Anomen turned from them as they fell into talk of their own, the woman at his side catching his eye to smile tentatively and looking as though she was fighting against every urge to pull away as he moved to take her hand, the man himself no more comfortable with the gesture for the fact he had instigated it.

He had been spending more time in Brieanna's company of late, visiting the tavern or just sitting together to share talk. Something they had always done, were he honest, though it was different now, something lingering behind each innocuous gesture. Her company was as pleasant as ever it was, and, he was guilty to admit, a nice distraction from current woes, but there was nothing more there, no affection long hidden stirring his heart. He saw the woman as he always had: a fine warrior and good friend, though whether or not Brieanna herself felt this coolness between them he could not tell. She certainly did not press her company and perversely it was _he_ who would suggest the walks out or try to catch her alone, the man frustrated that, even as she was fine woman of good character and fair features the feelings would not come. But with so many virtues to her, perhaps they would, in time…

'And there is your bowl, Anomen.'

Their hands parted instantly, Anomen murmuring his thanks as the druid handed a bowl to Brieanna and returned to the fire to leave them both utterly relieved. Anomen fought down the lingering worries; so theirs would not be a courtship of such trivial gestures, it had no bearing on their feelings. Another faint smile between them, the woman seemingly much more at ease now both her hands were her own again, her eyes on her bowl as Valygar broke the silence.

'So, we will reach this oasis on the morrow and, with any luck, find a guide.'

'And a camel,' laughed Imoen, past a mouthful of stew.

'Melissan said the tribes here are wary of this stronghold,' reminded Jaheira, finally setting with them, 'They may not wish to travel there.'

'Well, they can take us within a day's journey of the place,' reasoned Fritha. 'I would imagine we should be able to make the rest of the way alone over so a short distance. Right?'

Minsc nodded to her glance. 'Have no fear there, young Fritha.'

'And when we get there?' pressed Brieanna, 'We know this Abagizal has the power to enslave dragons. Who can imagine what dangers his stronghold will contain?'

Fritha shrugged easily; if she felt any burden in their quest, she did not carry it on her shoulders. 'That may well as be, but the plan is the same. We will infiltrate his stronghold and eliminate him.'

'As easy as that,' muttered Valygar.

'Well, we can hardly put more of a plan together without seeing the place, can we?' snapped Imoen. But Fritha would let neither doubts nor squabbling permeate her air of assured calm.

'All will go as it should; this is where we're supposed to be, I can feel it.'

It seemed no one was willing to contradict the girl, whether they took this stance or not, their meal continued in mundane chatter about supplies and the weather, Imoen finishing first to wipe round the empty pot and refill it with water, and cups were brought out in anticipation of the tea that would finish the meal. Jaheira leaned back against her pack, long legs stretched before her and cup poised at her lips as though she had never left.

'Shall we have a hand of cards – I left my Talis deck with you, did I not, Minsc?'

'Yeah, but let's have a song or two first,' offered Imoen.

The druid's eyebrows quirked in mild surprise. 'A song? Fritha is going to play for us?'

'Not just me,' Fritha trilled, 'Are you going to join in, Solaufein?'

The eyebrows rose another half inch. '_Solaufein?_ We have another budding artist among us?'

The drow snorted, pulling his lute onto his lap. '_I _would not say so.'

'Well, you are the only one who wouldn't,' Fritha laughed, blithely chattering into her lute case, 'Solaufein's really good –he's going to have to find a new teacher soon though; his talents will have well surpassed mine.'

Solaufein's smile had taken on a wistful edge. 'You praise me like a Matron's favoured bed-slave.'

'And why not? You're my student after all – your _genius_ only reflects my own.'

A round of laughter, Fritha's merry giggling electing a more genuine smile from the drow.

'Then I give thanks for this encouragement, my _mentor_, however underserved.'

'Come on then,' cried Imoen, 'give us a song.'

The pair obliged her, Fritha playfully reaching round to catch at the strings as Solaufein made to tune his own instrument, and, at last, they began. Anomen turned away, his smile now back upon Brieanna, the woman watching their resident minstrels with a frown, long fingers worrying the edge of the straw hat she had worn since they set out from Amkethran.

'It that not the bargeman's hat Fritha, ah, acquired in Indraviat?'

'Yes. She lent it to me when we set out.'

'It suits you.'

'It keeps the sun off,' she dismissed, seemingly wrestling with herself to add, 'But I thank you for the compliment.'

Anomen nodded; he did not feel much like offering another when she was in such an odd mood, silence holding the pair as one song moved into the next, a interesting ditty about a maid of very loose morals and an enterprising nature of which Imoen, for one, approved by the way she was singing along.

'Ah, I almost forgot,' Anomen continued, reaching over to his pack, 'I have something for you. Here.' He pressed the large sprig of dusky leaves into her hand, 'They were given to me by the priest who tends the shrine before we left the village. They smell of peppermint when crushed. I thought perhaps you may like to place them between your clothes to infuse them with the scent.'

Brieanna levelled the leaves she held a liquid black stare. Anomen swallowed.

'Well, it is not much of gift-'

'No,' she cut in evenly, laying it within her open pack, 'it was thoughtful of you.'

He nodded, the unease lingering though he made a show of sitting back and taking up his cup once more, Solaufein's voice joining Fritha's for the final verse.

'_And when the maid her money got, she put it in her purse.  
And__clapped her hand o'er the cellar__, a__nd swore it was never the worse!'_

Imoen was laughing wildly.

'Ah, I love that song! I remember when we first heard it in the Gate. Another, another!'

'Imoen, calm yourself,' sighed Jaheira, 'And if we are going to have another, can we at least have something a little less _crude?_'

A glance between their two minstrels; as with many artists, Fritha was not one who took such criticism well.

'As you will it. _My lodging it is on the cold ground, and oh, very hard is my fare. But that which troubles me most, is the unkindness of my dear.'_

Jaheira's frown was a fine accompaniment to this dirge. Anomen hid his smile in his cup.

'She often makes you smile.'

His eyes darted back to Brieanna, guilt surfacing under her mild gaze.

'Fritha is amusing,' he dismissed quickly, 'I would laugh similarly at anyone. So, Jaheira was telling me our horses made the journey back with her and are now at the grove with the Children. It is heartening news, is it not? Though my own horse was the Order's and had not carried me for long, it does me good to think of the creatures living out their days in such peace.'

A brisk snort that rather put him in mind of the noble beasts. 'Really, Anomen, as though such matters in the greater tale; it is only a horse.'

'Forgive me, my lady, I misjudged you. Your steed was your own; I merely thought you were attached to the creature.'

Her face crumpled, this glimpse of uncertain misery far worse than her temper, her voice quavering as she admitted, 'I was, to my shame. I should be above such foolishness; if they could see me back at the temple now.'

'My lady?'

Brieanna was on her feet before any other question could be posed, eyes following Fritha's fading form into the darkened dunes as their minstrels at last disbanded.

'I am sorry, Anomen, please excuse me a moment.'

**…**

'Fritha?'

The girl turned, her eyes easily making out the approaching figure silhouetted against the campfire she has just hurriedly left; thirsty as the singing had made her, she really should have paced herself with that tea.

'Brieanna? Is something wrong?'

'No, nothing, I merely-' the woman hesitated, suddenly thrusting the hat she held to her, Fritha forestalling its return with a careless hand.

'No, you keep it. I have my scarf and, besides,' she smiled, 'it suits you.'

Brieanna nodded, though the frown remained, the woman fiddling uncertainly with the brim. 'I find we have not really spoken since our argument.'

'Argument?'

'When we spoke of Anomen and the Order's decision. I am sorry if I seemed brusque.'

'It's fine; to be honest I'd forgotten all about it.' Fritha felt the smile waver; _one_ aspect of it had yet to slip her mind though. 'How is Anomen?'

Brieanna shrugged. 'He does not speak of it –I believe he has accepted the matter as it is. The poor man – I fear I did not make his burden any easier either. All this while, I had been pushing you towards him, when in truth it was another you wanted.'

Fritha just caught her sigh. 'Look, I know what everyone thinks that Solaufein and I are Sune's next victims, but we are just friends.'

'So you do not love him?' Brieanna pressed.

The girl shook her head, wishing she had the words to describe that complicated mix of emotions the drow stirred in her – that shared sense of unwavering loyalty; the feeling he would do anything for her and the implicit faith she placed in him.

'Brieanna, you can't know what it's like. Solaufein is my brother. We found each other in the darkness, and together we struggle on in the light.'

'And Anomen?'

'I think it pretty obvious that whatever he and I had is well in the past now.' Fritha forced a smile through the lingering ache, 'You know, I truly am glad to see you both getting on so well.'

But Brieanna made no comment to that, saying only, 'He misses the friendship you once shared. And I suspect, perhaps, you miss it, too.'

'Perhaps,' shrugged Fritha, giving up nothing of her feelings on the matter, 'but it is hard for us to find what we had after what has come since, and you need not worry about me; Jaheira is returned and much less inclined to shout at me now, and I have Imoen -when she tears herself from Valygar's side. And, of course, I have you, Brieanna.'

The woman straightened, a faint smile creeping in, as though she was embarrassed of her pride. 'I am honoured you could consider me so, and I shall endeavour be worthy of it and help you on your path as I first vowed.'

Fritha laughed – how like a Tormite to take on even friendship as a quest.

'Just be as you are, Brieanna, just fight with me -and against me, when you think I'm leading us somewhere I shouldn't- and help our group to see this mess through to the end.' She laughed again, giving a little hop from foot to foot, 'Now, I've _really_ got to go -I'm getting desperate.'

A voice in the darkness halted her escape.

'What are you two doing?'

Fritha shifted her hips and tried to redistribute be the building pressure. 'Hey Imoen, we're just talking. Weren't you playing cards?'

'Yeah, but I soon got bored and Vals is still in a snit with me. Sometimes I don't think I'll ever understand him.'

'Well, I must join you in that,' offered Brieanna bluntly, 'he knew you were a mage when you began your courtship and now he wants you to stop using magic.'

'It's only because he cares!'

Fritha rolled her eyes. 'I thought you were cross with him?'

Imoen sighed, crossing her arms before her as though to physically repel this reason. 'Well, I am, but… Fritha, if you really liked someone, would you change so they liked you better?'

'Imoen, this isn't about me; this is about you and Valygar.'

'What's so funny?' Imoen demanded of Brieanna's warm laughter. The knight shook her head, still beaming.

'You ask your friend a question to which not only you know _her_ answer, but your own as well. Fritha would not change for anyone and you should not either. Leave it to weak-willed farmer's daughters to fret and bend and concede everything they are to keep a man who _claims_ to love them – I would die alone as I am, than live a hundred years in constant _compromise_.'

'Well, I agree in principle,' reasoned Fritha slowly, 'but people are so different; for relationships to work there usually has to be some concession somewhere.'

Brieanna snorted. 'Then let it come from him.'

'Amen, sister!' cried Imoen, and instantly burst out laughing.

Fritha just smiled. 'Well, that is one option. As for you, Imoen, I don't think anyone should change unless they want to. It is as Brieanna said; life is too precious to spend it compromising your desires. And if you wish to develop your magic and Valygar wants you to, at best, ignore it, then I can't see how you can proceed as a couple.'

'No,' Imoen sighed, something about her slumping, 'I can't either, but it doesn't make me like him any less. Is this what it was like with you and Anomen?'

Fritha felt her heart sink. 'Imoen… Anomen and I – well, it was conflicted from the beginning, wasn't it? Because he has to go where the Order tell him, and I want to go where, well, wherever I want to go.'

'Well, it's hardly stopped him so far,' the girl laughed. Fritha and Brieanna said nothing, leaving Imoen to continue, 'I guess first off then, Anomen needs someone who wants to go where the Order sends them.' She threw a pointed look to Brieanna. Fritha snorted.

'Mask's Stockinged Feet, you're subtle, Imoen.'

'What? What did I say?'

Brieanna was inclined to see the funny side, the woman still laughing as she drew a large glass bottle from her bag.

'What've you got there, Brie?'

'I bought it from the tavern when I went to have the flasks filled.'

Fritha's jaw dropped in her delight. 'Zazesspuri brandy? I love you! Get it open, then,' she called back to them, already haring for the nearest dune, 'I'll be right back.'

When Fritha arrived back, they were already sat on the sand side by side, Imoen taking an enthusiastic swig from the bottle to gasp appreciatively.

'By, that'll put hairs on your chest. There you go, Fritha.'

Fritha sank a glup of the fiery liquid, the sweetness stealing the moisture from her mouth even as the heat faded.

'It's certainly strong.'

Brieanna shrugged, receiving the bottle back for another sip. 'I found it quite smooth –but the only alcohol we had at the temple was made from the crabapples which we used for cleaning the stained glass, so I have hardly the most educated palate.'

'You're making up for it now though,' laughed Imoen. 'You never did tell me what you two got up to on that night Indraviat.'

Fritha snorted. 'Because we all know what _you_ were getting up to.'

Debauched laughter from the two girls; Brieanna indulged them with a smile.

'To be honest, I do not recall much of it. Especially towards the end.'

Fortunately, Fritha remembered enough to fill in the blanks. 'Well, let me tell you, Imoen, Brieanna here was on form. She told Anomen she'd take him with us next time and get him a bit of kissing.'

Imoen laughed. 'I'm surprised you didn't volunteer yourself for that, Brie.'

'Imoen…' cautioned Fritha. Imoen blithely ignored her.

'Is that what made you first leave the Order and come with Anomen, cause you fancied him?'

Brieanna tossed the braid over her shoulder with a haughty snort. 'You must think me a love struck adolescent if you believe I would jeopardise a career in the Order on some foolish whim. I followed Anomen here, because I knew it is the place I should be. Fritha understands, do you not? You feel it even now, that every decision is the one you are supposed to make.'

Imoen just rolled her eyes and took another swig of brandy. 'Oh, bloody hells, don't get her started; it was bad enough when the Sahuagin were all harping on about their 'blessed saviour'.'

Brieanna was laughing. 'Ah, whatever comes, I am glad I met you -both of you- you opened my eyes to the possibilities for your kind. Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if you had not been driven from Candlekeep?'

'Our kind,' repeated Imoen, leaning back to take in the stars with a wistful sigh. 'I doubt our blood would have let us be, whether Sarevok had kicked off or not.'

'All right then, if you were not Bhaalspawn?'

'What, if we were just raised in Candlekeep?' confirmed Fritha, 'Well, to be fair we didn't know we were of the Children for a long while. I always wanted to travel, so I suppose I would have done that and then…' She shrugged evenly, 'settle down, I suppose, if I'd lived long enough for the chance. I liked my theatre well enough that it could have become my home. Eriyn said-'

'Eriyn?' questioned Brieanna. Fritha smiled at the memory of crinkled blue eyes.

'A man I knew once. A sailor, bit older than me, lovely smile. He said the theatre suited me. It would have been a good life: just the right mix of drama and triviality and parties. What about you? What would you have done had you not been in the temple?'

Brieanna paused, the bottle waiting at her lips. 'I do not know. I would likely be married by now with at least one child, if the women of the town were anything to judge by.'

'So you couldn't marry as part of the temple?' confirmed Imoen. 'Did you have to take some sort of a vow of chastity then?'

Brieanna barked a loud laugh. 'Certainly not! Though relationships were not encouraged – it was believed it took focus from the service of our Lord. When I was younger, I would sometimes sneak down to the nearby town for High Harvestide and other festivals, though I would receive a beating if I was caught.'

'Ilmater's Mercy,' exclaimed Imoen, 'that's a bit strict!'

The woman merely shrugged. 'Perhaps. But I had only the plain brown robes of our order to wear and, as I was told many times, Torm is judged through his faithful –my behaviour was to reflect this. As I grew older, I was given a little more freedom, though life was still quite regimented. Days of training or patrolling with the local militia, as well as attending services and performing my duties about the temple left little time for any personal pursuits, but it did not stop me from forging a relationship with one of the temple guards. Most of the clerics were older women, and disliked to leave the boundaries of the temple, and I would often tend the herds of goats we kept upon the hills. Solice would come up to meet we when he was off duty. It was pleasant, laying together upon our cloaks on the mattress of springy heather with just the sky above us and the distant bleating of the herd. I remember the last time we met there. We lay together and I told him I was leaving. He said I was a fool, that I would come only to ruin.' Brieanna smiled faintly, 'Perhaps he was right. But the decision was mine and I have no regrets.'

'And what about you, Imoen,' continued Fritha, 'going to become the next Lady Corthala?'

Her friend snorted, snatching up the bottle for another long draft. 'Ha! The way we're going, I won't be welcome to scrub his front step.'

'Is that a euphemism?'

Imoen sprayed brandy into her lap, the three lost to laughter. A discomforted cough somewhere before them.

'Ah, Imoen?'

Their laughter came to an abrupt silence, the three straightening as one and Fritha's eyes could make out a dark shape emerging from the gloom.

'Vals?'

'Can I speak with you, Imoen?'

Her friend sniffed and folded her arms. 'What about?'

Fritha gave the girl an encouraging shove. 'Imoen, go on.'

Imoen shot her a sulky frown but conceded to heave herself from the warm sand, the girl brushing herself down to follow the man a few paces into the darkened desert until he stopped, turning to gaze down at her, all calm and solid just as she liked him for, and Imoen wondered if she could bear to end it whatever it came to. Not that _he_ needed to know that.

'So,' she began, cool and clipped, 'you wanted to talk to me.'

'Yes, I wanted to… ensure you are…'

She relented at his indecision. 'You could just say sorry, you know?'

Valygar sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face, revealing a weariness she rarely saw in him.

'I feel it is an empty sentiment. I am not sorry for my beliefs, but that they upset you. I understand you find them -and me- frustrating. That was why I did not mention it before, though I could not hide my feelings. I merely worry that if you do not see the dangers your magic presents, then I must be even more vigilant.'

Imoen shook her head – _vigilance_ against what she was, and she wondered again if this whole relationship was not fuelled ultimately by the man's desire for penance, Valygar determined to save another after he had been so quick to abandon his mother.

'I know you don't mean it, Vals, but at the same time, I don't understand you. You know I'm a mage, you've always known it -only a couple of days ago, you're asking me about coming to your house with you, but…' she trailed off, that knot rising from her chest to block her throat as the realisation dawned, 'This isn't going to work, is it?'

Valygar was as panicked as she ever heard him. 'I _do_ care for you, Imoen, very much, despite-'

'No, you don't, not as I am.' Imoen drew a fractured breath and made her decision. 'As much as you fear it, Valygar, I'm a mage and I'm not going to ignore it or pretend I don't have that power or even restrict its use. You have to decide now. You have to decide what you want, and I won't be angry or hate you if we have to end this, but you have to decide now. I want to work with you, I want you to come to understand what magic means for me, and I want you to help me discover more.'

Even the gloom could not conceal that look of wary dismay. 'What do you mean?'

'You had formal training in the Art when you were younger, didn't you?' Imoen pressed, feeling a mad elation at the impossibility of her request. 'Help me understand; give me some grounding to base my powers on. We can learn together; you'll be there, you can guard against any dangers and maybe –maybe you can come to see magic like I do.'

The man said nothing, his face giving no hint as to his thoughts –Imoen felt something inside her fade. She turned away; her friends and a bottle were waiting to console her.

'Don't worry, Vals; I knew it was a lot to ask.'

'All right.'

She whipped back at the sound, Valygar stood so still Imoen thought she could have imagined it.

'All right?'

'Yes,' he continued stiffly, the words not coming without effort, 'I will tell you what I know. And I still carry my mother's earlier diaries –a reminder not to repeat the mistakes of the past – you may find something useful in them.'

The lump was back, choking her joy. 'Really, Vals, you're sure?'

'No,' he admitted with an sigh, 'but I will try.' Calloused fingers gently brushed her cheek, 'I want to try. Will you come to bed now; it is late.'

'Oh, Vals!' She flung herself upon him to be lost in the warm enclosure of his arms. 'I can't believe- you said-'

Laughter in the darkness. 'Gods, Valygar, give her a snog before she bursts into tears.'

Imoen drew back with a wet laugh. 'Oh shut up, you two! Come on.'

She tugged the arm that still encircled her, Valygar brushing teasingly at her "tears" as they turned to head for the bright point of light that was the campfire she'd long left, the warm laughter following her.

'Ah, Sune, you play a wonderful game!'


	33. Into the Desert

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Apologies for the long wait between chapters. Since the middle of October every weekend has involved some sort of costume party which has meant a _lot_ of sewing costumes and very little time left for anything else. But I was at the final one last night (Happy Birthday, Jo!) so I can put away the sewing machine and get back to posting more regularly. Thanks to my betas and everyone who left feedback and as ever, _please_ read and review. _:-)

– Blackcross & Taylor

**In to the Desert**

They had reached the oasis on Melissan's map just before noon as planned, the deep azure pool ringed by the first green Fritha had seen in days and surrounded by tents from at least a dozen different tribes, that place one of many in the desert where the inhabitants could meet to share news and trade. Melissan had been correct in her initial appraisal; many of those they spoke to knew of Abazigal's stronghold and refused to approach it. But a small family there to represent the Amma tribe had invited them to speak of it further, their group knelt about a firepit, while Rushil and his eldest son had heard their story.

A touch of sword hilts had sealed the thing, and by that evening they had joined the main body of the Amma camp, ready to set out into the _Agasahra_ –the deep desert. And the way had been hard. The Amma had horses and camels to spare for their gear and it was certainly fortunate they did, for the heat was exhausting enough, even when they avoided travel over high sun, the days passing in a suffocating dream beneath her blue woollen scarf.

They were over halfway on their journey now, four days into the desert and camped at an oasis in the ruins of an ancient palace. According to the headman, Bhaskar, they had cleared a nest of manticores from the ruins only last month, but there was no sign of any return, and the elders had given the nod to unload the Amma were generous hosts, though their ways were very different from those Fritha had experienced along the Sword Coast. Life with them was regimented; from your duties about the camp, to where you ate and what place in line you travelled was all determined by age, gender and the status of your family group within the tribe, and Fritha had been, at first, crippled by the worry that everything she did had the potential to offend someone, though such had proved unfounded. As guests, they were left to their own customs for the most part, and in the end it affected little more than their sleeping arrangements. Within the tribe, all those adults who were unmarried were separated by gender and expected to sleep with their own sex in one of two large communal pavilions.

Fritha drew the stylus back and turned the page, leaving a neat thumb print on the corner where she had earlier wiped the soot from under her eyes, smudged there that morning to protect them from the desert's glare. She was knelt alone in the women's pavilion, the floor a sea of brightly coloured rugs and cushions, lighter fabrics hung from the tent poles above to provide some privacy to the occupants, though few seemed to see them as any more than decoration, the women stripping to their slips as soon as they were cloistered within the heavy canvas walls – no man allowed to enter on pain of banishment.

The stylus hung above the fresh page, Fritha's eyes darting up as she considered her next to catch a glimpse of her dusky reflection in the large bronze mirror. She had been putting the last touches to her appearance before she had been distracted by her journal, her collection of bangles and the large hoop earring she had bought more recently, ornate teardrops of jet dangling from the lower curve, now forgotten on the low table before her. She stared at her reflection a moment, familiar yet foreign, swathed in the folds of her deep indigo sari – one of the few impractical items of clothing she had brought with her from Suldanessellar, the memories of Brynnlaw and the loss of the men who had present it to her keeping it with her even when finer dresses had been left to the elves.

Fritha smiled faintly to herself and went back to her diary, enjoying the familiar rasp of the stylus over the thin parchment. Her writing had ebbed and flowed over the years, dependant on circumstance and time, but recently she had become almost obsessive about the thing, even going back over old entries, adding things she had recalled, recording the thoughts she had and observances of the world around her, the girl filled with the desperate urge to leave as much as she could behind for when this all reached its inevitable end.

The close to her sentence was punctuated by the slap of the tent flap behind, the journal snapped shut as Jaheira's eyes adjusted to the gloom, Fritha's hands back at the table and easing on her bracelets.

'Ah, here you are,' the woman greeted in a sigh, easing herself down onto the cushions at the girl's back, 'Imoen thought you were sleeping.' A disapproving eye swept across the table and her own bedecked form, 'but I see _not_.'

Fritha smiled at her through the mirror, carefully turning about to face the woman without un-tucking her sari.

'Brieanna and Solaufein are going to teach me some new dances, so I thought I'd dress for it.'

'Indeed,' the druid continued coolly, 'I notice it is something you are taking the time for of late –and something you seem happy to exploit, too. Do not think I have not noticed you flirting with every trader you meet. Even the merchant travelling here with the Amma is not safe.'

Fritha grinned at the memory of bright black eyes and overly familiar hands. 'You mean, Mehul? I'm rather proud of that myself for that one - I only went to get some earrings, this choli blouse and a spare kurti, and I walked away with half their value again in _gifts_. Date?'

Jaheira waved away the unfolded parchment packet Fritha had proffered her, a frown creeping in. 'Thank you, no… You'll forgive my curiosity, but you seem very different now, to the girl I remember from the Bhaalspawn camp… happier, and quite _determinedly_ so.'

Hazel eyes bored into her. Fritha met them unwaveringly.

'I suppose I can merely see an end to things now.'

Jaheira seemed satisfied with her answer, or perhaps merely the guileless delivery, the woman settling into the real issue that had brought her there.

'But before the end, there is still much to be done, and I am interested to hear how you plan to infiltrate a fortress and murder a mage powerful enough to hold dragons in his thrall.'

Fritha shrugged, back at the table and fixing on her earrings. It had been the same for days now, doubts that had been easily dismissed back in Amkethran mounting as they closed upon their goal.

'I do not know how yet, only that I will.'

'The Amma seem sceptical,' the druid pressed, almost pleadingly. 'There are many rumours about this place, though all say that same –that the fortress is well-guarded by an army of magical creatures and has no discernable entrance. Fritha, this could be more than our group can handle. I have been speaking to the headman here, Bhaskar, and he his willing to approach the Elders regarding an alliance, perhaps even with other tribes.'

Fritha pictured it, marching on that shadowy place that lived so far only in her imagination, a whole army at her back. Her stomach clenched, rejecting the wrongness.

'No, more men will not win this battle –it must be us… only us. Stealth will be our ally here, of that I am sure.'

'I see…'

Jaheira paused, finally letting the subject die, at least for the time being, her gaze lower as she nodded to the book resting in the girl's lap.

'You have been catching up on your reading?'

Fritha snorted. 'Well, trying to, but they don't hold my interest like they used to. I'm tired of reading about dull, sighing maidens, heavy with same lot of woes. _What's his name loves me, but I love so-and-so, but he'll never look at me for some insignificant, easily surmountable reason, _like,' Fritha continued in her normal voice, 'I don't know, an adorable clumsiness or slight gap in her front teeth which detracts from her otherwise _flawless_ countenance. Just once can't we have a heroine whose built like a siege tower? Who doesn't get the hero –who doesn't even _want_ the hero, because the hero's an arse!'

Jaheira laughed. 'Though that would make a refreshing change, I think you may have to write your own tale, if you are to be that specific.'

'Yes,' Fritha murmured, fingers stroked fondly over the book in her lap, 'I suppose so.' She smiled suddenly, slipping the journal under her pack to snatch up the dates and rise in a swell of silks, 'Right, I'm off. Help yourself to wine.'

'_Wine?_ And just _where_ did you get that?'

Fritha laughed, hopping over the cushions to push past the canvas with a twirl and a skip.

Outside, the two pavilions and lesser tents had been pitched to form a half circle that faced the lush border of palms and vines fed by the waters below and providing shelter from the western winds, the broken stone columns of the palace boundaries just visible through the trees. The younger men were still out of the camp hunting and would not return until the dusk, the women cooking what would serve as their meal that night, while the children played a spinning game, their spindles dropping in time to their rhymes. Imoen and a little girl were trying to teach Valygar the technique, the older men sat about them talking over hands of dice, or helping the children when spindles became stuck. Anomen was standing on the edge of the group just before the women's tent, the man turning back at the rattle of her approach to offer her a fixed smile that hurt more than if he had not bothered to attempt the gesture at all.

'Fritha, you look…' he searched for something suitably bland, 'lovely.'

Fritha beamed, determined to have cheer enough for both of them. 'Look? Oh, who cares about how I look? I _sound_ lovely! The whisper of my skirts, the jangle of my earrings, the clear chime of my bracelets -Oh, the sweet cacophony!'

'And who is this music for?'

'Well, me mostly. Brieanna and I are meeting up with Solaufein to show each other some dances.'

'Ah, I see…' he murmured, not really knowing what else to say and he glanced over to the woman herself, Brieanna sat watching the children play with a disquieted frown. At least one thing was going well for him. He had never had an answer from Brieanna as to what had held the girls so long on their first night within the desert, though the woman had returned late and reeking of brandy, and since then there had been a change in her. No longer did she shy from his regard, Brieanna seeming more than happy to share his company of an evening, the occasional gift or compliment causing only the merest flicker of embarrassment. And it was… pleasant to know that someone cared for him after so long pouring his affections upon a flower that had a long ago died in vain hope it would blossom anew.

Regret twinged and he willed a steel in to his stomach. That was in the past, and he had another regard to cultivate now. And perhaps it _was_ a little more practical than he would have wished, but it was easy and warm and, given time, he could see it growing into something just as strong. Brieanna glanced up to catch them watching, her smile eliciting his own, Anomen raising a hand while Fritha lowered her face, deliberately checking her bracelets. The silence between them was beginning to grow uncomfortable, Anomen about to excuse himself altogether when he was stalled by Bhaskar's arrival, the man shedding his dusty travelling robes to reveal a white kurti and sleeveless coat of soft red hide, his scimitar at his hip even now they were in camp.

The headman was a friendly warrior of middling years, the first signs of grey just beginning to streak his neatly pointed beard, his body strong and athletic even in his age, and kept so by the demands of his position. The title headman could have been a deceptive one, for the Amma had no set leadership, the tribe governed by a counsel of elders from each family. But it was the headman who was to lead the warriors and scouts in the elders' collective will, and Bhaskar performed his duties with a merry confidence that came from many years experience and, whatever the situation, his wide mouth was never far from a smile. Something that was no less the case then as his eyes fell upon the girl at Anomen's side, Fritha a mirror of the man as they both placed their palms together for a shared obeisance.

'Well, well, and who is this pale northern flower, hmm? You have turned _menaha_ in our midst.'

Fritha giggled slyly. 'Oh, you can be assured, sir, nothing so _virtuous_.'

Bhaskar's booming laugh started the sparrows from their roosts.

'This eve finds you merry, good Bhaskar,' offered Jaheira, the women arriving behind them, half an eye on her young charge.

'Indeed, it is so,' he agreed, 'for never could I be dull with such fine company -and yet I will be deprived of it soon enough, I fear. Another two days and we will reach the last oasis, and there the Amma will remain?'

'_Yes_,' confirmed Jaheira, with barely a glance to the girl, 'matters have been discussed and we believe it is for the best we continue alone. Another day's travel south will find us at the stronghold?'

Bhaskar smiled. 'Ah, it is likely for the best – our warriors are as strong as any in this desert, but only a fool seeks a fight. And indeed, you are correct, another day south from the final oasis will find you at the stronghold. A fine edifice it is, from what our scouts have reported, untouched by the howling desert winds even for its location. A place of dark magics patrolled by djinn and golems, _if_ the rumours are to be believed -though the desert breeds such tales like sand rats,' he added with an easy laugh. 'Why this very palace itself was once home to some great djinn prince who meant to rule this desert by his magics and who vanished without a trace a thousand years ago. They say that when the moon is full and the winds still, his court returns from the veil to tempt unwary travellers to join them… forever.' He turned his broad smile upon Fritha, 'I worried for a moment upon seeing you, that this was true, but the moon will not wax full until three nights hence, little _rajkumaari_.'

Fritha's giggling was cut short.

'And there you will hold camp until we return?' interrupted Jaheira. Bhaskar nodded promptly.

'Yes, yes, as we first agreed, and when you return, the riches of that place will be ours for the taking -as was our promise. But truly, such a life is not for fine ladies as yourselves. Put aside these trials of blood and battle and join us here. Have you no father I may speak to?' he pressed to Fritha, the girl hiding her smile behind an affected hand. 'We have many young warriors here eager for a wife, and the tribe could make him a fine offer. Why I myself would trade my horse for you!'

Anomen rather thought such talk of _trade_ a little insulting, but Fritha wasn't the one to turn away compliments however they were presented.

'So would I! Your horse is _lovely_; grey and cream like the clouds that gather just before a summer storm. But there is no use in me pining after it; the gods have decreed me a warrior, though I may as well get a bit of dancing in while I can. If you will excuse me.'

Another quick obeisance and Fritha was off, skipping over to where the children were at play, though they were soon distracted from their game.

'_Fritha!'_

'_Fritha-diidii!_'

And their spinning was forgotten as Fritha swept into their midst, the children all chattering in Alzhedo and tugging at her sari as she handed out the packet of dates she held.

'Ah, such are young girls,' continued Bhaskar paternally, 'and a firm hand is needed to guide them and keep them from those whose attentions would mar their worth.'

Jaheira looked like she was biting her tongue, Bhaskar oblivious to her reined disapproval as he watched the girl, Fritha now entertaining those gathered by teasing a erubescent young lad with a dance, covering him with her veil and shyly singing a song of youthful timidity the girl herself had, if not long since given up, had likely never possessed.

'_Ghoonghat nahi kholun, ghoonghat nahi kholungi saiyaan tore aage, __umar__ mori baali, sharam mohe laage…'_

The older men were chuckling appreciatively, though theirs were not the only looks Fritha's antics were gleaning. Such opulence as a sari was a rarity there, where the desert demanded the more practical wide trousers and long tunics of simple light linens, and from the gathering of women cooking about the firepit behind her, the glances ranged from awe to censure to ill-concealed jealously.

'Though you need not worry for your friend's honour,' Bhaskar continued cheerfully, 'She may have no father to guard her, but she has a suitor clear enough, and there are no young warriors here so brash as to tempt her dark adder -be he about to witness their folly, or not,' he added with a laugh.

Anomen snorted. 'Fritha is not the catch she seems, sir; it would take the riches of your entire caravan just to keep her in wine.'

The headman nodded wisely. 'Ah, thus are all women. My Harita is the same.' He gestured to a handsome woman of his own years who was busy supervising the younger women making flatbreads, her ears and throat glinting with gold above the fine amber kurta, 'I paid her father a pasha's treasury for her hand and what a bargain he made of me! She had cost me twice that in perfume and linen within the first year of our union! Three years after I took her off his hands and he had saved enough to retire to Calimport – he owns a houseful of slaves, now, and his stables are the envy of the merchants district!'

Another booming laugh. Back at the circle, one of the women had arrived to usher the children back to their spinning with a purse-lipped frown. If Fritha was offended, she did not let it show.

'Come on, Brieanna, Solaufein's waiting.'

**…**

The ruins were hot and cool by turns, dark forgotten rooms of deep shadow chequered with bright, stone courtyards open to the amber sky. Fritha led the way, remembering the turns and alleys to the place she and Solaufein had found in their earlier explorations, when half the camp dozed away the high sun. She stepped into one of the main courtyards, the floor a shimmering square of white where the fading light caught the brimming pool set there and fed by the waters below, the oasis's bounty the likely reason that palace had first been built there so long ago. The golden stone were walls engraved with scenes of people and animals at eternal play in some verdant land far from the desert's ravages, while above carved clouds, djinn and other spirits of air swooped and danced. Even now the sun was setting, the heat lingered, radiating from the walls like some great stone oven and, as they crossed it, Fritha noted the bracket holes above them, where once bright awnings would have spared the square from the sun's eye.

'It is nice here, isn't it?' she offered, suddenly aware of the unbroken silence between them, the girl pushing past a curtain of vines into the darkened corridor beyond, their waxy leaves smooth against her skin. 'There is a calmness to the air, like in a temple.'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

Fritha glanced back in time to catch the woman's frown and she matched it with her own.

'Brieanna, you _are_ still willing to show me some dances, aren't you? Only you seem a bit distracted.'

'Sorry?' the woman muttered, hastening to correct herself, 'No, no, I am glad to share them.'

Fritha smiled, the image of the woman staying with her even as she returned to their path. Brieanna looked prettier out of her armour, just dressed in the loose linen tunic and trousers she usually wore about camp, her long dark hair pulled back in its customary braid and Fritha recalled how the woman looked with it loose, a softly waved curtain down her back taking the slight broadness from her face, and Fritha felt suddenly very silly there, all trussed up like a painted doll.

'I was talking to Anomen just before,' _in the most _minimal_ sense_, her mind added sharply. 'How are things between you and he?'

A smile at her back. 'Very well. He and I have always been good friends.'

A long pause between them and Fritha bit back a sigh. _Friends_, was it? She knew they were together now, but she would not have minded a bit of enthusiasm for the thing from either quarter, something to present it to her, to force her to see it and finally draw a line under the confusion of regrets still lingering within.

'Yes,' Fritha continued casually, 'you are often together of late; always talking and the like -it is nice to see. You know, if you ever wanted to borrow any jewellery or perfume, you only have to ask.'

'Borrow? You mean for Anomen's benefit?' Brieanna laughed. 'I hardly think that will be necessary. Besides, he does not court me for my appearance.'

Fritha felt her smile grow wistful. 'No, he was always nice like that. Ah, and here we are -Solaufein?'

The room they had found was in the farthest corner of the ruins, the roof long since lost to the sands and it was shaded instead by the palms that grew just outside the crumbling walls, the delicate tendrils of a jasmine vine beginning to creep over the boundary and the air stirred with the sweet scent of the flowers. Solaufein was stood beneath the bower and straining to better see the lowest bloom that hung tantalisingly out of reach, the man giving up as they entered.

'Ah, you have come -I was starting to imagine you lost.'

Fritha pouted and feigned conceit – she was well-versed in such banter by now. 'I recalled the way just fine, _bhai_.'

Solaufein laughed. He had removed his tunic in the persistent heat, and Fritha felt a slight tremble ripple her stomach as he stooped and she watched the muscles flex in his back. That she and the drow were no more than friends was true enough, but there was no denying Solaufein was a very handsome man.

'As you can see,' he continued, pulling his dusky green tunic back on and gesturing to their two lutes and the old dholak drum she had bought from one of the women the day before, 'all is set up and tuned as needed.'

'Thank you, Solaufein -now who is to go first? How about you, Brieanna? After that night in Indraviat, I've a feeling you'll have no problems learning any of the reels I can teach you.'

'As you would have it.' Brieanna crouched to unlace her sandals, sending a nod to the drum, 'Can you keep my beat, Solaufein?'

She showed him the rhythm, the woman taking her position before them and the small dagger from her belt, and four beats later she had leapt into her dance, the drum joined by the slap of her bare feet as she jumped and spun. The small knife flashed where she tossed it upwards, hands snatching it from the air to release it once more in each intricate sweep of her arms, her long braid whipping out behind her. She finished moments later, out of breath and more alive than Fritha had yet seen her, and the girl did not know whether to feel disappointed or glad she had not invited Anomen to join them.

'Brieanna, that was amazing!' Fritha enthused, making to her feet and very glad she had secured her sari with a shoulder pin –leaping about like that and she could soon end up in just her choli and petticoat. 'Does it have a name?'

'None, that I know of. Right then,' Brieanna puffed, bright eyed and beaming, 'are you ready to learn the steps? We can go through them slowly at first. And you will need a well-balanced knife. I have my own from the temple-'

'Here, you can use one of mine, Fritha,' offered Solaufein, drawing one of the small throwing knifes from the back of his belt.

'Thank you. I'd best keep the sheath on - don't want me losing any fingers.'

Brieanna nodded, retaking the first position. 'Good then, now stand next to me, right foot a pace before the left and weight on the back. Right arm aloft –a little more curved- knife flat across your left palm and outstretched before you. Now follow my lead: one, two, three…'

They began slowly, Fritha with half an eye on the woman next to her and following her movements as best she could, Brieanna's voice just as measured and taking on an almost melodic cadence.

'Two, three, and lower your arms and…'

'Mind your feet, _malal_.'

Fritha frowned, concentrating on the quick movements, a short dip rising into another turn and giving her a snatched glimpse of the red-haired woman who was sat on the bench behind keeping the beat with a steady clap. Her small feet tripped across the tiles, long red sleeves rippling out behind as she sprang forward, leaping as high as she could, body twisting as every muscle tensed to pull that last turn from her and she landed in a crouch, head bowed over her heaving chest. The clapping quickened, losing its rhythm and falling easily into applause.

'Good, Fritha-_daaj,_ very good.'

Arms tanned by many days under the beating sun opened wide, and she raced eagerly to be closed within them, long cool fingers tickling her sides for a giggly embrace and the girl reached her own arms up, hooking them about the woman's neck to be lifted onto her lap, that straight curtain of hair falling forward to envelop her in the scent of incense and sage.

'You will be ready to dance it before the altar, soon, my _malal._'

'Fritha?'

Fritha blinked and it was gone, the girl back in that golden room. Brieanna was next to her, the woman's body a mirror to her own, both stood motionless holding the small knife out before them, Solaufein raised onto his knees in his concern.

'Fritha, are you well?'

'Yes, yes, fine,' she smiled, 'just felt a bit odd there, I'm probably thirsty.'

She made a show of nearly emptying her flask and they took up their places once more, the courtyard soon echoing with the beat of the drum and the slap of their feet, but the vision did not come again and there was a tender disappointment in her stomach, sloshing about with all the water. Whomever her mother had been, it was nice, that feeling of utter, unreserved love.

**…**

The light there was only just enough to read by, though it was still too hot outside the shade and Imoen made the best of it, tome angled to catch what little light there was as she tried to make out the neat, cramped script. Valygar had wanted to explore the lush jungle that had sprung up outside the ruins, their pair walking the full ring of the oasis to settle just outside the camp, sat upon the cool sand behind a wall of singing grass and shaded by the palms above, hidden and quite alone in that verdant cave. Imoen pored over the page, trying to translate and absorb the notes that had been written lengthwise in the margins, Valygar reclined next to her, his face holding an unguarded serenity she rarely saw in him, the man gazing up into the hazy emerald light.

'I was always fascinated by the idea of oases when I was younger – those sanctuaries of life within the barren desert.'

'Some species certainly seem to be thriving,' Imoen muttered, absently batting away another blood fly and losing her place. Valygar chuckled gently.

'It would make a meal of you before some striped spider makes a meal of it. The varieties here weave their funnel webs in grasses and reeds.'

Imoen eyed the swaying grass about them with a frown. 'Vals, I'm not so keen spiders.'

'I do think there will be many about here; see the tracks there, where the sand is patterned by long strokes; there is a nest of desert rats nearby.' Imoen threw the tracks a cursory glance and went back to her book, letting his voice drift about her as she tried to make the even scrawl sink in.

'They would serve as prey for owls and other hunting birds in the mountains,'

_In opening any circle, it is important that any expended energies…_

'Though here in the deep desert, their only predators are the snakes and larger lizards.'

_Are equal or less that the summoned energies, or energy equivalent… _

'It is strange: wherever in this land you go, the cycles of nature remain.'

_Of the causality, lest the circle become overpowered…_

'There is life even out there in the shifting sands, secretive and just as precious – perhaps even more so for its rarity.'

_Causing a transduction overload which could result in loss of causality influence and gate closure… _

'And the tribes here have learnt from their ways: the black-eyed foxes whose markings shield their eyes from the desert's glare –and the peacocks and elephants and pink-striped tigers.'

Imoen's mind clicked back an instant too late. 'Tigers?'

The man laughed. 'I was wondering how long before you admitted you were not listening.'

'Sorry,' she sighed frustration giving way to a sheepish smile, 'I'm just trying to finish this section; I've only got this book for another day or so, and progress is behind _severely_ hampered by my less than fluent Alzhedo.'

'Is that the tome lent to you by Master Omir?'

'Yep,' she confirmed brightly, seeing the stout stern mage behind her eyes, 'The book itself is in Chondathan, but his notes are written in Alzhedo –it's a good job his handwriting is neater than mine, or I'd have no chance. The text focuses on summoning and ways to bring creatures from the different elemental planes. I was wondering whether it was possible to instead use the portals as points to, rather than take a creature, tap into the energies of those planes to enhance a spell –anyway,' she muttered, pressing on in face of his frown, 'I'd best get back to it.'

She returned to the page, trying to ignore the gaze that lingered on her. She lasted one paragraph.

'Is something wrong?'

'No, merely that when you study you have a look of my mother.'

'Your mother? Vals, I'm not sure that's a compliment even discounting your past.'

'No…' he agreed, 'and perhaps for a long while such would have been a curse, but I have come to realise that even for what she became in her later life, she was still my mother and, along with my father, worthy of respect even if only for their dedication. They pursued the Art, but never at the expense of their duties to the estate –at least, not in the beginning.'

'Just as you plan to.'

'Indeed. Our name and title limited them, in the duties it demanded in time and attention, but it allowed them freedoms, as well, to follow their interests as they desired.'

'But it won't be the same for you, will it?' she confirmed quietly. His affinity for the wilder places was one of the few things that nobles' life could not accommodate.

He glanced to her, still smiling as he traced a finger down her forearm to make her shiver. 'No, but I will accept that as the cost of the path I have chosen.'

And for all it meant to him, she knew he would – and perhaps he expected a similar sacrifice from her… Imoen turned away, suddenly uncomfortable and stooping over the pages once more, her eyes drawn to the neat cluster of text that bordered the full page diagram of a summoning circle.

'What does Omir mean by _standard casting loss_?'

Valygar paused, casting his mind back to lessons long put aside. 'It is the idea that of any power input into a spell, a portion will always be lost in arcane side-effects that are unavoidable yet unnecessary part of the spell – such as a flash of light or shockwave.'

'So if there were some way of reducing or eliminating these side-effects then the more energy could go into the desire results of the spell?' confirmed Imoen.

'Yes, exactly so.'

The change in his tone caught her ear, the girl glancing up to find him smiling.

'What are you grinning about?'

'Nothing. You merely catch on a lot quicker than I did… It took a whole lesson with far better teacher than I for me to grasp the concept.'

Imoen smiled too, attention dropped back to her lap. 'Well, this isn't the first time I've read about it; your mother touched on the idea in her diaries.'

'You've read them?'

A flutter of unease; Imoen nodded reluctantly. '…Yes'

'All of them?' he pressed, '_All_ four journals?'

'Yes, I haven't had anything like that to read since Eruna left.'

Valygar said nothing and Imoen felt the dread rise; perhaps he had meant for them to read the diaries together.

'I see…' he answered eventually, the man clearly struggling with himself. 'Did you learn anything?'

Imoen had, in fact, learnt a lot -especially towards the end. The final journal and its details of darker magic had been fascinating, watching how the woman had changed different elements of spells, slowly honing them to her desired end. Imoen affected a casual shrug, eyes back on Omir's notes.

'A bit on how magic can evolve, though there was not much more than that. It was mostly interesting just watching how she balanced the Art and her duties at the estate.'

Valygar's expression eased, his shoulders relaxing back against the palm's trunk as the smile remerged. 'I am sorry. The majority of her notes must have been in her research journals and they have long been ash.'

Never mind…' Imoen sighed, ignoring that twinge of disapproval in her lingering worries, 'So, are you going to read them –your mother's diaries, I mean?'

He could not meet her eye, but it did not hide the guilt they held.

'No, I do not think so.' He gestured to the tome that filled her lap, 'You still plan to finish this chapter?'

Imoen's hunger answered him, and the girl laughed, suddenly happy as the storm clouds cleared with no more than a rumble of her empty stomach. She snapped the book shut, making to her feet.

'Nah, I'll look over this later when Fritha's about to translate the notes. Come on, let's get back for dinner.'

**…**

Spices hung in the air, the scent of garlic overwhelming the delicate strains of paprika and cumin he knew had been added to the huge shallow pan hours ago. Anomen stretched his legs out before him, feet leaving the rug to push his toes into the cooling sand, those about him enjoying similar -armour removed and sleeves rolled back to bask in the evening's respite.

The final meal of the day was always taken in the same way, rugs brought out to make a ring in the centre of the camp as the women of the tribe bustled about the firepit putting the final touches to the meal, children ushered off to the family tents by their fathers, while the young men returned from their hunting to take their places in the circle, at last shedding their armour to dress in the long pale kurtas and brightly woven scarves of their tribe. Opposite him, Minsc and Valygar were talking with Bhaskar and a few of the other older men who had not already retired to await their womenfolk with the meal, Imoen and Jaheira with them, conspicuous as only the women there seated. The custom had felt strange at first, even for a man who had grown up with servants, and Anomen could tell from the others' behaviour, the discomfort was not just his own. But the Amma were proud of their traditions and it was not his place to tell them otherwise.

He drew his knees up, folding his bared arms upon them, the skin bronzed under the hair, white scars here and there peeking through the dark thatch. His toes were similarly hirsute, though much paler. Fritha had teased him once, said he must have been part halfling with those _great woolly feet_, his own accusations that her toes likely looked similar, albeit ginger, met with good-natured outrage.

Across the circle, Imoen was on her knees and waving madly.

'Ah, and here's the last of us –Hey, Brie, are Sola and Fritha behind you?'

'No, indeed,' the woman countered and far more decorously, a faint smile sent to him as he offered the place at his side. 'Neither seemed hungry and they wished to continue their dancing.'

Minsc and Jaheira shared a frown, the druid muttering something about someone being 'too thin'.

'So what dance did you learn then?' Imoen pressed on, 'Do we get a performance later?'

'What is this?' cried Bhaskar, 'Our lovely _kshattriy_ is to dance for us?'

Brieanna looked momentarily caught out. 'Ah, no -that is, I instructed Fritha in a dance of my temple, but there was no time for me to learn one myself.'

The man sighed. 'A pity, truly.'

Though one that was soon forgotten, it seemed, the women arriving with brimming pots and water skins to serve them, and Bhaskar departed with the last of the married men, leaving only the younger warriors, the women retiring to their own pavilion to eat in private –apparently it was unseemly for a lady to eat before a man to whom she was not wed.

Anomen took that first mouthful, placing his spoon back onto his dish to savour the rich flavours, enjoying the painted sunset and the small smile of woman next to him as she chewed just as appreciatively. That night's meal was a stew of hares, an animal in plentiful supply there in the desert, flavoured with almonds, raisins and other dried fruit. The young men were talking amongst themselves in their own tongue and quickly enough that he could not understand them without concentrating, and Anomen let his attention drift. Imoen and Minsc were laughing, apparently teasing Jaheira and Valygar about their congruent taste in hairstyles, the girl begging for her own pink locks to be braided similarly, and Anomen was confronted again by how outside the group he felt. Ever since he had left Suldanessellar for the Order, it had been so. Their meeting at Nalia's wedding as awkward as if they had been parted three years, not as many months, and he wondered if it had always been so. But no, there had been a time he had laughed likewise with them, always brought into the joke by the one to whom they had all been drawn. Perhaps she had been his link to them, and now…

'The food is not to your liking, friend?'

He glanced up to find a couple of the tribesmen looking to him in polite enquiry.

'Sorry? Oh, no, not at all.' Anomen hastened back to his dish, taking extra large spoonful to prove it and nearly cracking his tooth on a peppercorn, the sharp intake of breath setting him to choking.

'Are you all right?' Brieanna laughed, patting his back, Anomen, mercifully, able to swallow the mouthful before drawing any more attention to himself. 'Will you take some water?'

'Thank you, my lady,' he continued hoarsely, still fighting to clear his throat, 'But I am fine now. So, you did not wish to stay and learn a dance from Fritha?'

'Ah, no. To be honest, I had the impression she and Solaufein would have rather been alone together.'

She was watching him, her gaze intense upon his face as though waiting for some glimmer of jealously. He offered, instead, an effortless smile.

'You did? Well, I cannot say I am surprised. I wish them all the happiness I hope to find.'

He let his smile broaden and she looked away before the flush could fully bloom in her cheeks.

Around them, their hosts were gently pressing for the answers their elders had seen fit not to entrust to them, a narrow young man with a long, aquiline face taking the lead, his question important enough to be posed in polite Chondathan.

'So, friends, we hear you mean to take battle to the powerful mage who lives south of here – what has this man done to so earn your wrath?'

Imoen knew their brief, the girl letting her waiting spoonful hang and leaning back with the casual air of a confirmed liar. 'He holds dragons against their will and used them to destroy a village just over the border north of here – probably testing out his powers. We were staying there at the time and managed to escape; most of the villagers weren't so lucky.' She shrugged, swallowing the waiting spoonful, 'It only seemed right we seek him out and kill him before he can do any more harm.'

'Indeed,' came a younger man of their company, 'I had heard a rumour we would be joining you in battle.'

A glance between Imoen and Jaheira, Valygar and Minsc suddenly rigid; it seemed not only the warriors of the Amma were interested in the answer. They had talked of it earlier, while Fritha and Solaufein had still been off exploring the ruins, the rest of their company gathered before the men's tent to discuss their course and express varying degrees of dissatisfaction with Fritha's continued assurances that things would all work out as they should, the druid's divided loyalties culminating in a promise to 'speak to the girl'. Jaheira breathed a long sigh.

'That will not be the case. It has been decided that stealth will serve us best and our numbers must reflect this.'

A look travelled his friends, Brieanna offering him a shrug, while the air thrummed with muttering from the warriors, an older one among them adding, 'A few times we have seen dragons flying over the deep desert. Their flights have always been a bad omen for our tribe. When dragons are abroad, the world is on the cusp of a change.'

'Is change always a bad thing?' asked Imoen.

A twitch of his thin moustache. 'No, but it is rarely comes without bloodshed.'

'Naman, is right,' continued another, over the round of grim chuckling, 'The desert changes but remains constant, and we peoples of the desert are the same. While our brothers in Calimport and the other towns and cities of Calimshan try ever to outdo each other with barter and betrayal, we live in peace with our brothers, for always there is a greater enemy all about us: the desert itself.'

More nodding, the men returning to their own company and for a while there was only the scrape and clatter of a dozen spoons as, one by one, they finished their meals.

At his side, Brieanna took the last piece of hare from her plate with a hunk of flatbread and place it into her mouth with unhurried appreciation.

'Ah, that was delicious,' she sighed, setting the empty dish before her and uncrossing her legs to lean back, her braid dropping from her shoulder to swing playfully behind her. 'It is much easier marching all day knowing you will have a fine meal waiting for your halt. The cooking here is far nicer than what I am used to -or what I managed for my fellow soldiers,' she added with a smirk.

'You did well on just the Order's rations, my lady.'

Brieanna's smile took on a mischievous twist. 'I must confess, I was not trying particularly hard towards the end - I was hoping another meal of overcooked mush and Elquist would finally see fit to give the duty to another.'

Anomen laughed readily. 'You would have had to do much worse than that –Simon's cooking alone could bring a battalion to mutiny. I remember on campaign in the southern marshes, he almost poisoned the entire company with some mushrooms he had found to supplement our rations.'

Brieanna smiled, absently drawing a finger through the sauce that clung to the edge of her dish and sucking it clean.

'I imagine I would have been glad to eat it, even then. Even the food they served in the refectory was finer fare than I am used to. We ate very simply in the temple with few luxuries. One year, on the eve of the Highharvestide, one of the sisters revealed she had acquired a jar of peaches in syrup on her last trip to Vallumscourt. It cannot have originated in the town; no such trees grew in the mountains. I remember thinking it must have come from so far away, a place of light and leafy verdancy. I had never seen anything so beautiful, as though each amber globe had gorged itself on sunlight until it almost resembled its maker. It was supposed to be a treat for us all –the jar was certainly large enough!- but many of the older sisters had but a taste and complained they were too sweet.' The woman began to laugh, the symbol to Torm trembling on her chest, 'I recall acolytes Irah, Emani and I polished off the entire jar between us –we even drank the syrup they in which they had been preserved' Her eyes shone, gazing fondly at the memory. 'Ah, I can't have been older than fourteen summers. We felt so ill afterwards we could barely finish our chores. _I_ was lucky; I was tending the goats that afternoon and could lie out on my cloak and wait for my churning stomach to recover. Emani was scrubbing the flagstones in the chapel – she ended up getting a beating for vomiting on the effigy of St Rielle.'

Brieanna threw her head back for another laugh, Anomen sobered by the tale's end and memories of his own suffering at the heavy hands of men who had apparently had his _education_ at heart.

'They were strict at the temple, were they not?'

She shrugged evenly. 'Yes, it could be said, but it served me well; it made me strong and kept me vigilant.'

Anomen smiled, feeling the broad admiration crease his eyes. 'The Order would have had such a warrior in you.'

'They had a fine enough one in you,' she snorted baldly. 'It is their loss if they could not see it. _We_ are destined for greater things.'

'I do not know about that, but for the first time since we discovered our expulsion, I do not think I care.'

Brieanna tried a smile and turned away, suddenly intent on in brushing the few flatbread crumbs from her lap, the young men opposite saving her from further embarrassment.

'Ah, are we all done?' asked Naman in his own tongue, an assortment of agreements answering him and many of the men took their leave as the youngest of them, Deepak, collected up the empty dishes. The man who had first spoken to them previously stretched out his back, straightening the scarf at his neck as he made to rise.

'Shall we head back to tent? You have to give me chance to win back those oryx horns.'

'All in good time, Fahrill,' forestalled another, his angular face lighting with smile as he bent over his pack to draw out a large clear bottle, 'first, how about a little arrak to settle our meal?'

'Arrak? Has old Gurav been at the still again?'

'This isn't Gurav's swill,' laughed Naman, the man holding it up to better examine the few date stones left the bottom before uncorking the bottle for a deep sniff, 'A fine spirit you have here, Ifrad –Calimport distilled –where did you get it?'

'Mehul got a few bottles in on his last trip to the city – I traded him a whole bale of fox pelts for one. Now who will have some?'

Most men shook their heads; days began early in the desert, but four of them remained, the youth, Deepak, stacking the dishes by the firepit, ready to be washed by the women come the morning, and settling back with his brothers.

'Now, pass up your cups –will you join us friends?' Ifrad added in Chondathan, not waiting for any reply as he beckoned to the growing line before him, 'just pass them over if you wish for some.'

Next to Anomen, Brieanna shrugged as though to say 'why not?' and knocked back the last of her water, her cup joining Minsc's, Valygar's, Imoen's and his own. A cool breeze stirred the canvases about them. Naman pulled his coloured scarf about him like a shawl.

'Ah, it is a shame it is not hot.'

'Oh, I can…' began Imoen, the girl raised on her knees and halfway to offering, only to send a wary glance to the man behind her. But Valygar merely nodded, Imoen grinning as she turned back to them.

'Here, I can heat it for you if you like.'

Ifrad relinquished the bottle to her with a mild interest, the group watching her draw a complex rune in the sand between them and placing the bottle within.

'Now, lean back.' She place a hand either side of the symbol. Only the sudden condensation within the bottle spoke of any change. 'Careful, the glass will be hot.'

Ifrad heeded her, own scarf about his hand as he retrieved it. 'Ah, very impressive. Master Omir said you had the Art. He mentioned you were a sorceress; that you have knowledge of the runes shows an even greater dedication to your craft.'

'Yeah, well I was studying magic when my powers emerged, so it only seemed right I continue.'

Naman had already taken the bottle from him and was busy filling their cups, passing them back round the circle. 'Would it not be easier to go around with the bottle?' sighed Jaheira, seemingly tired of passing along cups that would never be for her. Naman shook his head.

'No, no, tradition holds that each cup must pass about the group once.'

'So when one of us drops dead, we are all under equal suspicion,' added Fahrill in a bark of laughter. His brothers did not share it, a gravity coming over them as all cups were raised for the first toast.

'_Asham delaaj.'_

Anomen braced himself for a liquid far harsher than what he drank, the spirits smooth and sweeter than what he was expecting, the heat lingering with the caramel aftertaste of the dates. The second round was already underway and much less solemnly, the bottle and cups passing back and forth for refills as the group fell back to their easy chatter.

'How fortunate you are,' continued Naman, though this praise not levelled at the young mage, the man nodding politely to a stunned Valygar, 'you have found yourself a fine prize in your wife.'

The ranger received this compliment with stoic nod. Not wanting to be parted at night after a month of sharing a tent, Imoen had told the Amma they were married when they had first joined the tribe and Valygar, for his part, had made no protest to the lie.

'From where do your powers flow?' continued Deepak eagerly, the scant spirits he had consumed apparently already affecting him. 'Many of the sorcerers here in Calimshan share ancestry with the djinn who once ruled this land. Will it be the same with you? Are you related to some creature of magic, like a dragon or fay?'

Imoen's smile looked decidedly more forced now. 'I- I don't know.'

'Where did you learn of the runes, Imoen?' Brieanna questioned kindly, 'Candlekeep?'

'Nah, much later at the Asy- ah- Brynnlaw. Aerie, the mage who used to travel with us, showed me some of the research she'd been doing into them and there were plenty of people in Suldanessellar happy to teach me more.'

'So recently? I am surprised; you have knowledge far beyond that of a mere apprentice. I have always found the runes and the way they can channel energies interesting, especially to enhance weapons -though I have no aptitude for such things.'

Imoen shrugged. 'They come easily to me – their shapes and patterns just seem to, I don't know, make sense.'

'Well, either way,' smiled Deepak, 'may the skill carry down your blood.'

'Indeed,' added Fahrill, raising his cup, 'a toast to your union, may you be blessed with many children!'

Imoen was still smiling, but only because her face seem to have set that way, the girl throwing a helpless look to Valygar as all raised their cups again. Jaheira rolled her eyes –this was what came of such innocent lies.

'As much as I wish you both well, let us hope nothing comes of your _union_ just yet – I have no desire to be playing nursemaid on the battlefield.'

Their laughter seemed to defuse the tension somewhat, Imoen's smile easing, though Anomen noted she avoided the ranger's gaze.

'I think I can promise you _that_ in all safety, Jaheira.'

'Good. It was a long while ago I was last called upon as midwife and it was to a horse.'

More laughter, Imoen complaining at the comparison.

'Ah, we will have need of your skill here soon then, friend,' continued Ifrad, 'Elder Talin's favourite mare is due in the next tenday –I think he is fretting more over the beast than when is own wife was with child.'

'Yes, but that mare cost him more!'

Minsc was nodding; the joke passing him by. 'You breed strong horses here, solid and hardy like the beasts of Rashemen –though their coats are much thinner.'

'Yes, we have heard about the northern breeds,' said Fahrill, seeming to overlook he was lumping together a great stretch of Faerûn, from orange groves to tundra, in that description, 'though we know little of them here.'

'The warriors of the Fangs favour the shorter breeds, long-haired and stout, which would carry us in either battle or hunt, sharing with us victory and danger upon the plains. They would say that, out on the tundra, a horse is closer than a wife.'

'The desert breeds are sturdy and can travel far on little water,' said Ifrad, 'though we rarely take them hunting -too much of our prey lives underground, sensitive to the thunder of feet above. Most of our warriors hunt with slings - a simple weapon of hide and stone, and a deadly one if wielded by a practised hand. It is a skill which has been passed down through generations of warriors, though I fear the art is slowly being lost to the bow you northerners favour. Fine weapons, I have no doubt, but the Amma are of the desert – what good to us is a weapon of yew or ash in a land where only the palms grow?'

'Many things are changing,' sighed Naman, 'In the cities, the pashas have lost favour for the stouter horses of their ancestors and breed another type – light and fickle- which they race for coin.'

'But _all_ here have heard tales of the northern knights and their great warhorses!' added Deepak, shining eyes turned upon he and Brieanna. 'You have such beasts, yes? Fine destriers - sixteen hands tall and trained for battle!'

Brieanna's smile was inscrutable. 'Yes, though our own horses have since… retired.'

'They are strong beasts,' added Anomen, fighting back the chuckle, 'and stalwart, but not as hardy as the breeds you have here and they take much by way of feed.'

'Like their knights,' quipped Brieanna, and she left them laughing, the woman beckoned over to where Jaheira and Imoen had edged off together, Imoen eager to show the woman the rune circle she was drawing, the subtle distance between she and the ranger almost going unnoticed. Ifrad had fallen into a discussion with Minsc and Valygar about the hide slings traditionally favoured by the tribe, and the bows brought from Calimport which were slowly gaining popularity among the younger warriors, the three men left noticing his solitude and moving to join him.

'So,' began Deepak, as all were settled, 'you are knight of the north? Have you seen many battles?'

Anomen shrugged; no longer was he the man who strived to prove himself through such tales.

'A few, yes, most recently the one at Saradush.'

Naman was nodding, absently topping up their cups. 'Yes, we heard the city had come under siege, but even such troubles within our own lands rarely touch the deep desert. Tell me, have you fought ever in Calimshan?'

'I confess I have not, though my mother's family originated in Calimport.'

'Ah, truly? But you are from a city yourself, are you not, friend? Athkatla, Bhaskar said.'

'A few of the older warriors visit Calimport,' continued Fahrill, 'with the merchants who sometimes travel with us, for those supplies we cannot gather in the desert, but I have yet to go. They say the city is the Pearl of Calimshan. Just imagine: all those people, the markets and temples.'

'The taverns.'

'The brothels!' added Deepak with a bawdy laugh the men shared. 'You are fortunate, my friend,' the lad continued in a sigh, 'coming from a land where the ladies may be picked as freely as the flowers!'

Anomen's frown deepened. 'I would not put it quite as that – and in most instances, it is the ladies who do the picking.'

'Deepak meant no offence, friend,' soothed Naman, a quelling glare to his drunker brother, 'he is young and does not appreciate the ways outside his homeland. Within the tribe, we cannot seek out our own women, to do so would ruin their worth. But, of course, you understand as men we have our desires…'

'And what of women's desires?' asked Anomen curtly, feeling duty bound to be a voice for his absent sisters. Fahrill laughed.

'Oh, they have them well enough. I have tales of the harems that would make your beard curl!'

'And tales is the closest _I_ will get for a while,' sulked Deepak. Anomen was at a loss.

'I do not understand – if you desire a woman so and may only seek one honourably, why do you not marry?'

'I wish to! But with two older brothers, it will be a long while before my family will have the bride price to get me a wife.'

'Come now, Deepak,' reasoned Fahrill, 'every man may find his fortune in the sands.'

But the lad just snorted and took another long mouthful as though the arrak would conciliate him in the meantime. 'I wish the Amma would hold scarf-fastings as other tribes do.'

'Scarf-fasting?'

'Yes,' explained Fahrill, 'some of the smaller tribes perform the ritual. It is a sort of temporary marriage that helps to increase the numbers of both tribes. Men and women are joined for a predetermined period, and for a much lower bride price than a full marriage. It is all arranged beforehand: how long the couple will wed for and what will happen should the union bear fruit. It is usually three years before they rejoin their respective tribes, the man taking any female children with him, the woman taking any male offspring with her, such new blood keeping the tribes from growing too…' he pondered the word carefully, 'close.'

There was little Anomen felt he could say to that, his thoughts caught by such a practical view of marriage that one could actually plan for its end, and yet the men spoke of passions and desires that seemed just as alien to him – at least, they were nowadays. Of course, he had felt passion for Fritha in the beginning -indeed, he seemed to recall many a night when he had thought of her and nothing else, and none too innocently either. But she had been so reluctant with even the idea of intimacy he had put a more courtly face upon his desires, and by the time they had reached a place he could have expressed them, it was an energy all invested into keeping her alive: a passion of blood and death. And, if he were honest, since then and the fire that had died between them, everything had felt rather flat.

Young Deepak was still bemoaning his lot, Fahrill the first to glance up to greet the young boy who had appeared behind them.

'What's this? Elder Keevad's son -what are you doing away from your tent?'

But the boy just shook his head, passing Naman a small square of vellum and the men about him laughed.

'Oho, another from young Larvinda – you have a fine match in her.'

'Read it out!' cried Deepak.

Naman slapped away the hand. 'No, find your own favour.'

'Another what?' questioned Anomen, Fahrill turning from the squabble to explain, 'Men and women within the tribe are not supposed to spend time alone together, even when courting. Instead they send _chameli'khat _to each other- short notes and verses to express their regard.'

And off Naman stalked to find some peace to make his reply, the two men left chuckling in his wake, Fahrill turning back to him.

'So, friend, have you a wife?'

Anomen almost choked on his reply. 'A wife? Ah, no, not yet.'

'I see your hesitation,' he laughed, 'you have one in your eye, yes? You should write her a verse, friend. No woman can resist a man of poetry.'

'Well, I was never very good at-'

'We will help you!' cried Deepak, 'What colour is her hair?'

Behind his eyes, curls tumbled in auburn abundance.

'Dark –it is dark.'

'Ah, like our sisters of the desert!' Fahrill enthused, 'You are fortunate, my friend, there are already many verses already dedicated to such beauties by the masters of our art. Let us begin: _Oh, luxuriant fall of night_-'

'From the Pasha's Pearl?' interrupted Ifrad, Minsc and Valygar looking rather perturbed behind him, 'No, no, that image was overused even when the poet, Deevaj himself put it to parchment. I always preferred, Master Fasham. Write, _Oh pray, lady, draw back your dusky veil, the cloth that shames all silks to wools_.'

Over at the knot of women, Jaheira raised a cool eyebrow. 'You would reuse another's words for your own courtships? That is rather mercenary.'

'In a land when all men must be poets, there is going to be some borrowing,' quipped Fahrill. Laughter from the men, Deepak adding curiously,' Is it not the same in the north?'

Jaheira was glad to correct him. 'No, indeed. And though I cannot speak for all women, most I know prefer simple sincerity over disingenuous _embellishment_.'

Ifrad bobbed a mild shrug. 'Polished brass still shines as gold-'

'Even if it dulls later,' finished Fahrill.

Everyone laughed, even Jaheira, Fahrill clapping his arm as the men closed about him in a conspiratorial knot.

Come, friend, let us write this verse and prove us right!'

xxx

The air was cooling at last, twilight creeping over the sky above in dreamy lavender. Fritha lay still, letting the breeze caress her bared stomach, the silken folds of her sari unwound and crumpled beneath her as she lay there in just the choli and hitched up petticoat she had finally stripped to. Brieanna's dance was learnt, Solaufein's knife back with the man who was laid so serenely beside her. Fritha listened to the sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of his bare chest measured once more after the panting vitality of his dance.

Brieanna had excused herself before they had even touched upon the reel Fritha was to teach her, the woman citing hunger as the reason, though Solaufein's offer to go and fetch them all some food was rebuffed, and Fritha was left with the feeling that, outside of worship, Brieanna saw no value to such things. Such suited Fritha well enough though, she and Solaufein left alone to perform the dances they had promised each other and her sari was finally put to its use, the silk made to billow and leap with the Calimshite story dance '_Rajkumaari Ugan_', the movements slow and quick by turns, from languid misery to furious desperation as the princess of the title railed and wallowed in the prison of her own house, awaiting her hated betrothed. Solaufein's turn had been different again, the sharp movements and acrobatic lunges making it closer to a fight than a dance, his eyes closed and face peaceful as though she was not the only one for whom he was performing.

Fritha closed her eyes, seeing his movements again in the darkness and the fluid swell of muscles under his skin – she would have to get him to teach it to her. At her side, the creak of his belt, a hollow rattle and scrape followed by the thin ascending scale as the drow sat to take up his lute. She felt a frown twitch, the notes a spectrum of colour behind her eyes; the shades were off.

'The strings of the second course are flat.'

'Again?' he exclaimed; green for doubt, yellow for frustration. 'I only tuned it this afternoon.'

Fritha sighed, heaving herself upright and blinking in the sudden light, dimmed now though it was.

'Here, let me see. The pegs seem fine. I wonder if it's the air here, or the heat. I shouldn't have bought you such a cheap one -you may have mine when all this is over.'

He received the instrument back with downcast eyes. 'My thanks.'

'Cheer up,' she laughed, giving his knee a rousing slap, 'it's going to happen whether we like it or not. Ah, sometimes I'm glad of the time I've left and the small joys it can afford. Other times, it's the waiting that seems the worst part.'

It seemed he had no answer to that, silence falling between them, the lute lain ignored in his lap as Fritha dropped her attention to her star-speckled chest.

'My henna is fading.'

'It will be another tenday before it is gone completely,' Solaufein reasoned quietly.

'I'll miss it.'

'Then I will paint you anew,' he vowed, trying to pull himself from his melancholy; Fritha appreciated the effort. 'Have you any preference for the next design?'

'No, I think I'll leave that to the true artist.'

'I'll bear it in mind -a masterpiece worthy of your canvas.'

Fritha returned his smile, lying back once more and he set aside the lute to join her.

'I meant to ask, how is your prayer song coming along?'

'Poorly,' he sighed, 'I know the feelings I wish to covey and celebrate, but to put them into words –and then to a tune… I fear it will forever be beyond me.'

'You are too hard on yourself,' she scolded gently, 'You should be proud –the progress you've made so far -this isn't just me being nice, Solaufein, you really do have a talent I've never seen before. Persevere; I have every faith there is something amazing within you just waiting for you to find it.'

She could hear his smile. 'You would have made a good teacher.'

'Yes, well, we could all have been someone different –some of us still can be. Do you have any plans, yet, for after this is over?'

'You mean after you are gone?' he challenged, seemingly tired of her evasion. Fritha tutted his candour.

'Sola, must you always be so blunt?'

'I am sorry,' he murmured, unexpected abashed. 'And to answer you, no, I do not know what I am going to do. In the Underdark, all I longed for was to be free. Now that I am, at least to a certain extent, I find the choices before me rather overwhelming, though, to be honest, were it not for the gathering armies and constant threat of death, I would be quite happy to live a few years as we are now, travelling to new places and doing what good we can.'

'Yes,' she sighed, feeling the smile tug, 'it's not so bad, is it?'

Silence fell again, but it had not the weariness of before, and she was filled with that same feeling she used to share with Haer'Dalis, that sense that as long as there was someone who understood, who was unwaveringly on her side, she could face anything.

'I wonder if the others have finished eating yet?' Solaufein pondered to the twilight.

'Are you hungry? We can go back, if you want.'

'No, I am fine – it is always too hot here to truly feel an appetite.'

Fritha propped herself up on an elbow. 'Why don't we go for a swim?'

Silver eyes snapped open. 'A swim? _Together?_'

'Yes, why not?' she laughed; his surprise at such things was always endearing. 'It's not like its anything we've not seen before –well, sort of. I didn't quite have the right body on when last we met. Oh, come on, we can leave our underwear on.'

'Fritha?'

But she was already off, tripping through the darkening ruins, the stone flags warm beneath her bare feet. Back in the courtyard, the pool was waiting, a flawless expanse of black glass in the twilight, and Solaufein arrived to find her unlacing her petticoat, the delicate material dropped to pool about her ankles, the air deliciously cool against her bared legs, Fritha stood there in only her choli and thin linen shorts. She smiled at him, warm and quite unashamed, arms thrown above her head and toes curled over the stone rim to dive neatly in. It was breathtaking, that first plunge into the silken water, her skin bristling in pleasured protest to the sudden drop in temperature, and she surfaced with a gasp, tossing back that long weight of sodden hair.

'Come on, Solaufein, it's lovely.'

Solaufein held his arms folded before his chest, eyeing the water with an unusual hesitance. 'I- I do not swim so well.'

'It's not deep, see?' She threw her arms up, sending herself down into the water once more, her toes just brushing the bottom before her natural buoyancy surfaced her again, Fritha spluttering through her laughter. 'Come on!'

An instant of squirming indecision and he was suddenly diving forward in trousers and all, to hit the water with a noisy splash.

'_Nylothen sperri-!_ It is _icy!_'

Fritha laughed joyously. 'It's refreshing!'

A lithe twist and she was gone again, diving under to playfully tug his ankle, the drow jerking under with a shriek, seemingly out of his depth in more ways than one.

'Fritha!' he coughed, surfacing as she did and still struggling to untangle the wet hair from his eyes without going under again. The girl finally took pity on him.

'Here, give me your hand. Just follow- now here, here's the ledge. There, better?'

The man was nodding even as he fought to clear his face, Fritha helping him smooth the tangle of hair behind his ears as her mother had once done for her. 'I'm sorry, I suppose I thought you'd – well, never mind. Hold the side a while, until you're more comfortable, and I'll show you how to tread the water.'

'You shame me,' he murmured, though she was glad to see him smiling all the same. 'Something any surfacer _child_ would know and here I am, floundering about like a drowning rothé.'

'Did you never learn to swim?'

'And where exactly?' he laughed, 'Most bodies of water near Ust Natha large enough for swimming are lakes filled with poisonous algae, deadly predators, or both. Clean water is a rare commodity in the Underdark. And as for my training, I know enough to stay afloat – I suppose this just caught me by surprise.'

Fritha smiled. 'Well, swimming is all about coordination and practise. Let go of the side when you're ready and let's see how you move- perhaps I can pass on a few of the methods taught to me.'

**…**

Solaufein held his body flat and still, letting the water lap about him, tendrils of white hair fanning lazily in the water to tickle his arms and back. Fritha was further down the pool, playing a game of her own and attempting to retrieve one of her large earrings from the murky bottom, the other safely on the edge with her petticoat.

It was late, young stars emerging one by one to prick the blackness above in candescent white, and though the moon had yet to rise, it would not be long in the coming. Water that had been so cold before felt warm now, and Solaufein found he did not wish to leave it. She had taught him all she could recall of her own lessons, and he had found he had needed little more than coaching and some practise, the girl showing him how to lie back and float in the water when he finally tired of swimming and there he lay still, the man content to drift where the waters took him and listen to the giggled exertions of her play.

What would he do when she was gone and she was no longer about to impart these cherished lessons on how to enjoy a life? And he was struck by idea that though he would continue to exist, to laugh and learn and find his way in the world up there, perhaps with other friends -perhaps even with a love- it would not be with her, every moment from then on somehow overshadowed by her absence. But, for all that, she was right; he would have to become accustomed to the idea, however sad, because her path was set now and there would be no changing it. Perhaps he should have just made her accompany him east when he had had the chance. Solaufein smiled at the image of her tied up and thrown over a mule – it would have likely taken no less.

He sighed to himself, the noise sounding so much louder to his submerged ears. Maybe a few of the others would still be travelling after all this and he could join them – perhaps he would be better striking off on his own. Ah, so many paths and no idea yet of his direction…

A splash behind him as the girl surfaced, arm thrown to the air to shower them both in her triumph.

'Got it!'

He smiled, dropping his legs back into the water to face her, Fritha tossing her prize to land upon the petticoat with its partner.

'I am surprised you can even see it down there, let alone dive to fetch it out again.'

Fritha shrugged, reclining to float upon her back as he had been, her pale body a ghostly white against the black water.

'At least this water doesn't sting your eyes. I was taught to swim in the sea by Gorion on those rare occasions Imoen and I were allowed down into the small cove below Candlekeep to gather oysters. I wonder now why it was so few times,' she mused, thoughts drifting with her, 'barely a half dozen each year. The cove was empty, after all… oh, have you had enough?'

'No,' Solaufein huffed, the muscles shifting in his arms as he heaved himself up onto the side in a roar of falling water, 'but if I do not leave now, I will never wish to.'

He made to his feet, unmindful of the cold air and pulling at the soaked linen where it clung uncomfortably to his legs, unsticking one fistful only to clump the fabric somewhere else.

'You can wear my petticoat if you like,' Fritha teased. He eyed the sheer fabric with a wry half-smile.

'And what will you wear?'

'Oh, I doubt any will still be awake when I creep back to camp.' She laughed, body turning with a salamander's grace. 'I will wait here until midnight to swim in a pool of stars.'

'It will be cold,' he warned.

'Well, that would fit.'

'Come now,' he sighed, ever the one to bring reason to her games, 'I can see your skin bristling.' He reached down a hand and she allowed him to help her out, the pair setting off to trail wet footprints back to the rest of their belongings. Solaufein crouched to pack away their instruments, his back to her and listening to the sodden slap as Fritha stripped off her soaked clothes, and he turned at last to find her swathed once more in her sari, the ornate material now wrapped simply about her chest to make a long dress, the tails of her petticoat peaking from underneath. He watched her shiver, the girl bending forward to wring the water from her hair.

'Here,' he murmured, closing to offer her the tunic he had just scooped from the dusty ground, the linen warmed by sun and stone both. Her skin was still damp and he had to help her, the giggle chattering through her teeth as they fought to pull down the tunic without losing the modesty of her wrappings, her face emerging finally to seize him with a glowing smile.

'Ah, that's better. Are drow males taught to be like this, hmm? Where do you draw line between merely serving your female and the attention which could alert to a _foolhardy_ kindness within?'

Solaufein swallowed dryly, suddenly very aware of the negligible distance between them. 'I- I could not say.'

'It's strange, isn't it?' She caught up the hand that still hovered at her sleeve, letting cool fingers trail across the palm. 'You have nice hands, Solaufein; strong and dextrous.'

He froze, half wanting to pull away; half wanting to pull her to him and refuse to let go. 'They have served me well enough.'

'Yes, and that is all we should ask of them.' The girl sighed, making his decision for him as she dropped his hand and her attention to her own. 'I would like to say mine were beautiful once, fine and smooth, but they were not- pocked with burns from the kitchens and scars from my sword practise and a writing callous as fat as your thumb from all that scribing.' She laughed, flexing the pale fingers, her eyes sparkling with a tender attachment. 'But I am glad of it, that the world can leave its memories on me. I look at them and I see the words I've written, the days I've toiled, the people I've saved, the ones I killed.'

She glanced upwards to the black heavens, the smile taking on oneiric softness.

'The Netherese had a saying, _one hand can shape the world_. Hold up your hands, Solaufein - how easily we block out the stars.'

**...**

Anomen stretched, stiff from being sat too long. He likely should have retired an hour ago, but the company was pleasant and the arrak warm. Across the circle, Imoen summed the feeling up in a wide yawn.

'Ah, I think I'll head off to bed – Jaheira?'

The druid shrugged. 'I will remain here awhile yet.'

Valygar said nothing, but rose as Imoen did, another from their circle standing with them.

'You retire too, my lady?' asked Anomen. Brieanna cast her eyes towards the dark ruins.

'No, I think I will walk out awhile – enjoy the cool while I can.' She glanced down to him, dark eyes lit with promise. 'You may come if you wish.'

The arrack was warm through his limbs, a pleasant feeling of inhibition. He smiled. 'Yes, I should like that.'

Within the jungle of the oasis, it was almost cold. The woman seemed to know her way, their pair walking slowly through the palms, steel grass and spiny-leaved gorse catching at their trousers, while patches of glittering sky broke through the canopy to bathe all in silver.

'Oh it is good to be away -let my mind rest a little before we retire.' She sighed, halting in a small clearing and dropping to sit at the foot of a bowing palm, smiling eyes beckoning him to the same. 'Imoen's talk of the runes and her recent studies into summoning were very interesting, but I confess I was soon just nodding her along, completely lost. Even Jaheira seemed to understand more than I, the two talking over some ruins at her old grove.'

'You should have joined us if you were bored – your company is always desired and it would have likely kept young Deepak's more lewd comments to himself.'

Brieanna trilled a laugh, starlight dancing in her eyes. 'Ah, were you never a bawdy young man, Anomen? I am surprised though,' she continued, gaze returning to the dark jungle about them, 'that Fritha and Solaufein did not make an appearance.' The woman glanced to him. 'She was fishing before, for talk of what is between us two.'

Anomen shrugged, refusing to read into it. 'She always finds her entertainment in such things. What did you tell her?'

'That we are courting. Should I not have?'

'No, indeed, though I imagine she knows as much by now anyway.'

An inscrutable smile, the woman moving behind him to knead the tension in his shoulders. 'So Jaheira spoke to her, then.'

'Yes, though little came of it. I know Fritha cannot make plans without first seeing the place, but once we are arrived it will be days to return to the Amma to seek their help should it be needed.' He raked calloused hands up through his hair, frustrated by the girl's obstinacy; between his shoulders, Brieanna instinctively increased the pressure. 'Would it not make more sense to accept the Amma's offer of warriors and bid them to return to the tribe were their aid not necessary? But no, and Fritha's decision is made without even hearing what others would say-'

'To be fair, we held the discussion without her.'

'And instead we must follow blindly, as we once followed Sir Elquist into that slaughter.'

The hands upon his shoulder halted; her voice quiet. 'You forget, Anomen, we won that battle.'

Anomen whipped about, undoing all her work in his haste to see this betrayal. 'Through no wisdom of his! I thought us in agreement!'

Brieanna sank back on to her haunches, facing his frustrations with a mild smile that made him feel like a wayward child.

'I _do_ agree with you, Anomen, but Fate conspired once without our knowledge to give us victory; perhaps Fritha's faith is not as misplace as we all believe. So,' she continued after a pause, the woman shifting to his side once move to lean companionably upon his arm, 'did you men finish your verse? How many Calimshite masters of prose have you robbed this eve?'

Her smile was teasing out his own, however unwilling. 'I could not count. I left them to their composition towards the end, and their arguments over whether pearls or ivory made the best metaphors for teeth.'

'Teeth?' she exclaimed. 'Is it not merely enough the lady has all her own?'

Anomen laughed along with her. 'I don't think a consideration that she did _not_ ever came into it.'

'So,' Brieanna continued, the smile twitching as she nestled closer, 'what was decided upon for _your_ beloved then; ivory or pearls?'

'I confess, I do not know; I was paying little attention by that point. I have never had an aptitude for such things, even though it is expected within the noble circles.'

'Well, it would be wasted on me even if you had; I never did care for poetry. I prefer to let actions speak in such matters…'

Her soft lips found his chapped and unresponsive.

'What is wrong?'

'I-' What _was_ wrong? Anomen flushed. 'Nothing, my lady… You must know I like you very well, Brieanna,' he assured her suddenly, 'I watched you this evening as the men composed the verse, their prompts for a description highlighting for me your many merits; your skin glowing with your smile, the fire bringing out streaks of dark mahogany in your braid. You are as fair as any highborn lady, and yet so much more beautiful for the strength of your convictions.'

Brieanna was looking deeply uncomfortable, the woman half turned from him as those she was struggling with the desire to leave altogether. 'Anomen, you do not have to do this.'

'Do what? Tell you the truth of how I admire you? No, I do not suppose I do, but is it really so terrible to hear?

'No,' she admitted eventually, 'I am merely unused to it. The men of my acquaintance, the temple guards and those of the militia, they were not this…' she struggled for the word.

'Complimentary?'

She snorted. '_Sincere._'

'Well stolen poetry aside, I am honest when I speak of your beauty and strength and…'

He trailed off as her face closed to his, but it did not matter, nothing did, the world about him falling away, suddenly no more than the warmth of her mouth against his, hands sliding down his arms to snake about his back, pulling him closer. The urgency was dizzying, mouths still pressed together as she found her way under his tunic, trailing her nails across his flanks. His hand closed upon warm flesh, her waist tight and compact under the loose tunic, the feel of her stirring desires long suppressed, passions once held back finally given rein. And then, on the edge of his senses he heard it: bodies tramping through the undergrowth, their voices drawing him back to that cold forest.

'Poor Sola, I can hear your stomach growling from here. I don't like to think of you going to sleep hungry. Oh, if you wait outside the women's tent, I'll fetch you the walnuts and dried figs from my pack.'

'And just which hopeful bird brought those offering to your nest?'

'_No one_ – I traded four coppers and a smile for them, fair as you please.'

Laughter, warm and full of affection; Anomen seemed to pull away without thinking, his body betraying him. Brieanna sat back from him, a mild observer to his guilt. Her eyes flashed in the darkness.

'It is all right, Anomen, I know you have feelings there still. I have always known. I do not mind. What we have, it is not perfect, but few things in this world are.'

Anomen was given no time to answer or even contemplate. She closed to him once more, her breath hot against his mouth and he could feel his body responding as though it was no longer his own, those distant voices swimming round him.

'Besides, I've really reined in the flirting of late –I heard one of the younger women referring to me as 'that_ kasbi'_ the other day.'

_A probing kiss, his fingers lacing though her hair, hungry, demanding more._

'And what does _that_ mean?'

_Her mouth was trailing down his neck, a hand sliding up his knee to knead the muscles in his thigh._

'I'd rather not say, but be assured it is not polite –ah, damn!'

_A groan gurgled from his throat, the heat building as she swung a leg over him, body poised above his lap, mouth back on his to brush teeth across his lower lip. _

'What is it?'

'Nothing, I just trod on something sharp -ah, a bit of dried gorse.'

_She pulled at his tunic, fingers tracing the taught muscles beneath._

'I warned you should have put on your sandals.'

'Sorry, _father_.'

'Here, come here.'

_A hand found the ripe swell of her breast; the heat was maddening._

'Yay, gee-up! I've always wanted a pon -_Eee! _Don't tip me off, I'll be good, I-'

Anomen jerked back, Brieanna scrambling off him as the undergrowth parted before the lumbering silhouette.

'Oh, sorry! We were just-'

And then ringing silence. Fritha's face was frozen, cast in the moonlight like the mummer's mask of some tormented soul, the girl seeming too shocked to hide her dismay. Anomen felt something inside him twist, frustrated passions finding an outlet in anger and, for an instant, he hated nothing more than that girl. And then she slid from the drow's back and it was gone, Anomen's gaze free to rake over their pair. They both bore the mark of some swim or bath, wet hair gathered back in lank rat's tails, Solaufein bare-chested, his damp trousers clinging to his legs, while she was now shrunk behind him, and Anomen could just catch the golden glimmer of her sari under the man's tunic.

'My apologies,' Solaufein finished for his mute friend, 'we did not realise you were here. We will leave you to your evening.'

Fritha said nothing, the girl hidden behind him, as though even to face them was too much. A tug of his arm and the drow had turned after her, the pair disappearing back into the undergrowth. Anomen listened to their passage fade, his heart thundering above the hot bile churning in his stomach, sick with both guilt and bitter pleasure as he revelled in her shock.

'Well, that was a little awkward,' said Brieanna in the understatement of his life. 'She did _know_ we were courting.'

'Yes…' he agreed, still all shame and anger. Her fingers landed lightly to caress his arm.

'Do you wish to… remain here a while longer?'

'I- perhaps I should escort you back, my lady.'

She sighed, clearly disappointed he was hiding behind his usual formalities, but she nodded all the same, hand lingering at his arm as they rose.

'I am sorry,' he murmured, so quiet it was nearly lost to their passage.

'For what? It was hardly your doing.'

'No, but I should not have pursued you, not until my affections were free,' he faltered over the words, 'of another.'

But the woman merely smiled. 'It is only the nature of people to find their comfort where they can. As I said before, Anomen, I have always known, and I do not mind. I am happy to enjoy your company as it is.'

'_I_ mind. You should not be held second to any and I will not be the one to do so. And I did mean what I said, I just…' He sighed, frustrated with himself and confusion of emotions within, 'Please, be patient with me, my lady, I would still endeavour to be all you deserve –if you will have me.'

'I… well, yes, if that is what you would wish,' she mumbled, attention back on their path and for all the evening's events, it was then she seemed truly embarrassed. They had reached the tree line, the camp lain before them somnolent silence.

'Well, we should likely retire. Goodnight, Anomen.'

He caught her arm, halting her escape and seemingly rooting her there with a light kiss upon her cheek.

'I will walk you back.'

xxx

Jaheira leant forward, letting the glowing cinders bathe her face, her back all the colder for it, the light dazzling enough to leave her seeing spots. Of their own group, all but she and the Rashemi had retired, their pair moving to sit about the cooking pit as the night had cooled, the younger men left finding enough heat in their arrak. A breeze stirred across the camp, soughing sand against the tents and sifting through the embers to send motes of gleaming gold up to join that field of stars, more than could be counted in a thousand lifetimes hung above her in cold, uncaring blackness, and even for the man sat opposite, Jaheira felt very alone.

So much had changed since she had left, and yet it all was the same -returning to their group as familiar as when she had first set foot back within the Lowen glade. Their two knights were still hesitantly dancing before a courtship, Valygar and Imoen clung to each other in the face of all reasoning otherwise, Solaufein tripped after Fritha like a little brother and, as usual, Fritha hid some trouble from them behind a smile and a lot of kohl. And Minsc... She looked over at the man, his shoulder hunched as he worked, methodically drawing the whetstone along the greatsword he never seemed to be without, the man careful his movement did not disturb the bulge in his jerkin where dozed his hamster. She had thought him a simpleton when they had first met – it was not the first time she had been wrong, but it was still one of the instances she regretted it the most. He was simple, there was no denying it, but perhaps that merely spoke of other people and the complications with which they filled their lives. And despite his more simplistic way of perceiving the world, the man was no fool. She watched as another long stroke of the whetstone ended in a sigh, the man letting the blade tip rest at his feet and straightening to raise his face to the inky sky.

'Ah, though I am as far from my home as I have ever been, it is nights such as these that remind me of Rashemen the most.'

'Fritha mentioned you were homesick.'

'Homesick?' he repeated, a moment to translate and consider this, his brow darting upward as her meaning struck. 'No, no, it runs deeper than this, good Jaheira, and I am beginning to understand that a place is more than just memories, or even the land or the men who dwell there.

The druid smiled, raising a hand to the enthusiastic wave that was being sent to her, Minsc glancing back with the gesture to see Fritha and Solaufein finally returned from the ruins, the girl tripping from the undergrowth and tugging the drow after her, Anomen and Brieanna slinking back to camp but a moment later. Jaheira returned to the fire.

'I think that is why I always favoured the natural world; people are never simple.'

Minsc nodded, wise and slow. 'It is so, good Jaheira, the ways of creatures are much less confusing to me -though Boo does not believe you would have the same trouble.'

'No,' she sighed, the knot in her shoulders twinging with the release, 'but I am caught up in their foolishness all the same. I walked so long, trying to find the balance between my duties as a Harper and as a friend, so concerned with keeping to the only path I had known, I could not see how the way had veered from who I was. But no longer; I will walk my own way now, and when I can, I will leave this land – this place is too steeped in the past to find a future.'

'You speak of trials, good Jaheira, but I have yet to face mine. You have made your peace with young Fritha and your homeland, and I must do the same.' He held the sword up to the firelight, every nick and scar brought out in blinding white along the wide blade. 'It took its loss to bring me to the knowledge, but Rashemen is my _home_. When I walked these lands with good Dynaheir, it was just a place. But now I cannot return, memories howl across my thoughts like the angry winds across the ice fields, and never will I be free until I return and face their judgement. Perhaps I will submit to it, perhaps I will leave in exile, but I must hear what they would say.' He sheathed the blade, setting on his knees with a weight that suggested a deeper burden was carried within it. 'After our task here is finished, I will travel north to Rashemen as I should have done when Irenicus first fell. As Boo says, only then will I be free.'

Jaheira gazed across the fire at the man who was slowly becoming one of her oldest friends. 'They say the lands to the north are wilder, unspoilt… I would see them.'

The man smiled in broad welcome to the world she knew he would be glad to show her.

'Then you shall, good Jaheira. Who can say what the spirits will bring to us, but what cannot be endured when faced with friends?'

**…**

Imoen knelt with her back to him, bending to pull the tunic forward over her head in the cramped confines of their tent, and behind her she sensed him do the same, imagining how the faint glimmer of her werelight would cast the muscles in his broad back. They had told the Amma they were married, a white lie to allow them to share their usual tent together, but that night she half-wished she were curled peacefully between Fritha and Jaheira with the other women.

'Are you ready for the light to be extinguished?' came that voice behind her, deliberately at ease. She shrugged, the sudden darkness her answer as she snuffed her werelight with but a gesture and slipped off her trousers to lie down next to him. A sigh in the darkness.

'It has been a long day.'

'Yes.'

A familiar ripple of laughter somewhere outside the tent, Fritha returned from wherever she and Solaufein had spent their evening, and Imoen felt a stab of uncharacteristic resentment for the girl who always seemed to find her love so easy.

'It seems Fritha is, at last, returned – a pity you were unable to speak to her about the translations.'

'I'll have to get her look at it in the morning.'

A long, cold silence. Somewhere in the desert, a fox howled. His words came slow, but when he finally spoke his voice was strong and full of conviction.

'Imoen... what the men spoke of earlier – I would not have you think I wish you were anything other than you are.'

'No, I know,' she agreed hastily, 'And it is not true either, at least not for me. My powers come from the Bhaal blood; I don't think they could be inherited even if I had a child –not that we ever would; I know you don't want to continue your line.'

'And you?' he asked quietly. Imoen shifted her pillow with a shrug.

'I agreed to this relationship knowing how you felt about that. Besides, I was never that interested in children –not when I've yet to grow up myself.'

'People change.'

'You won't,' she stated, glad she kept that tiny seed of bitterness from her tone, 'Why does it stand I will?'

An arm snaked under her pillow another closing about her as he shifted closer and Imoen turned into the embrace to sleep, his presence banishing those nagging reservations, at least for a time.

xxx

Fritha raised her face, letting the winds take the tangle of hair from it and revelling in that instant of cool, clear freedom before she was stooped over her lute once more, the thin notes lost to the howling air. She had laughed with Solaufein, but it had not convinced him, the man leaving her with a understanding smile at the women's pavilion, the girl creeping through the sleeping bodies to her own pile of bedding to hide beneath the blankets, thoughts as tangled as her damp hair. Brieanna returned not long after and soon enough that what they had been discovered in had not been consummated – Fritha had tried not to consider it, just laid there, still and silent, until she sensed that presence over her move on, Brieanna deciding against a confrontation and retiring to her own bedding, while Fritha had retreated there. Tomorrow she would have to get up and talk and smile and act so _very_ normal – a part of her hoped the dawn would never come. At her side, that ever-present body shifted.

'You seem pensive, sister.'

Fritha shook her head, laying the lute into her lap and turning to face the weathered man, Sarevok cross-legged and slightly hunched in the winds, his bulk providing a slight shelter for her, though he likely did not know it.

'I was just thinking…'

'About?'

'Life… It's just a bit too complicated sometimes, isn't it?'

'I would not know; it is long behind me now.'

'Hardly that long. We only killed you-'

'Time is not the same across the planes, sister,' he cut in tiredly, 'as my appearance should indicate. Besides, a day where I have been is too long for any mortal.'

The haunted cast was back to his eyes; Fritha was utterly unmoved.

'Yeah, retribution's a bitch – I wonder if what you suffered was worth the chance of what you sought. Tell me, was that vain stab at the divine worth an eternity of torment?'

Sarevok would not give her the satisfaction of an answer, but his furious glower said it all. Fritha smiled, guilty at how much better she felt and placing her hands inside the opposing sleeves, hiding them from the biting air.

'Did you always want to become a god?'

The man next to her sighed, realising she meant to resume with her 'pointless questions', though he did not bother arguing this time.

'No, not always. I knew I was of the Children from a young age; Rieltar would speak often of my 'sacred blood' and how I was 'destined for greatness'. My foster father believed it would be within the realm of men and that he would share in my power.' Sarevok snorted, for a instant that cocky youth she remembered. 'He was proved wrong in both instances. I first discovered of the prophesy and the path to godhood when trying to learn more of the dark blood within me. Rieltar was very keen to harness my heritage, and spent the fortunes of his house retrieving tomes and forgotten lore from all corners of Faerûn. What he did _not_ know, was that I had begun my own research into the matter of my blood. It was over in the west of Amn, high in the Troll Mountains where I made the discovery that power in the mortal realm was only the beginning. My research had uncovered the location of surviving sect of Bhaalites. They harboured no Children themselves and so meant little threat to me, and they were glad to welcome another of the _enduring faithful._ I went in disguise and with a great deal of gold, and in their libraries I learnt I was destined for a greater triumph.' He smiled humourlessly, 'Or so I thought.'

'And when was that?'

He shrugged impassively. 'About three years before the iron crisis. The texts I had read had spoken of the path to godhood: death on a scale that would bypass Bhaal and elevate the wielder to the Divine in His place. The tomes were vague, though, about when this would occur. I dared not miss my chance and took matters into my own hands. I thought to hasten the process, bring my own tide of blood and force the decision then, killing as many of the Children I could find along the way. Rieltar and the others had already hatched their own plans to become lords of the Sword Coast, orchestrating the iron shortage while gathering slaves in their hidden mines to supply iron at their own price. And while they worked, I plotted behind them, revelling in the mounting fear and manipulating tensions between Amn and the Gate. That fool, Rieltar! He actually congratulated me when he first discovered my plot! Said that talk of war had increased the price of iron threefold, as though such petty profiteering was within my regard then! His death was not the first, but it freed me like no other had before. One father was dead-'

'And you were ready to dethrone the other,' confirmed Fritha. Sarevok nodded.

'As you say, sister.'

'But why?'

'_Why?' _he repeated, a sudden fire back to those dead eyes, 'Bah! How can you expect to understand when you would ask such _asinine_ questions! With our blood, it is the only fitting end, and it was to be mine! I had brought war! I was to bathe in the blood of nations! I-'

'_I_ stopped you.'

Sarevok exhaled slowly, the fires dying. 'Yes, sister, you did.'

'So, what was your life like before then –before you discovered,' she slathered a spiteful scorn upon the words, 'your_ true destiny?_'

'Strict, but comfortable. I was expected to keep up the appearance of a young Sembian noble.'

'From what I've heard of the place, I imagine that gave you quite a bit of leeway.'

'Indeed,' Sarevok nodded, with what could have almost been a smile. 'Under Rieltar's instruction, I spent time with the other young nobles of our circle, gambling, attending gatherings, all the while being trained in deception, manipulation and the other tools of commerce -as well as specialising my more _marital_ skills.'

'Were you ever in love?'

'As if that matters!' he spluttered. Fritha smiled knowingly.

'Was she pretty?'

Sarevok sighed, the defeated old man once more.

'She… was from Kara Tur. Tamoko entered the service of our house as a spy, one of many in my father's employ, for trading in Sembia is cutthroat at best. She posed as a trader from the Eastern lands and gathered information on our enemies. She was capable and quick, but there was an innocence to her, too, that few men could resist, however shrewd. I cared for her once, but when I learnt of my potential, nothing could be allowed to stand in my way. She tried to dissuade me from my path, said she could not bear to see what I was becoming, though she never found the will to leave,' his faced twisted with a disgusted sneer, 'even after I took another to my bed. I thought nothing of it at the time, her affections just another insignificance to be brushed aside on my journey to godhood. And now…' he paused, a immeasurable emptiness to his worn, grey face, 'Now, I am dead and I know nothing of her.'

'In the executions followed your end, she was not among them.'

Sarevok said nothing, eyes gazing out across that tiled plane. Fritha watched him with a frown.

'Do you feel responsible for their deaths?'

Sarevok whipped back to her.

'Why should I? They followed for power I gave and the greatness I promised.'

'She didn't.'

'No,' he conceded reluctantly, 'but Tamoko was different; she knew me before I discovered my destiny.'

'So only, Tamoko knew you before you became the _Terror of the Sword Coast?_'

Sarevok shifted, clearly twitching in his own skin.

'She and _some_ of the others –but they all looked to themselves in the end! If I had been alive to hand over to the Flaming Fist in order to spare their own necks, they'd have done it!'

'Do you _honestly_ believe that? Do not question their loyalty, Sarevok! You may have despised them for it, but it has its value. Your followers had plenty of chances to betray you and each one fought to the death – for you!'

In the first instance in their time together, Sarevok looked rattled, the man uncrossing his legs as though he would rise and quit her company –were there anywhere else to go.

'So? Whatever their reasons, it is pointless to dwell on this: my allies are dead, as am I.'

'Yes, you are,' she agreed succinctly, 'though escaping your rightful punishment -for the time being, at least. Let us hope _they_ are not so fortunate.'

The warrior scowled, but said no more, and Fritha went back to her lute, returning to writhing worries and leaving him to his.


	34. The Line

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: So much for posting more regularly! Apologies for the delay, I really am hoping to get the next few chapters out over the coming month. Thanks to my new beta reader, DIS, and to everyone who left feedback/PM'ed. As ever, please read and review! _:-)

**The Line**

Fritha kicked back the canvas, a rush of cool, dusty air swelling into the small tent as she struggled out and fought not to bring half the bedding she'd just laid down with her, careful not to dislodge the poles with the bag she was dragging after her, the heavy pack ploughing furrows in the parched earth.

She had retreated inside _officially_ to secure the inner poles and lay out the bedding, though she had indulged in a few moments rooting through her pack for one of her few comforts in that barren place. Her cheeks were sore, not burnt by the sun, but dried by hot winds and further tormented by the scrubbing wool of her scarf, worn day and night against sun and cold. Harita and a few of the older women had shown her the paste they used themselves, a thick balm made from almond oil and turmeric and other spices that was every kind of heaven for her parched skin– even if did make her smell like a midwinter stollen loaf.

Fritha brushed the hair back from her face, fighting to tuck the shorter strands behind her ears, the breeze taking great delight in plastering them to her oiled cheeks. If only as much could have been done for her aching legs, punished by days of walking over sand and then later the stony ground of the plains about them, the surefooted pony the Amma had lent to them for their equipment her only consolation.

The sand of the _Agasahra_ was behind them now, the dunes finally falling away to the dusty desolate plains of the western desert, the terracotta earth scorched and cracked, as clay left too long in the kiln, and it was barely enough to support the few brittle trees and bursage that clung to life. Cliffs and pillars of stone rose seemingly at random as though they had grown there, that jagged, angry red landscape robbed now of colour and drained to grey under an inky, star-scattered sky.

They had left the Amma yesterday in the watery pre-dawn to hold camp there at the last oasis, supposedly a day from the stronghold, though this had proved subjective. Their first day of travel had been slow without their guides and that day had seen even less progress made, the few hours camp they usually made over highsun extended as a storm blew up from nowhere. All they could do was hunker down in their buffeted tents and await its passing and, as a result, they had been forced to march well into the twilight before halting.

Fritha let her gaze travel the horizon, the wind-worn cliffs silhouetted against the sky like the dark outlines of lumbering creatures frozen by some sorcerer's spell. They would reach the site of another mage's power tomorrow – she wondered what monsters awaited them there.

But before she could worry about that, more pressing matters needed her attention. Behind her, the small campfire threw a ring of light over the few gathered about it trying to keep warm in the deepening night. Valygar and Minsc were not long returned from setting the few traps loaned to them about the nearby burrows, though they apparently held out little hope from their grumbling about the lack of game. Jaheira and Imoen were venting their frustrations much more stridently, the pair arguing over the bubbling pot – just as they had argued over who would be cooking and then what they would make. Solaufein was huddled under his hat, looking like he was trying to pretend he was anywhere but there. Anomen and Brieanna were the only two absent from the circle, the man himself still finishing his task erecting the rest of their tents, while Brieanna had disappeared early on to make her prayers. It was something she had been doing with more regularity of late, though perhaps Fritha just paid the woman more attention now – it was hard not to notice when she was hanging off Anomen's face every other moment. A fierce twist of jealousy, hot enough to make her blush, not so much for what they had, but that they could have it, and Fritha had to remind herself for what felt like the hundredth time that she had pressed for this outcome since the beginning.

'For the love of – Imoen, stop stirring it a moment and let me by!'

'I have to, it's sticking!'

'And the flatbreads will burn if you do not let me in to turn them!'

Fritha understood their frustrations; days of trudging through that desert and to an enemy half of them seemed to feel she had given little thought on how they would defeat. But, however she reassured them, she could not imbue them with that feeling she had, that complete confidence in where she was and where she needed to be. She adjusted the scarf and smoothed back her hair, slowly working up energy to go over and put stop to their quarrel as Anomen crawled from the tent opposite.

'Anomen,' she greeted, the man straightening to brush the dust from his trousers, 'all pitched and secure now? I don't fancy chasing after my tent in my underwear should another storm blow up in the night.'

His smile was briefer than a Rashemi summer. 'They are as secure as I can make them in ground so dry – at least, it easier here than in the dunes.'

Fritha nodded gravely as though she gave a dried fig either way. She had thought it would be awful being with him after what she had come upon, a torture of awkward glances and mumbled conversations. But a near lifetime of hiding her true feelings from the world had served her well, and she found she was quite merrily fooling herself.

'It was all so much easier in the north – even in the winter, though I suppose it gets as cold at night. At least we have Dhiraj, there, to carry our things, though I think we work him harder than the Amma have done.' They both spared a glance to the stout pony that was now free of his burden and laid on the edge of camp under a brightly striped throw, soft brown nose dipped into a small bag of oats. 'I worry about waking up in the morning to find he has got fed up and set off back to the Amma.'

'Why do you not ask him?' Anomen quipped unsmilingly.

'I try, but his Alzhedo is better than mine and he knows no Chondathan.' Fritha laughed, letting her eyes sparkle and delighting in the control she had over even the subtle nuances of her body. Anomen bore her capering with impassive reserve.

'A pity. The creature would likely find his burden easier to bear if he knew the purpose to it – it is a hard march to an uncertain destination.'

Reproach in every syllable. The slightest waver to her façade, her throat constricting upon her as though her body would keep her from the weakness.

'I can see how that would frustrate… I am ever grateful for the faith you place in me.'

But he did not notice -neither the allusion nor the faltered delivery- his eyes back on the desert to greet Brieanna's return. Fritha felt it a point of honour that her smile did not break even as his back was to her. Behind them, matters were escalating.

'Imoen! I swear, by Silvanus-'

Fritha heard her cue. 'Ah, I'd better go.'

At the fire, Imoen was holding her own against a glowering Jaheira with help of a wooden spoon.

'Look, I did enough of the cooking when you were away and no one die- hey!' she cried, Fritha neatly disarming her.

'There, now sit down.'

'Fritha!'

'Sit, sit, sit…' Fritha trilled, shooing at the girl with the spoon, a bottle of amber liquid fished from her bag and passed to Jaheira. 'Here, take some wine yourself and share the rest out.'

And Fritha did not wait to see her orders carried out, the girl stooped over her bag again and drawing out the small vial of perfumed oil she had brought all the way from Indraviat, a few drops spared for the embers, a slow breath drawing the calming scent of sandalwood and woodsmoke into her lungs.

'There, now I know the day has been a tiring one, but it is behind us now. Pass up your plates, and let us get this meal served.'

And it was in silence she doled out the thick, fragrant stew, Jaheira moving about them exchanging water for wine as Imoen tore and shared out the large flatbreads. Valygar carelessly scooped up the first spoonful, his mouth closing on it for the briefest instant before it was spat back into his dish.

'What's wrong?' asked Imoen.

'The heat!' he choked, groping for his cup and knocking back the wine in one gulp, 'It is all pepper!'

Imoen and Jaheira instantly rounded on each other.

'By Silvanus! I told you not to put the spices in so early –they strengthen as they cook!'

'And _I_ said we shouldn't have used so much!'

'I used no more than Mistress Harita recommended!'

'But the Amma had yoghurt to take the edge off!'

Anomen set his plate down with a weary sigh. 'So we walked all day for a meal of _flatbread_?'

'I did not see you volunteering to cook!' snapped Jaheira.

'And who could even approach the pot with you two squabbling over it like children?' rejoined Brieanna.

'You've a tongue in your head, haven't you? Or was it too occupied snogging Anomen?'

'_Imoen!_'

'I think it tastes fine,' lied Fritha. No one was listening.

'Brieanna was helping me erect the tents!'

'I do not need you to speak for me, Anomen - I pull my weight in this group!'

'Boo says all work together in friendship – and we should remember that now.'

Nice try, Minsc. Fritha sent him a commiserating shrug as this wisdom was duly ignored, Imoen splitting the air with a great 'Ha!'

'Pull your weight? That's the second night in a row you've disappeared off to leave the rest of us to set up camp!'

'I completed my task before I left! Perhaps I should have volunteered to cook, though – at least then we'd have something edible!'

Fritha sighed, swallowing a mouthful of flatbread to warn practically, 'Get it all out of your system now, you lot, because we're going to be at the stronghold tomorrow and there won't be time for any of this bickering.'

'Yes, the stronghold,' agreed Valygar, pausing between gulps of water, 'and we have yet to hear how you plan to take battle to that place.'

Brieanna tossed her long braid back with a snort. 'Why this again? Surely no plans can be made until we see the stronghold itself.'

'Well, _you've_ changed your tune,' crowed Imoen, 'you were just as worried as the rest of us when _Anomen_ was griping about it the other day.'

_Owww…_ Fritha winced – she could have done without hearing that.

'I know I ask a lot and the odds seem stacked against us, but have faith –this will all work out as it should.'

'An easy prediction to see fulfilled,' muttered the knight, 'you must tell us afterwards, if all progressed as you imagined.'

Fritha flushed while, at her side, Solaufein was suddenly stiff. 'Perhaps one of _you_ could offer up some plan then, if you are blessed with a before unstated prescience.'

Jaheira's spoon hit her bowl to spatter over-spiced stew across her lap. 'Such blind loyalty may have served you well in the darkness, but it does you no favours here, Solaufein. Our doubts may seem unkind, but it they are _not_ unreasonable –Fritha's _confidence_ has been rather misplaced of late. Need I remind you of the last plan that saw her imprisoned for a tenday, while we risked unnecessary dangers to fetch her back?'

'I did wonder when that would be brought up – lest we forget it was _you_ who allowed her to be taken!'

'And I suppose you had no part in that?'

'I was against it until the last!'

It was time for this to end; Fritha drew a deep breath. It was the highest pitch she could reach and still call it singing, the shrill note piercing the night of the deep desert. The silence afterwards seemed very loud. She forced a smile.

'There, much better. Now, my plan for the stronghold remains the same: we will infiltrate the place, seek out Abazigal and take his life. As for the details, well, we can worry about them as we go.'

The meal ended in the silence in which it had been served. Fritha was grateful, the girl more than happy to concentrate on spacing out the burning stew with great mouthfuls of flatbread in an effort to take the edge off, her wine saved for last and downed in one great cooling gulp.

About her people were licking wounds and making the last few preparations before they could retire for what little rest they would get, Brieanna cosying up to Anomen in a way that made Fritha wish she had some wine left. Imoen caught her eye and mimed being sick, entertainingly oblivious to the fact she and Valygar could be just as nauseating when the mood took them, though it was nice to feel she had an ally, however petty. Across the fire, a light kiss, Anomen tugging playfully at that long braid. Fritha eyed her empty wine cup with longing; it was time for bed. Protesting legs heaved her up, and the girl broke the circle again to murmurs of 'goodnight' with a plan to visit the hastily dug latrine behind the closest patch of scrubby gorse bushes before she retired.

'Fritha?'

It was Brieanna; Fritha kept her eyes forward and her feet moving.

'Fritha?' she called again, and loud enough that second time that Fritha could not reasonably pretend she had not heard her.

'You need something?'

'Only your goodwill; I am sorry if it seems like we've been talking behind your back.'

'Well, _that's_ because you have been.'

Brieanna looked abashed and Fritha felt the fight leave her in a sigh, throwing a glance back to the others slowly packing up about the fire. 'But, I don't blame you; I don't blame any of you.'

'I was not agreeing with Anomen,' the woman pressed, seemingly worried all was not still right between them, 'when he said he doubted our path, merely sympathising with his worries.'

Fritha felt her jaw tighten – this was not helping. 'He has every right to his doubts. He wanted to go after Sendai, after all.'

'And I am sorry, too,' Brieanna hastened, as Fritha made to turn away again, 'for what you came upon the other evening.'

'There is no apology necessary; it was not your fault and it is none of my business.'

'I do care for Anomen.'

'I don't doubt it.'

If Fritha's answers got any shorter she would not be replying at all. Brieanna took the hint and moved swiftly on, a hand laid gently upon her shoulder. Fritha resisted the urge to shrug her off.

'I know how the others feel, indeed I feel it too, the worry that you have put aside sense and strategy to rely upon the mercies of Fate. But for all that, the feeling is overwhelmed by the sheer faith your presence commands. You are special, Fritha, with a destiny that cannot be denied and I will follow you wherever you will lead us – I could do nothing else. And soon the others will see that destiny in you, too.'

Fritha dipped her face, pretending to hide the modest smile she could not be bothered to force. At least the woman was trying.

'Thank you, Brieanna; your support means much. Now, I really have to go.'

The woman was still waiting for her when she'd finished and together they returned to camp. There was no sign of their men, Imoen and Jaheira standing together, their quarrel seemingly forgotten as they plotted like thieves within that small ring of tents and, as she approached, Fritha saw another of their company, Anomen crouched and taking care to better secure Brieanna's tent, lest the winds should pick up again in the night. Brieanna broke from her to join him, the man straightening to welcome her to his side. Fritha pretended not to notice.

'All right, you two? Made up now?' she asked of the women and not waiting for an answer, 'Where's Solaufein?'

'Off with Vals and Minsc checking the traps they laid out when we arrived,' supplied Imoen, 'they were hoping for a few rabbits for tomorrow's dinner.'

'Ah, our good rangers, ever working to keep us fed. Will there be any leftover stew for the morning?'

The two cooks shared a look and dissolved into reluctant snickering.

'Yes, quite a bit,' admitted Jaheira. Fritha joined them in a laugh.

'Ah, I imagine it will taste fine once we're hungry enough; travelling with the Amma's spoilt us.'

Jaheira was nodding, a wistful smile creasing her eyes. 'Do you recall the time we travelled back from the Windspears and, delayed by snows, we ran out of rations?'

'Yes, and poor Minsc and Valygar wandered the forests until they could barely see the trees, hunting in vain for some game – ah, you missed such fun, Imoen.'

The girl snorted. 'I think it will take a bit more than _that_ to convince me the asylum was the better part of the deal.'

Fritha's laughter faded to a sigh. 'And tomorrow we take battle to another _impenetrable stronghold_.'

'This is a little different, Fritha,' reminded Jaheira sternly, 'You heard the tales from the Amma – a mage with an army of dragons, djinn and who can say what else.'

'I know, I know, and we will take every precaution due. But better an army he has summoned, over one he has raised – we kill him and we effectively send his allies back to wherever they were wrenched.'

'And the dragons?' added Imoen. Fritha shrugged.

'The last one we met died cursing his name – we end their thraldom and I think we've a good chance of avoiding them all together.'

Her reasoning was sound, but she could see the doubts that remained still, not helped by her past actions. She wanted to tell them about the camp, that day she had knelt in the yard staring into the emptiness of her death, only to see those lithe bodies swooping above, vivid blue against the amber sky, and knowing from then on that every step of her path would be the right one, merely by virtue of who she was.

'Please, don't worry; one thing I _have_ planned is not to take any silly risks this time. I've learnt my lesson and we cannot prevent Bhaal's return if we're dead; I have to survive this.'

'Good,' announced Imoen firmly, 'And then we can get you back to your theatre.'

Fritha summoned a smile. 'That's the plan.'

Across from them, Anomen had finished securing the tent, he and Brieanna standing before it in some quiet talk of their own. The man nodded, bidding her goodnight and making to leave, a hand at his arm forestalling him. A murmured offer that was more eyes than words and Fritha did not wait to watch him follow her into the darkness.

**…**

Anomen knelt as though fixed to the bedding they had just laid out as Brieanna dumped her pack into the corner and heaved off her tunic, the man unsure whether he should be watching, unsure what he was even doing there or the desires that lingered behind her invitation. But that was the crux of their courtship so far, Anomen feeling constantly bewildered by the woman, who seemed to find his regard so hard to bear, yet who ever pressed their relations forward.

His body had fewer qualms about the thing, his heart quickening and he tried to ignore the building heat below his squirming stomach as the lantern light rendered her plain linen camisole almost transparent. The woman did not seem to care either way, sitting back to slip off her trousers and reveal shorts of the same thin material, her clothes neatly folded next to her pack with a satisfied sigh.

'There – you plan to sleep in all that, do you?'

'No,' he hastened, hauling off his tunic, Brieanna needing no invitation to move closer and he could feel the maddening warmth radiating from her bared skin. Her gaze raked over his torso, appreciative fingertips stroking lightly up one muscled arm and down his chest, tracing through the hair to run the length of the scar that curved above his heart.

'This looks to have been serious– how came you by it?'

Behind his eyes, Fritha harnessed her pain and drove the blade forward. Anomen swallowed.

'I do not remember.'

Brieanna smiled, raising herself on to her knees and closing to his face to find, at last, the reluctance that betrayed him.

'What is wrong?'

'Nothing – you- you are very fair, my lady.'

She snorted wryly. 'It has been mentioned.'

Her mouth met his, tongue probing past his lips and instinct took over, hands on her back and pressing her closer, her skin impossibly smooth against his calloused fingers. It was wonderful to be so lost in the feeling, all doubt and that enduring regret falling away and yet even then it prickled in the back of his mind, that quiet cry that perhaps there should not be any _regrets_ from which to hide. He silenced it with a deepening of their kiss, her camisole so thin between them he could feel her skin bristle with pleasure. His body was screaming for more, something primal wanting to tear and press and be inside, the loss of control as fearsome as it was exhilarating. Her attention had moved lower, tugging insistently at the ties to his trousers and he eased her back while he still had the will to do so. Brieanna was frowning, dark eyes searching his face in the soft light.

'Do you not want this?'

'No,' he refuted hoarsely, almost laughing at the understatement, 'I want this, very much, I am just unused to things moving so quickly.'

Brieanna still looked confused, a shade of hurt creeping in. 'What use are passions if you do not lose yourself to them?' She sighed suddenly, turning from him to make for her own bedding. 'If you do not want to-'

'No,' he cut in quickly, grabbing her shoulders to halt her, 'it is not that. Please, just sit with me a moment.'

She snorted, but obliged him, just settling there where she was knelt, half-turned from him and arms folded in her displeasure.

'There, I presume you would _talk_ of something?'

But he did not answer her. There was nothing to be spoken between them and she had once said she preferred acts to words. Her bag was open, his gaze catching on the pale handle. She did not speak as he took out her braid, but her breathing seemed to quicken with every stroke of the simple wooden brush. Her hair hung down her back, waved and silken like the fall of water and Anomen indulged the urge to bury his face in it, the long tresses catching on his beard, his mouth finding its way through that luxuriant curtain to kiss her neck. A sigh of pleasure, his hands snaking about her waist and she turned in his arms, her face dipped though it did nothing to hide the wary frown.

'Anomen…'

He answered all in a kiss.

**…**

Two rabbits; not enough to feed them, but certainly enough to keep their rations of flatbread and dried meat from growing tired –so long as the one cooking them took a more _subtle_ approach to seasoning. Perhaps he would volunteer next time.

Solaufein nodded to the two men, leaving them at the campfire as he returned to his tent. He was glad he had asked to join Valygar and Minsc checking the traps – they were happy to show him the technique to setting the simple snares, discussing the best places to set them and what they could be used to catch and he liked learning new skills, especially up there. Anything to feel less vulnerable in that foreign world.

Fritha had already changed for bed. Nights in the desert were certainly cold when compared to the blistering heat of the days, extremes he had found hard to fathom as they had travelled further south. That said, she was not exactly wrapped up, the girl knelt upon her bedding in her fine white kurti and little else, pale bare legs folded neatly under her. The tent was lit, not by the usual harsh blue of her werelight, but a flickering lantern, the soft yellow glow that bathed all in gold. Her hair had been combed out and put up again, copper curls bringing out the undercast of pink to her pearl-set ears and exposing the smooth curve of her neck as she peered into small hand mirror, busy tidying the kohl at her eyes.

'Ah, you're back,' she greeted without looking up, 'Was the hunt successful?'

'Two rabbits,' he answered, entering on his knees, his boots already removed and left outside, 'We three agreed to leave the traps and check again during our watches. They do not like to leave the creatures to suffer overlong.'

'When are we on watch?'

Solaufein snorted. 'The last one of the three our meagre night allows.'

The previous night had been the same, their group marching into the darkness only to leave again in the pre-dawn. Though it was true they made camp again for the four hottest hours over highsun, these were not the large airy pavilions of the Amma, and he had been finding it difficult to sleep in the stuffy confines of their tent.

'Ah, another night with barely any sleep.' Fritha heaved a weary sigh, 'I won't have to wear kohl soon; my eyes will be dark enough without it.' She paused in her preening to cock her head to him, 'Do the drow wear make-up?'

Solaufein smiled, his answer coming muffled at first as he hauled off his dusty tunic and reached for the cleaner one he would sleep in. 'Yes, and it is not merely limited to females as it so far seems up here.'

'Turmian and Calimshite men sometimes kohl their eyes, but anyway.'

'Yes, the drow… For certain ceremonies: city festivals, victory celebrations-'

'-Municipal orgies-'

'Indeed,' he chuckled, 'Those attending wear paint on their bodies made from glowing mushrooms that grow in the caverns –and little else. But on a typical day In Ust Natha, both males and females line their eyes as you do, only with paint of white clay, to make their eyes appear larger and more attractive.'

'How pretty,' she giggled, 'I've some ground talcum here if you want to resume the fashion.'

'No, thank you. I rarely wore it even during my rest days – I was a warrior, not a lover.'

'I think you would perform more than adequately in both roles.'

The sly twitch of a smile and she had returned attention to her mirror, Solaufein left to stare at her back. The surfacer women were too hard to read, the elf left unsure if they were just flirting for the mere entertainment of it or trying to entice him to make move towards them as seemed to be custom there, and he suspected Fritha was more than pleased to take advantage of this ambiguity. She was watching him from the corner of her eye, the mirror placed carefully back in her pack as she removed her hair pins to shake out that copper mane.

'There- Oh, my earring is caught. Could you free it, please?'

He reached up, fingertips brushing the downy lobe as he gently unhooked the curl.

'Your hands are cold.'

Solaufein kept his voice very even. 'We were a while checking the traps and then I made my prayers.'

'Here,' she smiled, cupping both her hands about it, the skin warm and slick with the richly scented balm she wore. Her lips were parted, her head slightly dipped so she could regard him through lowered lashes, though the set to her shoulders gave no hint of shyness, Solaufein given the very firm impression that if he leaned in to kiss her she would not have pulled away. And he suspected knew why, too.

'Checking the traps was interesting, I am surprised Anomen did not join us in the task.'

That had an effect. Fritha dropped his hand, turning back to her pack to root for a length of ribbon.

'He was busy securing Brieanna's tent.'

Solaufein watched her tie her hair back with a brutal yank, his voice deliberately casual as he moved under the blankets and deftly changed his trousers. 'I see. I note they have become more demonstrative of late.'

'Yes, and secretive too,' she added, no attempts made to hide the bitter sneer, 'but then they are not alone in _that_. What a lovely evening I've had, watching them snog and listening to the tales of how everyone's been sneaking about behind my back.'

'Ah, Fritha,' he sighed, hands dropped to rest upon her shoulders as though he would press some sense into her, 'this is as much your fault as theirs. If you had told them of your place in the prophesy, then they would all have my faith.'

'Oh, don't start on with that again. I've had more than enough today!'

'I am sorry, Fritha, but it merely seems you make many of your problems – you even rejected Anomen, and harshly too, only now to take pain in his new courtship.'

Dark eyes flashed. 'Do you _want_ to sleep outside? And for your information, I do not _make_ my own problems. There are going to be problems whatever I do, I am merely trying to limit them –for _all _of us!'

'I know,' he soothed, 'I am sorry; let us not argue.'

The girl glared at him, clearly biting back a 'you started it' and puffed a sigh, the lamp extinguished in another and together they settled down in darkness.

Outside, the wind was picking up, blowing dust against the canvas in fitful gusts. At the campfire, Jaheira and Minsc were talking, the low murmur of their voices indistinct yet somehow calming. Solaufein stared up into the peaked roof of the tent, imagining the stars and Her moon beyond it, just as he had once used to lie and picture them hanging so far above that dark world of stone and earth. He had meant to work more on his prayer song that evening, though they had walked for too long in the end and there had been no chance. He did not mind; the words were not coming and he knew forcing them was not the answer. The song would come in time, or not at all.

At his side, Fritha was fighting with her pillow, her movement carried to him on a cloud of her scent. In the darkness, it had been another tool, a way to stalk prey and enemies, and he found he liked the idea the sense was just as keen up there, the man trying to explore the aroma. Lingering spice from their meal, the sweet almond balm she wore on her face and underlying that, the unique scent of her body, a warm smell that put him in mind of the hazy days spent walking through the sun-dried meadows of Tethyr. Fritha had ended her fight with the pillow and was not likely the victor by her disgruntled snort, the girl nestling down again to curl upon her side and he could see the faint reflection of her eyes in the gloom.

'Do you wish to talk?'

'About _what?_' she rejoined, though it was more sigh than snap. He moved to tuck a stray curl behind her ear and thought better of it.

'Come, Fritha, we keep no secrets.'

'No, we don't and it's no secret. Anomen and Brieanna are together; I wanted my line and I got it.'

'Line?'

'Nothing,' she dismissed, 'Besides, it was bound to happen sooner or later, Anomen is handsome… like you.'

The sly smile was back, hidden beneath the blankets. Solaufein refused to be baited.

'We drow are bred for it.'

Another long sigh, the girl shifting onto her back once more. 'Yes, well, goodnight, Sola.'

Moments crept by in silence broken only by their breathing and the eerie howl of the wind across the plain, the drow feeling himself easing backwards into sleep, her voice so soft, at first, it could have been a dream.

'I'm glad you're back; I missed you when we couldn't share a tent.'

The words may have held a certain intimacy, but it was no longer the guarded voice of the seductress, the girl sounding small and lost in the darkness. Heat rushed to his face.

'I must confess, I missed it as well; I hope it is always so between us.'

A hand found his, fingers lacing firmly with his own as though she wanted to reassure herself he was there.

'I know I'm not the best friend –I ask a lot, and things now, they're confusing- but you will always be my brother, Solaufein.'

**…**

Valygar pulled the blankets up another inch, sure she would throw them off again in no time, but unable to leave her without doing so, his own blanket thrown over her thrashing feet in an effort to keep them from the cold air. A last moment to watch her, Imoen muttering something low and urgent, her young face twisting as though pained before she had buried it in the blankets once more, and Valygar turned away, fastening on his cloak to crawl out into the night.

He had not laid there long before he realised sleep with Imoen would not be easy to find and Jaheira was still on first watch, wrapped in her cloak and legs stretched out towards the firepit's glowing embers, the druid glancing up at the rasp of footsteps.

'Valygar?'

'You are on watch alone?'

The woman smiled tiredly, feeding another stick from the meagre pile they had managed to gather from the few dying trees they had passed. 'Minsc looked fit to drop so I sent him to his tent – he gets very little sleep in the heat of the days. You cannot sleep yourself?'

'No,' he admitted, kicking aside a stone to take a seat at her side. 'Imoen is restless, something difficult to ignore in the confines of the tent.'

'She still suffers from nightmares.'

It was not a question and Valygar saw no need to confirm it, the man shrugging to add, 'I find it is better to let her sleep through. Waking her spares her little and she is tired enough.'

Jaheira sighed, scrubbing a hand across her face and for an instant, he saw the careworn, weariness of a helpless mother. 'Silvanus bless her. I would I could do more, but I do not believe any sedative I could brew would be of help.'

'You have a hard task being guardian to such wards.'

'Yes, it is difficult and they endure much for their blood, though I need not tell you of the pain of watching one for whom you care suffer.'

'No…' he agreed at length, the silence letting the dark worries he usually kept buried to surface. 'I sometimes wonder if this will ever end, if Imoen will ever be free of this taint. For Bhaal to be kept from his resurrection then his essence must be contained with the Children – that is the belief we are working on, is it not?'

'Yes… though not all believe it. I know Athic thought the Children doomed whatever we did, though he accompanied us to the Grove anyway. That he made his sacrifice to preserve hope for something he did not even believe made it all the more poignant.'

It took a moment for her meaning to dawn. '_Sacrifice?_ Athic is no more?'

The woman faltered, hazel eyes flickering shut for a brief moment of unguarded regret, and when she spoke again her voice was quiet.

'He was killed on the journey to the Grove, in an altercation with the Harpers and guards in Marmont. I could not bring myself to speak of it before, and now… What would be the point?'

Yes, what point indeed? He could see why such knowledge could do more harm than good. Valygar nodded gravely.

'I understand… So,' he continued, easing them past this heavy silence, 'there are some who are convinced the Children are doomed, and on the other side there is Fritha, who seems of late to hold an unwavering belief that we are all infallible servants of destiny.' He felt his eyes narrow shrewdly, 'There is something she is not telling us.'

A wry snort convinced him that the druid knew nothing of it though, Jaheira bringing her knees up to wrap them too within her cloak. 'Undoubtedly. That girl has always held a fondness for secrets – she spent too much time alone as a child, I suspect.'

'She will have told one among us.'

Jaheira laughed. 'Yes, and you will have a better chance of asking a dead man for the answer; Solaufein will not break faith with her.'

'No…' At least, not intentionally.

'Speaking of faith though,' the druid continued, 'I am pleased to see you putting a little more of it in Imoen. I can understand your wariness, especially after your parents corruption, but the girl has enough to carry in her heritage and your acceptance of its one gift can only make her troubles lighter.'

Valygar felt the guilt pang; saying he trusted her and forcing the feeling were two entirely different things.

'I must try,' he offered gruffly, 'to be better than I am _and_ to pay for the mistakes of my past.'

'Yes,' Jaheira sighed, staring into the embers with distant eyes, 'that is all any of us can do in the end.'

xxx

The distant clang of some pot or pan brought him from his sleep, Anomen for a moment disorientated by the pale canvas above, used as he was to a darker green, and then the body at his side moved and the night flooded back to him on a wave of mingled earthy scents. The air was cold outside the blankets, the quiet murmur of voices indicating they were not the only ones awake, the others' industry carried to them by the clatter of cups and plates as they prepared for breakfast.

Brieanna was still dozing, her light sighs more peaceful than the frown that creased her broad forehead, a lock of hair falling across her face and trembling with each breath from that wide, determined mouth. She was no great beauty, but she was handsome and her strength of person held an intense attraction for him. He recalled suddenly her body and the way the muscles beneath her skin had moved in rhythm with his own; lithe and strong, yet still undeniably feminine. A deep sigh, and he was given no more time to consider this – something likely for the best as the memories began to stir more than merely his admiration.

'Good morning, my lady.'

For a moment, she stiffened, seemingly as disorientated as he had been, and she took a moment to answer, turning slightly to turn put subtle distance between their entwined bodies.

'Yes… good morning, Anomen.'

'It sounds as though the others are awake.'

'Indeed… At least they are not still arguing.'

Anomen chuckled, moving in to kiss her, their lips barely meeting before the woman had pulled away, Brieanna sitting, blankets clamped firmly to her chest as she rooted for her clothes.

'We should join them.'

Anomen watched her, unease evaporating the last of the morning's drowsy serenity. 'Brieanna, is something wrong?'

She paused for long enough while struggling into her shorts to flash him a tight smile.

'No, why should there be?'

'Last night, you did, well…' he trailed off, unable to phrase it, but she answered all the same.

'It was very nice, Anomen.'

Her blithe dismissal did little to reassure him.

'I see… I have not had the most experience -at least, not recently. If you did not-'

'I said it was fine, Anomen, your skills are certainly not in doubt.'

He tugged gently at the camisole she had just pulled on, 'Then lie back, please, for a moment.'

She sighed, clearly wrestling with herself, the woman finally reclining back to lay in the crook of his arm, stiff and uncomfortable, a resentful vulnerability to her considering her abandon the night before. Anomen tried to put her at ease, his thumb stroking in small circles on her shoulder and letting his mind drift. It had felt good to share such intimacy after so long. He had left his last lover upon his departure from the seminary, and during his time within the Order he had convinced himself he did not care for these baser pleasures when he had such important work before him. There had been much anger in him back then, even more so as the years passed and his knighthood eluded him, and in burying his darker passions, perhaps something else had been suppressed, as well.

That soft voice, gentle and full of care.

'_Don't dwell too much on past mistakes, Anomen; it would not do to quench your passions in shame.'_

A surge of undirected anger -she crept in at every unguarded moment! He could feel Brieanna twitching in her skin, wanting to be up, to be away, his temper vented in an angry hiss.

'What is _wrong?_'

'_Nothing!_' she snapped, pushing back from him, the indignation fading as she admitted, 'I… I am just unused to this. Before, at the temple, there was little time for such… closeness.'

'My apologies, I should not have,' he went to say 'shouted', only to realise he had not. Anomen tightened the arm about her, pulling her back to him. 'I am sorry, Brieanna, I merely want for you to know that last night was not something I am ready to dismiss come the dawn. I feel strongly for you and not merely physically and, ah, I never was any good at this. Perhaps the Amma have it right and I should steal another's declarations.'

She smiled, tentative and still a little wary.

'No, it is fine, I understand.' She dipped suddenly, teasingly sweeping her hair across his chest to catch his mouth in a light kiss. 'But we really should get up.'

It was still dark outside, the nacreous halo along the eastern horizon doing nothing to lift the starless night, the ghost of a moon haunting that barren sky and those who were awake were huddled about the embers of their dying fire. Fritha and Solaufein had taken the last watch, though there was no sign of the drow, the girl serving tea to the two hunched figures he could make out as Imoen and Minsc. Imoen was holding her cup to her face, letting the warm steam mingle with her misty breath.

'Bugger me, it's cold.'

'I don't imagine that would warm you much. Why not jump about a bit instead?'

Laughter from Minsc and Imoen; Fritha barely cracked a smile, eyes darting up at their approach.

'Morning, you two. Tea?'

Anomen nodded, letting Brieanna precede him to the fire and seeing her settled first, a defiant look thrown to Fritha as he put his cloak about her and sat, as well. If she noticed, she gave no indication, the girl pouring their cups with a detached, black gaze, stooping to fill another and pass it to the newly-arrived druid.

'Thank you, Fritha. Are we all up yet? Where are Valygar and Solaufein?'

'Collecting the traps,' provided Imoen, 'They won't be long.'

Breakfast was cold stew from the previous evening, merely covered and left overnight, all moving to help themselves while Fritha left her dish in her bag, going instead to feed their pony, the girl brushing down its coat and keeping up a constant murmur of Alzhedo as she worked.

'Hey Vals,' called Imoen, the two men arrived back, Valygar leaning down to greet her with a spicy kiss while Solaufein presented another rabbit to Jaheira, the druid turning the limp, sleek body from hand to hand.

'Another fine one, how many does that make now?'

'Four all together – enough for another stew.'

'I'll cook,' said Fritha quickly. Solaufein snorted into his dish, though his smile soon faded in face of the breakfast she spooned into it. Across from him, Valygar looked equally unimpressed, the man pushing the dark brown sludge about his plate with a frown. Jaheira and Imoen shared a look and tried not to laugh.

For a while, all was silent, the camp slowly forcing down that morning's less than appetising offering. Anomen had once been partial to the spicier dishes in his youth. His mother had hired a Calimshite cook to return to her the lost flavours of her grandparents' home, though years of the seminary and bland field rations had robbed him of the preference -though he had to admit, this meal certainly tasted better cold.

A moment to clear up, water spared to wipe down plates and the now empty pot and Fritha dropped to her knees beside the cold ash of their fire, her bright hair drained of colour, a match to the subfusc red earth of the plain about them.

'Right, who has the map?'

Imoen and Jaheira called their werelights on instinct, Minsc drawing the map from his bag, every scarred knuckle brought out in the harsh light. The larger parchment was already folded to show the relevant square and laid before the girl as tribute, all pressings in about it as Fritha fished the rather more crumpled notes from her pocket.

'According to the Amma, the stronghold is located here, in a gorge of hot springs at the end of this cliff formation.' Anomen followed the slender white finger as it traced down a blotted ink line that stood apart from the map's original quality. 'The gorge runs north to south and would make for the most direct route to his stronghold, but I suggest we head east and approach via these cliffs. If nothing else, they will provide us with a vantage to better see how the stronghold entrance is guarded.'

'Is there any way to get down from the east?' asked Valygar. Jaheira eased back on her haunches.

'The Amma mentioned the cliffs were sheer in most places, but recent disruptions in the hot springs have led to earth tremors – we could be in luck and find a landslide has provide us a path.'

'If not, we'll just have to go the long way round,' laughed Imoen.

'What time will we arrive there?' asked Anomen.

'Barring any more storms, I would say early dusk.'

'I imagine a change in the guards is not likely from what we have heard,' added Valygar, 'and with such creatures, we may find waiting until the darkness provides them with more advantages than us.'

'So we head east and take battle to this mage at day's end,' Minsc summarise as only the Rashemi could.

'It is agreed then.' Fritha drew the map up before any could say otherwise, handing it pointedly to Minsc, and those about her broke from the circle to finish those last preparations. She remained there, though, thumb and forefinger stroked into the cold, black embers to smudge charcoal shadows under her eyes in one smooth movement, her gaze fixed southeast into the waiting dawn.

**…**

Fritha kept her head down, barely focused upon the ever-moving haze of cracked red earth she was walking, her body left in that desert, thick-tongued and sweating in that shroud of wool and linen, while her mind mulled not on past mistakes or future fears, but, for once, enjoyed the blissful escape of plans. What they would do when they arrived at the stronghold and the hundred ways she would attune her strategy depending on what they found there.

They were making good time, even for the slight incline they had been travelling since sun up, a buckled mound of earth upon the flat plain the only indication of the cliffs she knew fell away now mere yards before them, the sun low and throwing long shadows from their pacing feet.

'Here, that is close enough,' announced Jaheira, bringing them to a halt at the nearest miserable clump of bursage that had found purchase in the roots of a dead acacia and throwing back her hood_. _'Imoen, tie the horse off.'

Sighs as packs were lowered and backs stretched out.

'I'll scout ahead,' rumbled Valygar, a nod to Minsc confirming their partnership and together the two men crept closer, clambering at a crouch over the uneven rise to pause, take in the scene below and turn, at last, to beckon them in.

And there it was, the gorge the Amma had described, clouds of reeking steam billowing from the shimmering pools that pocked the ox-blood earth. The section of cliffs just beneath them, and at other points along the gorge, had collapsed to make a rough stony slope into the ravine below. The entrance to Abazigal's stronghold was at the northern end, a black portal surrounded by a towering frontage that had been carved into the very cliff face, four tiers of pillars and statues in detail too fine to make out at that distance. But neither was the first to catch her eye, the acrid brimstone catching in her throat as Fritha gazed down upon those immobile ranks, unmindful of the drifting nishru or collared manticores that prowled and pounced at shadows between the rows of soldiers, as red as the ground they were lined upon, each armed with sword and spear of dark grey iron: Abazigal's great stone army.

'Well,' offered Jaheira to the stunned silence the sight had impressed upon them, 'someone has been busy.'

'Ten formations, each of ten rows of five constructs,' surmised Brieanna, 'There are over five hundred soldiers down there.'

Fritha summed her feelings up in one, vehement word. '_Bastard!_'

'Not as you imagined?' inquired Anomen coolly. His tone was nothing to the look she shot him.

'Are they active?' asked Valygar, ever the one to get to the point. No one answered; no one knew. Solaufein settled the issue, inching forward, a stone scooped from the ground before them, the drow weighing it a moment to send it hurtling from the cliffs. They ducked on instinct, a resounding _thunk _echoing up from the gorge. And… nothing.

'I suppose they haven't been given any orders yet,' said Imoen, 'Constructs aren't like golems – it's simple commands or none at all. Abazigal probably just likes to look out here and see his _army_.'

'Well,' considered Jaheira, shifting back to peer over the edge, 'that is one thing to our advantage. As for his other guards, I had been hoping we could merely sneak past, but by the look of things-'

'We'll need a distraction,' said Brieanna firmly.

Imoen threw an impish look to their pony. Fritha frowned

'You so keen to carry everything back to the Amma?'

'Well, I suppose I _could_ summon something else. Come on Vals, you can cover me…'

Imoen led the way, both still half crouched as they ran southwards down the slight slope that would have led all the way to the gorge's mouth. There was little cover there, the manticores all the closer for the drop in the cliffs and she fancied she would hear their guttural breathing as she brought them to a halt. A nod to Valygar and the man took up position at the edge, an arrow nocked and ready while she turned to her task, the many circles etched behind her eyes, ink upon the smooth parchment pages of master Omir's tome; advanced, dangerous and just what they required.

Circle, circle, rune, rune, circle, rune… Imoen worked quickly, no time for enchanted sand and engraved markers, the summoning circle just scratched into the earth with knife's tip – and what did it matter when the powers behind it were the same. Finished, she dropped to her knees, eyes closed to let her hands hover over the circles within circles, feeling the power building from her spine, through her chest and into her arms, the limbs suddenly heavy and light in the same instance, and pulled downward toward the hungry circle, the girl wrestling against it, heaving back, forcing it to open, to bring the creature forth.

'Imoen?'

He sounded urgent, afraid. She tried to open her eyes and reassure him, but it would not come.

'Imoen! _Damn!_'

A hiss, more surprise than pain. Imoen could feel the energies crackling about her, the pull was too strong; it was coming!

'_Imoen!_'

The world flew sideways, dust filling her lungs as she collided with the ground, Valygar next to her and both sprawl in its shadow. Imoen's wonder matched her delight.

'Oh, ho _ho!_'

'An earth elemental?' gasped Valygar, gazing up at the hulking mound of earth and rocks that towered over them, like some giant rotted statue made by a creature who only had the vaguest idea of what a man should look like. 'Imoen, how did you-?'

She did not even need to give it orders, just an instant to sense the air-aligned nishru were near and it had leapt from the cliffs to land with an earth tremors' roar. Imoen did not wait to see the carnage.

'Come on!'

The smash of stone and howls of manticores followed them back to the others, the group glancing up from where they had been watching her handiwork with an ill-disguised awe.

'There, distracting enough for you?'

Fritha just snorted, throwing her legs over the edge to lower herself onto that first rock. 'All right, in your own time and keep low.'

The climb was hard, Fritha followed by Jaheira and then Solaufein, the three leading the way and trying to find a safe path down, rocks balanced upon each other in that uneven slope and none too securely as Imoen soon discovered, arms wind-milling as her foothold wobbled beneath her.

'Whoa!'

'Take care, young Imoen,' Minsc rumbled kindly, the girl dangling neatly from the back of her tunic as he set her gently down before him.

'Yeah, but it's not me I should be worried about -look.'

Down the gorge, her summoned guardian was losing its fight, one arm rubble at its feet while the other swung wildly, trying to loose the manticore that clung to it, its brothers circling for a weak spot.

'Just keep moving,' cautioned Brieanna, calmly assessing her next jump, 'we are nearly- _Ah!_' The woman landed only to topple forward, the stone tumbling from under her feet.

'Brieanna!'

Anomen lunged to grab her, missing her hand to fast on air, his desperate leap dislodging an avalanche of rocks.

'Watch out!'

Jaheira glanced back just in time to dive from their path, Fritha dragged bodily after her, two boulders thundering past them down the slope and through clouds of red dust, Imoen's cry.

'The constructs!'

Fritha was already up and bounding after them, one of the boulders crashing into a set of those great stone feet. She dived through the dust and shards to throw her weight against the toppling statue, barely a foot from hitting his partner and felling the entire battalion. The soldier wavered, sword clattering from its hand, Fritha suddenly heaving back as it began to roll the other way and, at last, it steadied.

She fought the urge to immediately collapse against it, heart rattling in her chest, a scowl thrown to the dishevelled woman Anomen was helping to her feet.

'Be _careful_.'

Brieanna flushed, Anomen glowering at her, though Fritha ignored them both, a glance back confirming the guards were still occupied and they were away again, crouched and tripping through that looming stone army. Each construct stood a head taller than Minsc, all cast in lamina armour and wearing the same ugly snarl, the fixed faces of demons which seemed to follow them through the steam that promised to hide creature and elemental alike.

Up the steps, and in the lengthening shadows everyone seemed to breathe a sigh. The carved frontage was even more ornate up close, slender pillars engraved with scales or flutes, friezes of dragons and men between the tiers. The doorway itself was framed with a border of long, leering skulls, just a yawning hole into the tunnel beyond, the ancient draconic symbols carved on the lintel above giving the place an older feel to which it had any right. Fritha's lips moved in silent comprehension. Jaheira voiced their curiosity.

'What does it say?'

The girl grinned, taking a step towards the darkness.

'It says deliveries around the back. Come on, I've something here which must be handed over personally.'


	35. Fire in the Sands

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: The site was being a bit 'interesting' when I published chapter 34 last week – first it was there, then it wasn't, so just to mention here, if you haven't read The Line, this chapter will probably make more sense if you have. Also, outside of the usual round of thank yous, I would like to take a shameless chance to plug a friend of mine's new Dragon Age story. It's called _The Names We're Given_ by Dreamer In Silico and it's right here on this site, so go check it out! _^_^

**Fire in the Sands**

Shadows closed in, the clamour outside fading with the light as the tunnel mouth behind quickly diminished, an ever-shrinking sun above them, only for a sweeping curve in their path to steal that last comfort, too. And all that was left was the urgent rasp of breathing and footsteps, agonisingly loud in the dark. They pressed on, descending deeper into the gorge, no werelights to open their way; darkness was friend to the assassin and from what she had seen of Abazigal's defences, Fritha doubted they could be anything else. The air held a faint trace of sulphur, the walls and floor smooth yet uneven, as though worn away by softer tools than picks and shovels.

'This tunnel was carved by water's passage,' confirmed Jaheira, nature yielding such secrets to her mere touch. 'It seems Abazigal has found a way to drain an area of the springs here to his own purpose.'

'Magic,' concluded Valygar quickly. Jaheira remained open-minded.

'Or some engineering we have yet to encounter. It is likely the cause of the earth tremors of which the Amma told us. Either way, it would have taken great power to do so.'

Ahead, the tunnel took a sharp turn left, Fritha only a pace behind him as Solaufein led the way, his eyes, and more importantly, ears attuned to the echoing stone. They walked for long enough that Fritha was beginning to worry the whole stronghold was just an elaborate bait to draw potential enemies from his true location -her imagination had always found its strength in the dark- when the man before her halted, hand thrown back to prevent their collision.

'What is it, Solaufein?'

'Can you feel it, in the air?'

She paused, trying to let her other senses make up for the sight she had lost and yes, yes, she could feel it! There was more air, or at least it was moving more, so slight as to stir only the fine down on her bared arms, Solaufein not waiting for her answer to add, 'The tunnel opens out soon, be on guard.'

Barely a few more yards along and Solaufein was proved right as the tunnel sides fell away to nothing but the darkness.

'And I thought we'd seen the last of the Underdark,' snorted Imoen nervously, eyes red with the enchantment that allowed her to see as well as any but their drow. At least she had that; the other humans of their party had been blind since they had entered.

'We are not yet so deep,' Jaheira assured her, 'This is probably the magma chamber of some long extinct volcano, which afterwards was filled by water from the springs.'

'I can't even see the other side.'

'Neither can I,' admitted Solaufein, 'this cavern is vast.' The drow slowly turned his head back and forth, one ear angled to the silent air. 'And I believe empty – at least, of anything living.'

'Not much consolation considering the army outside,' muttered Valygar. Brieanna shifted, impatient for a decision.

'So what do we plan now?'

Fritha felt their eyes searching her out. 'We need to scout ahead, find out the lay of the immediate area. We should split up.'

'Not all of us can _see_!' snapped Anomen.

'And some of us are not particularly _quiet_ either,' hissed Solaufein.

'Here, come on, Sola,' trilled Imoen, distracting the angry frowns and grabbing his elbow, 'you and me can walk the edge.'

Valygar quelled his fears to a polite concern. 'Just the two of you? If you run into trouble-'

'You'll know about it.'

And they left on that murmur of laughter, Imoen releasing his elbow as she and Solaufein set out right, tripping quickly along the curved wall, her eyes picking out the world in a haze of grey, as though she was seeing all through a fine black veil. The figure before her turned, a hand at her arm.

'There is something ahead. Can you see it?'

'Not, yet –yes, now I can,' she hissed, her vision clearing as she concentrated to reveal a stout rim projecting from the uneven wall. They crept closer though their caution was not necessary. The door was closed and quite immovably so at twice their height, a rune she did not recognise etched into the otherwise flawless surface. Solaufein placed his hands against the smooth, circular panel, seemingly testing it, rather than making vain attempt to shift such weight.

'It is metal, likely iron. And thick, too; there is no way we can open it by force.'

'I don't recognise the rune,' she confessed; they both sensed the impasse.

'Come, perhaps there are others.'

There were, a circuit of the chamber revealing three in total, all just as immovable. she and Solaufein paused before the last, the others still at the entrance in a blurred knot just on the edge of her vision, though her attention was fixed firmly before her, she and the drow starting up at the last circular door.

'Sealed as well,' sighed Imoen, 'Maybe the rune is the way to open it –here, stand back.'

'Imoen, I am not-'

But they had both leapt back before the tingle had even left her fingers, each pressed to the rim on either side as the iron panel rolled sideways into the wall, some huge bulk clattering through, heading towards the tunnel mouth with a relentless plodding gait. Imoen could see the other's tense, heads whipping about for the source. She wanted to shout, a hand thrown to her chest to press the noise back. Solaufein's face mirrored that same look of horror and they were off, chasing after the creature in silent, hasty pursuit.

Fritha held fast, frozen in that instant of panicked indecision as the footsteps echoed around them, growing louder but from no clear direction. Should they disperse, flee back into the tunnel or try to hide there? And then that grey shape was looming from the darkness and it was too late for anything but a last stand, a few hissed commands fanning the others about her, weapons drawn to meet the huge iron construct. Much larger than his stone brothers outside, his face and body were cast in the mould of some great metal titan. A tortured moment of hope when she thought it may just pass them by and it halted, its voice a reverberating monotone inside its hollow head.

'SAVISEN USULIS – HEMEN- AURSEN THOTHA EH?'

'Wha-'

'Shush!' Fritha hissed, hand waved frantically at her head, fighting to recall lessons long ago put aside, 'Er, assis, slavnis. Thothis Abazigal orgtha. Er, oath deshinish goen.'

'HO THATHASS EH?'

Fritha nodded once. 'Un - amalssen oath.'

Dead eyes stared down at her; Fritha awaited their sentence.

'HEDANTHAN.'

She exhaled all the air she held, physically deflating with a chime of chainmail, the golem already past her and thundering up the tunnel they had just descended. The others were pressing in about her as Imoen and Solaufein appeared from the darkness, the girl seemingly torn between who to embrace first, Valygar or Fritha.

'I was so worried! It came through the door and there was nothing we could do.'

Brieanna was still staring in the direction of those fading footsteps, as though she wished to ensure it was truly gone. 'What was that? Another construct? I could hear it speaking, but…'

'It was a golem,' explained Jaheira quickly, 'But how did you get it to leave?'

'Indeed, what did it say?' continued Anomen.

'That it wasn't expecting us – it asked me why we're here. I told it we'd come with an offer for its master. There must have been others before us -it asked if we were more emissaries. I told it we had a new offer and it said to proceed.'

'But proceed where?' added Valygar, Fritha suddenly the one who wanted answers.

'Yes, what did you find?'

Imoen sighed. 'Three doors, all sealed- wait, no, that golem opened one.'

And sure enough, it was open still.

'It has not closed, then…' said Brieanna – she did not sound too pleased with this providence, 'We are to go this way?'

Jaheira gazed into the darkness, adjusting and readjusting the grip on her staff.

'It seems we have little choice.'

'I don't like this,' muttered Imoen.

It appeared no one did, all motionless before that doorway. There, on that side, they could still leave, could put the whole thing aside and find a new plan, one that could not see them trapped leagues beneath the earth, that open doorway a decision that had to be made. Fritha closed her eyes, letting the Fates tug that first step from her.

'Come on, then.'

Another dark corridor led them onward, but they were only a few paces along when they halted again. Though the tunnel itself was clear, a smaller doorway was set into the curved wall, little taller than Fritha was, closed by an iron panel and etched with a rune that lit the surrounding stone in dusky blue.

'It's sealing it,' Imoen offered, in answer to the question no one wanted to ask. Fritha disregarded the whimper within that told her she was better off not knowing and placed her ear to the smooth, cool metal. The tinny gurgle of surging currents confirmed her fears.

'Water. These are likely more springs he could not be bothered to drain.'

Silence greeted her revelation, Brieanna's face unreadable in the soft glow.

'And when we take the mage's life, will they fail?'

'It may not even require that,' offered Solaufein practically. He seemed more comfortable down there, as though the union of dark tunnels and proximity of death were familiar enough to be negligible. 'It would be an excellent defensive measure, the ability to flood entire wings, channelling invaders to more advantageous areas of your stronghold, or merely drowning them.'

Fritha just resisted the urge to cuff his ear. Behind her, Imoen had edged closer to Valygar –perhaps she thought he looked buoyant.

'Have I mentioned I don't like this? Because I _really_ don't like this.'

They moved onward, past many more doorways all sealed with the same rune, the blue light flickering softly against the tunnel walls to give the disturbing impression they were already submerged, though the light itself was welcome. Fritha and Solaufein were leading once more, no halt to the man's pace as he cocked an ear to the shimmering air.

'Can you hear that?'

She could hear nothing over those behind her, a raised hand bringing the company to a halt.

'What is it?' snapped a voice behind. Solaufein cut them off with a gesture and Fritha closed her eyes to make out, at last, the sound that was trembling about them: the grind and rattle of industry.

'There is something up ahead, something… working.'

She could sense Jaheira's frown. 'What? I can hear nothing.'

'It is there. Come on, slowly now, we must be careful.'

The noise grew louder with every step, the group rounding a curve in the tunnel to see a halo of burnt red light opening the end and one by one with creeping caution they stepped out onto a sloped stone precipice.

'Helm's Beard…'

Fritha could not even manage a curse, the girl looking down from a dizzying height upon a scene from Avernus. What had once been a huge underground lake was now drained to all but a meagre puddle, the ochre walls ablaze in the infernal glow from countless kilns and forges. Salamanders, mere red-skinned maggots from that height, slithered in between, the air alive with a pounding tumult as they beat swords and spear tips for the army that was lined, row upon row behind them. All along the western wall, an exposed clay bed was being mined, salamanders shovelling the rich earth into barrows for the moulds that awaited them, the lines of constructs ever added to by the creatures as they brought more from the smoking kilns to set them steaming in the sodden lake bed, others fixing weapons into their frozen hands before they were wheeled through a huge set of doors in the wall opposite.

Imoen's face was a bronzed mask of furious despair.

'How did he _do_ all this? Was it just under his own power? Could Abazigal have allies? He _must_ have allies!'

'Perhaps,' Fritha shrugged, though in her heart she doubted it. 'I suppose for those aware, this war is one they have had a long time to prepare for.'

'What is that, just below us?'

Fritha took another step closer to the edge, peering down as Anomen was doing to see the huge iron panel that began a good thirty feet or so below them, the rim so thick she could have comfortably stood upon it. It must have been almost twenty yards across at its centre. A nest of metal pipes twisted from the lower portion to snake down and Fritha's eyes followed their tortuous course to bellows and wheels in the pit far below.

'A seal for the main inflow,' provided Jaheira, squinting in the forges' glare, 'It looks as though they are using the pressurised water to drive simple machinery. What are those creatures working on the seal? Dwarves?'

'Gnomes,' corrected Solaufein.

The martial clang of marching metal feet echoed from the tunnel behind to end the discussion there, the drow already diving for the deep crevices that edged the crumbling precipice.

'Quick, get down!'

A half dozen bodies scrambled after him. Fritha laid still, heart rattling to rival the clamour of the three iron constructs that marched stoically past her dipped head, the stone at her feet crumbling under her weight and they had barely past when she was up once more and gesturing for the others to follow her pursuit. On the other side of the precipice, the tunnel began again only to fork after a pace. The golems took the upper passage, the other snaking downwards into the darkness and leading, presumably, to the pit they had just seen. Up the slight slope, their own hurried footsteps covered by the golems' crashing passage, more sealed doors whipping by, and Fritha had forced herself to stop counting them by the time the tunnel had reached another fork, both ways were sealed by the same iron doors they had first encountered. The first golem barely halted before the leftmost one, the panel rolling away at his mere presence and his two brothers followed him through. Fritha paused for but an instant at the open doorway, aware every door was a barrier to their eventual escape, before taking that first step, the others urged after her.

The tunnel beyond was narrower than before, the ground beneath littered with stray rocks other detritus, a hand upon the wall next to her confirming Jaheira's hiss.

'This tunnel is not of the springs. It was carved by tools.'

The observation gave no pause to their pursuit though. The tunnel had taken a further turn upwards, the sudden incline sharp enough to leave Fritha breathless, rough pants echoing about them as they fought to match the tireless pace of the golems. Their path was straight, no sealed doorways to break the rough walls, and the floor was just levelling out when Fritha saw them: a pair of doors set in an alcove just to the left, the dark polished surface free of any rune or seal.

Fritha halted, drawn to the smooth, grained panels - not metal but wood. The grinding tramp of the golems was echoing away from them, the urgent desire to follow finally leaving her. Solaufein was glancing between her and the doors, clearly confused.

'Fritha?'

The creak of hinges answered him, light flooding from the gap between the doors she had just parted, and they bustled inside on instinct to plunge the tunnel into darkness once more. And there they halted, everyone blinking in the sudden glare, though in reality the light was soft, the large room lit by a half dozen tripods, the metal bowls they bore alive with clusters of dancing fire. They were too pale, though, to be true flames, the steady white light opening another carved chamber, though this one had been furnished. Stacked bookcases were set at right angles to the curved walls, broken only to make room for the coiled stair up, while a few desks and heavy armchairs had been placed with little care within. Calimshite rugs covered much of the rough stone floor, and the whole effect was as though someone had moved a room in the temple to Oghma underground. Imoen edged closer to the nearest lamp, fingers poised above the licking flames.

'Imoen,' Valygar warned gruffly, clearly wrestling against grabbing her wrist. The girl ignored him.

'Look, no heat – I bet they don't even burn. They're magic, to protect the books. We had the same in Candlekeep.'

'What is this place?' asked Anomen to the smooth stone ceiling.

'I would have thought _that_ obvious,' snorted Fritha. The knight threw her a scowl, Brieanna oblivious to their bickering, reaching down to take a mouldering tome from the nearest table, the red leather binding flaking as she turned it over. '_Nomitiv Oculanteris Glabrus._ The Words of Glabrus the Farsighted.'

'I wouldn't have thought the Tormites had much use for Netherese,' piped Imoen at her elbow.

'I, ah-'

'I would not touch anything,' cautioned Jaheira, leaned upon her staff just before the doors to make an assessment of the room. 'Evidently, the mage is an avid reader.'

'Be assured, he is _not_,' came that voice, proud as an any empress, and somehow too large for the small human woman who had stepped from behind the bookcase to their right, dressed simply in robes of ochre linen and barefoot, dull blond hair tied back from her tanned, homely face. She could have been adorned in silks and ermines, though, for her imperious frown, the bright golden eyes that swept across them devouring every detail. 'You are not of this place.' A delicate sniff towards Fritha confirmed it. 'Another Bhaalspawn; you seek Abazigal.'

'And who are you,' rejoined Imoen, 'his _librarian?_'

That broke the cool façade, blonde hair tossed back. '_I_ am purely in that status to which _he_ is only a mongrel pretender! I am Shivistra, Lady of the Golden Wastes, the Fire within Mount Tegrin, Great Wyrm of the Marching Mountains!'

'You are a dragon?' confirmed Valygar. Minsc looked heartily confused.

'I do not understand; how can this little woman be a dragon?'

'Mind yourself, addled-one!'

'He is _not_ addled!' chorus Jaheira and Imoen, Fritha turning to add gently, 'Think on Firkraag, Minsc, he first came to us as Lord Jierdan.'

A muttered conversation with Boo, the Rashemi nodding slowly as Valygar pressed his original point.

'If you are a dragon, then Abazigal…'

'Is a dragon_ as well?_' cried Imoen. 'Abazigal's a _dragon?_ Oh, this just gets better and better!'

'Not a full dragon, human,' Shivistra corrected, 'I do not know how your god came to the mongrel's mother, but that creature is a half-blood: half-dragon and half-bhaalspawn – just as you are.'

Fritha grinned. 'I'm not _half_ bhaalspawn.'

'So, you have come here to end him,' continued Shivistra dully, 'I suppose it is the way with you godkin.'

'Well, yes,' conceded Imoen, seemingly concerned the woman had them in a poor light, 'but we're not here for the prophesy or anything. We're trying to stop Abazigal from sending his armies to Tethyr and raising Bhaal.'

Shivistra snorted, smoothing her skirts to sink grandly into the armchair behind her. 'So, how very noble of you, though you'll find I do not care. The humans make war constantly. Every decade or so they engineer some new conflict to occupy them. I doubt this human god will do little more than the last tyrant king – though I can appreciate your efforts,' she condescended kindly.

Fritha sighed inwardly; good or evil, it seemed all dragons were arrogant bastards.

'So, how did Abazigal manage to enslave you?' she asked cheerfully, relishing the trouble of it. Golden eyes narrowed at her.

'He _imprisoned_ me via a trick unworthy of our kind. I do not know where he discovered my love of the ancient origins of our kin, the way I hoarded such knowledge as other of my race do gold. But sure enough, he came to my cave with tithes and requests for knowledge of his blood, weaving me some story about trying to find out more of his draconic parentage. I indulged him as I would any of the lesser races who came with a genuine desire to learn, and he worked his charm upon me over many months, until he asked me to join him on an expedition to some caves he had found in the eastern desert. He told me he had stumbled upon a seat of ancient draconic power. Ha! Fool that I was, I believed him and by spell and geas I was trapped. Now I must wear my human form and tend his library, researching the tomes he has accumulated for tales of prophesy and heritage, though he has no interest in the knowledge itself, only in how to harness the power of his blood, anything to give him and edge over his tainted brothers – it is _that_ which is the final insult!'

'So, were you one of the three dragons who attacked the camp in Tethyr?' asked Anomen.

'Camp? No, I have never been allowed to leave this place. My age and strength far outstrips Abazigal's own – were he to let me loose he may find he no longer has a slave to command. There were other captives as I once, but Fyanrg was killed testing Sendai's defences and Karrowiir more recently in an attack in Tethyr… the one _you_ spoke of, perhaps. Fear not,' she added when they failed to answer her, 'I have no care if you killed him. They were younger wyrms both and evil creatures with it; their deaths are no loss to my kind. But if we surmise one creature was the dead Karrowiir and the other was Abazigal himself, the third dragon you saw was likely his son.'

'His _son?'_ exclaimed Jaheira.

'Yes,' Shivistra chuckled, seemingly taking amusement in the relation, 'who, by virtue of his mother, is more dragon than his father will ever be, though the boy is woefully foolish for it. His father has never trusted me, and wisely so, but the boy actually comes to me for advice on his plans and future! He believes that, as dragons, we will always unite against the lesser races -as though I would even deign to consider _him_ a member of my kin! He runs this stronghold and the operations here in lieu of his father's guiding hand.'

'I don't care about his son,' pressed Fritha, 'it's Abazigal we're after.'

Shivistra sighed, sending them a deeply pitying look. 'Ah, well that is the problem, isn't it? I will help you as I can; enough disruption here will mean my freedom and I have suffered the indignity of this imprisonment too long, but I fear your true goal is an impossible one. Abazigal has been expecting you.'

'Expecting us?' cried Imoen, 'How? He doesn't even know us!'

'Oh, not you personally, but a Bhaalspawn powerful enough to challenge him. This place is the base of the army he is raising, but he himself does not reside here.'

The explosion around Fritha matched the one within; how They _mocked_ her!

'_What?'_

'You're joking!'

'By the stones –all this for _nothing?_'

'He's not _here?_' Fritha demanded, the anger building, '_What_ do you mean, he's not _here?_'

'I mean,' the woman repeated simply, 'he is not here. He visits on occasion, to check on progress, but that is all.'

'Then _where_ in Hells is he?'

'I do not know. I doubt any does, for he tells no one of his travels and keeps constantly on the move to avoid such confrontations.'

'_Bastard__!_' Books were suddenly airborne, Minsc and Jaheira dancing back as the table she had overturned smashed into the chairs behind, Fritha lost in that instant of all-consuming, unquenchable fury. 'Right,' she breathed, the animal rage abated, but not quite gone, 'Abazigal is not here. Then we must destroy this place in his stead.'

'What?'

'Fritha, you can't be serious!'

'_Think_ about it: we leave here and we may never find him before it's too late. He can come back whenever he chooses and march this army out across Tethyr, Calimshan -wherever. If we can't kill him, we at least have to remove the threat of his army.'

'She is right,' concluded Jaheira at length; muttered groans about them, people turning away as though the druid had just announced their death sentence.

'So, Abazigal keeps you in his thrall,' continued Brieanna, squaring up to this challenge and Shivistra's sudden scowl, 'Are there any other creatures held here, others who would know more of this place?'

'I assume you have seen the salamanders and constructs, though one has no will and the other follows his plans gladly. They believe they will be raised up and made masters of the human slaves after Abazigal's conquest. In truth, he despises them more than the humans to whom he is related.'

'Do you know anything about a band of gnomes here?' asked Imoen. For the first time, Shivistra looked surprised.

'Gnomes? Truly? I would not know. I am not allowed to leave the library and all my knowledge comes with talks from his fool son, but if they were here, it is likely they have residence in the upper levels further along this tunnel; many of the lower tunnels are still flooded and the air down there is poisonous if breathed too long – though neither are an issue for the salamanders. Yes,' she pondered, 'gnomes would make sense. When the boy first told me of the great seal and the other equipment in the main chamber, I could not imagine how Abazigal had managed it –the salamanders have no skill for such engineering. But gnomes, yes, I can see how they would be of use. And if they made it…'

Shivistra trailed off, letting Fritha give voice to her intimation.

'Then _they_ will know how to destroy it.'

**…**

Anomen marched on, weary from the effort of trying to keep his movements slight and silent in that rattling armour as he brought up the rear with Brieanna. The woman fared better than he, creeping along just before him with a feline's grace, long lines brought out in the faint glimmer of his werelight – he was tired of stumbling along in the darkness. Back in the tunnel, their previously haphazard wanderings held a focus now, albeit a dim one. Shivistra's sketchy description of what lay beyond her library had given them at least a vague idea of where to go and the means, too. Imoen was just itching to try out the spell the dragon had shown her, though Jaheira had other concerns.

'Fritha, are you sure about this?'

'I'm not _sure_ about anything other than this place must burn. Or drown, as seems to be the likeliest way to destroy it – and that is why we're going to speak to the gnomes.'

'But breaking that seal,' added Valygar grimly, 'these tunnels could flood in moments.'

'You heard Shivistra: the library is above the water line, the rooms above leading to an exit hidden within some temple ruins in the desert above.'

'And what of the other creatures here?' pressed the druid, the pair coming to a halt at a crossways, three other tunnels leading off into the dark. There could be more than even we know of, kept here against their will, enslave-'

'Put out that light!' snapped Solaufein. Anomen quenched his magics and the tunnel was plunged into blackness once more. Every breath was held as he listened to the tramp of a golem cross the tunnel mouth. A sigh; the trouble had passed, Fritha's hiss carrying back to him.

'Nothing's been decided yet. We'll speak to these gnomes and go from there.'

The party pressed onwards once more. Fritha led them ever westward, the tunnel straight for the most part though uneven, rocks littering the way and all the more dangerous for the fact he could not see them.

'I believe there is a door up ahead. Imoen-'

The deep rumble of stone upon stone cut the druid off, and Anomen braced to dart back from the door when, instead, the tunnel began to quake. He took a step, the rock his foot found shifting under his weight and he was sprawled back against the tunnel wall by the time the shaking had stopped.

'What- What was that?' came Imoen's cry.

'An earth tremor,' provided Jaheira, 'there will be a lot of pressure backed up in these tunnels.'

A hand found his in the darkness, smaller than Brieanna's, his face growing hot as he realised to just whom it belonged.

'Tired there, Anomen? Perhaps you should have got a little more sleep last night.'

Anomen just checked the wince. Fritha's tone was decidedly neutral and he hated how she could see what was denied to him, the man dusting himself off with a gruff mutter of thanks.

'Not a problem,' she trilled, already turned and heading for her friend, 'Can you open that door, Imoen?'

'Yep, just a moment.'

Behind him, that familiar presence. 'Are you all right, Anomen?'

'Sorry? Ah, yes, my lady, nothing hurt but my pride.'

Light from Imoen's spell flared to let them enjoy a smile together, the girl busy drawing a rune before the circular door, her finger tracing a delicate pattern of blue light in the air. Brieanna watched her work, its glow reflected in her eyes.

'Beautiful, isn't it? According to Shivistra the runes on the doors here are incomplete, the other half of each etched within the golems, so the doors open only to them. What is it?'

'Nothing, my lady, I merely-' That surge of affection was beyond words, the woman looking unsure even as his mouth caught hers, though any doubts left her then, lips softening against his own.

'Honestly,' hissed Jaheira, 'Can that not wait until later?'

Brieanna pulled back with a sheepish smile.

'Jaheira is right.'

'Jaheira is a-'

'Anomen,' she scolded, the pair sharing a quiet laugh as the door ground sideways, and they were on the move again, following the others into the room beyond.

'What is that above us?'

Jaheira's werelight flared for the benefit of the rest of them and Anomen found himself suddenly blinking in a small room. Two more tunnels led from it, a thick iron pipe running from one to disappear down the other.

Imoen was frowning. 'More water?'

Valygar reached up to tap the metal, a deep clang resonating about the chamber. 'No, it is empty.'

'Not empty,' corrected Fritha with a sudden urgency, 'it's carrying _air_.'

'Ventilation,' considered Jaheira, 'Shivistra mentioned the lower levels were poisonous.'

'Should we follow them?' asked Solaufein. Fritha had his answer.

'Yes, we'll split up. I'll go,' a glance to her compass, 'east with Imoen, Jaheira and Minsc. Solaufein, you can go south with Valygar, and the rest of us.'

Anomen noted his name was not one to be vocalised, as Fritha continued sternly, 'Try not to be seen and report back to the library once you have found the source, or a half hour as elapsed. Do not delay, any longer and it will be assumed either group as come to trouble and a rescue will be mounted.'

'And what if we meet another _door?_' asked Anomen tersely. At his side, the drow snorted.

'Then we will return much sooner. Come,' continued Solaufein, taking the lead before Anomen had even the chance to step up, 'time is our greatest enemy.'

**…**

Solaufein kept his passage quick and low, the others left at the last crossways, those tunnels a labyrinth of looping, branching passages that even _he_ would have feared finding his way back out from, had not been for the pipes they followed. It felt strange down there, deep within the stone once more. He was undoubtedly facing death, as were the others, but in surroundings so familiar, the exhilaration was hard to quell. He had not realised it before, but the Underdark had been his home for centuries and, despite the life he had been forced to there, the place itself had been more of a loss than he was willing to admit.

This section of passages seemed clear enough though, the drow racing back to gather the others for the next leg of their exploration.

'Did you find anything?' hissed Brieanna at his approach. He shook his head, absently wishing the surfacers knew enough to keep silent when they could, a mere gesture beckoning them after him.

They followed him onward, some more willingly that others, though all so noisily as to put his teeth on edge, clattering after him with the rough pant of rothé beasts, and he had to remind himself that they were not in the Underdark and every denizen of that place likely had the same deficient hearing as those he was with. Solaufein frowned, knowing this arrogance should be turned from, though it was difficult and made all the more so by their situation. A soft scuffing on the edge of his hearing; he raised a hand to halt them, glare thrown back at the confusion of colliding bodies.

'What is it?' hissed Anomen.

Solaufein did not dignify such with an answer, waiting for the sound to grow loud enough to place. There was a rhythm to it, though it was not the rasp of footsteps, no underlying thud to the noise that could indicate someone dragging something…

Solaufein swept a hand down urgently, turning to hiss '_Get back!_' when this signal failed to take.

They understood him then, the four shrinking back into the shadows as two salamanders slithered past, long serpentine bodies undulating as they disappeared into the passage south. Solaufein waited until sound faded before he straightened.

'Come, we go.'

Along the tunnel and time pressed them on past the area he had scouted to and beyond, the pipes above keeping them ever true to their course. Solaufein was so intent upon them he almost missed it, the man coming to an abrupt halt as the ground before him fell steeply away.

'What's wrong?' whispered Valygar.

'There are steps here, roughly hewn. I should go on alone.'

'Solaufein!'

'No,' snapped Anomen, pushing forward to bar his path with an arm, 'I will not be left here!'

Brieanna wisely stepped in.

'Come, Solaufein, Fritha did not send us with you so you could go into danger unaccompanied.'

The drow snorted, any mention of the girl enough to bow him; and he thought he had left all his mistresses in Ust Natha.

'Fine then. Summon your lights, but keep them _low_.'

Down the steps they walked, the foot, when they finally reached it, flat for but a few paces when the stairs began again, ascending at the same gradient. They were only halfway up when they could extinguish their own lights, the tunnel mouth far above them lit by a faint yellow glow, the air resonating with the distant grumble of labour. The pipes were still running overhead and they followed them right into a small cavern where the metal, at last, disappeared into the wall above, though Solaufein's attention was no longer upon them, fixed instead on the large doorway below. Light streamed from the opening, the drow taking cover with the others in the shadow of the jam to observe at last in the large chamber beyond. It was so high that wooden floors had been built over a half, right up to that lofty ceiling, to make best use of the space, many tunnels leading from the chamber at all levels.

'It's a magma sink,' he heard Valygar explain behind him. Whatever it had been it was certainly being put to a different use now.

Long rows of benches lined the levels, gnomes sat at them or bustling about beneath carrying parts to and from simple wooden elevators. Others were taking the finished pieces off via the many adjoining tunnels, parts for dismantled ballista and trebuchets and other machinery he could not place. Along the walls, shelves were stacked with bottles and vases, his eye catching on a whole rack filled by the bright glass globes of an oily concoction he recognised as alchemist's fire. On the upper tier, three gnomes were working on the head of what looked to be a huge golem bull, the cruel metal horns glinting in the lamplight.

'No wonder it is so far from the upper chambers,' breathed Anomen, 'if there were an explosion here…'

'What is that, up there?' asked Brieanna. Solaufein followed the hand to a long crack that ran halfway across the cavern roof, the crevice grey against the tawny rock where it had been hastily filled with cement.

'Some sort of fissure,' considered Valygar, 'it looks to have been sealed, though-'

The roar hit them like a storm, a rumble of noise that seemed to explode from all directions and Solaufein braced himself for another earth tremor, only it did not come. In the chamber, the gnomes started, eyes thrown warily to the cavern roof.

'Don't worry, there,' laughed one of the foremen, 'Draconis'll just be venting his temper – back to work now.'

Back at the doors, drow stared at human in shared horror.

'The others…'

Brieanna was the first to move, clattering back down the steps and, for once, Solaufein couldn't have cared less about the noise, quickly gaining as he tore after her.

**…**

Fritha had the lead, Jaheira behind her while Minsc brought up the rear after Imoen. It was like old times, Khalid and Dynaheir always just around the next bend, scouting ahead. Everything had been so much simpler back then and now… And now everything was wrong and broken and usually her fault. Another twitch of that feral anger and she forced an ease to her suddenly gritted teeth. All that way across the desert, and Abazigal wasn't even _there! _Chosen, was she? If the Fates wanted her to slog her way through this prophesy, they could at least make things a bit easier for her. She could just hear Anomen later, when they were no longer facing their deaths.

'_Did it all go as you'd planned, my lady?_'

Smug bastard.

He was right though. She had been overly reliant on her place in things _-again! _her mind added snidely. But had just felt so right, that even now the doubts could not rob her of the feeling.

The pipes above were snaking off to disappear into the wall up ahead, another door, wooden as the one to the library had been, below. The iron handle turned noiselessly under her hand and she opened it upon a long room, a dormitory of sorts, two rows of small bunk beds leaving an aisle down the middle to another set of doors that were standing ajar at the opposing end. It was clean and serviceable, small tables between the beds holding lamps, books and other more personal effects – more freedoms than the usual slave was allowed. Someone was muttering in the room beyond, the gruff, nasal voice growing as they crept closer, until it was clear over the rattle of parchment.

'Increase output, he says, as though we are not working to capacity as it is! The pressure is already outside what is safe, but- Oh, who is there?' the voice snapped suddenly, Fritha paused just before the door, a foot raised and ready. The shrill scrape of a chair. 'I swear, if it is one of those crude golems- Ah, er, _thekaris! Opath pe- perith mo- _oh!'

The doors just missed him, the gnome teetering back as Fritha kicked them wide.

'_Assis, Nomenis_.'

'You- you are not a golem!'

The others were fanning out behind her, Fritha finding herself in a large circular chamber of the same carved stone. Another set of doors were before them, while benches lined the curving walls, stacked with books and shimmering arrangements of glass flasks and tubes, a rainbow of liquids distilling within. In the centre, a large desk dominated, the surface covered in plans and scraps of paper scrawled with equations and measurements, the gnome still standing speechless before it. She closed to him in two easy strides.

'And _you _are not a salamander.'

'Wh-Who are you? I demand-!'

Her hand grabbed his collar before he could finish. '_Bad_ idea.'

Short arms flapped ineffectually, Fritha heaving him onto the desk with a grunt, Jaheira and Imoen already pouring over the plans behind, Minsc at her side and glowering down at their prisoner. The gnome's thick black moustache seemed to bristle anxiously.

'Your name?'

'Er, Bodulum, Bodulum Codangear –a-at your service, madam.'

He affected what bow he could with sat there upon his desk, the man taking a moment to straighten the crumpled shirt and smooth the short dark hair about his balding crown.

'You are the overseer here?' demanded Jaheira. Bodulum nodded quickly.

'Yes, and head engineer – I designed the great seal and much of the machinery it drives. A-And you are?'

'So Abazigal has _enslaved_ you, has he?' Imoen cut it.

He gave the only answer that was sensible. 'Why, yes, yes he has! Not all prisons have bars, and his magics hold me here with my crew, just as they hold that dragon.'

Fritha smiled. 'Well, now, if you are a slave, you will be more than happy to help us destroy Abazigal and free you.'

Bodulum seemed less sure now, eyes flicking nervously to the doors behind. 'Of- of course, madam, though I do not see how-'

'The great seal –how do we break it?'

'Break it?' he gasped, taking a moment to cast all four of them with a wide-eyed stare, 'You- you cannot _break_ it. It is iron, two feet thick, the rim that holds it twice that width and held into the rock with screws longer than I! No spell, no explosion you could fashion would penetrate it!'

'This here,' asked Imoen, rattling a large drawing of the main chamber at the gnome, 'this box just at the bottom of the seal, where all the pipes go in and out – what's it for?'

'That is the pressure nexus. All pipes from the seal pass through it, taking the boiling water from behind the seal and lowering the pressure to allow it to become steam. Then the pistons, here, push it into the pipes below, where it drives the salamander's engines in the main chamber.'

Fritha was astounded. 'You are using _steam_ to drive the machines?'

'Yes, yes!' cried Bodulm, suddenly animated and snatching up another diagram to better show them, 'See here how the nexus is manned. My crew controls the values to trap and release the vapour as needed, keeping the pressure constant for when it is piped away. I knew all along my theories would be proved correct! I could never get the funding in Lantan, too many naysayers complaining I would never be able to keep that quantity of water to temperature and maintain the pressure, but I showed them!'

'You are quite impassioned for a slave,' commented Jaheira dryly, 'it is good to see Abazigal has yet to _break_ you.'

'Well, yes, but one must keep one's spirits up,' he muttered, clearing his throat to venture, 'So, as you can see, there is no way…' he trailed off, the parchment seeming to wilt in his hand as it dawned on him. A sudden burst of life took him from the desk, Bodulum tearing from them, whirling as he found himself cornered against the leftmost benches. 'You- You cannot destroy it! I won't let you! My whole life I've dreamt of this!'

'You dreamt of helping a Bhaalspawn to bring _war_ to the Sword Coast?' snapped Imoen.

'War?' he tremored, edging along the bench, 'No, no, he said – I mean, I just- ha!'

The flask just missed her, Fritha ducking its path for Jaheira to take it out of the air with a well-placed stave sweep, shards and bright green liquid showering harmlessly over her in a glittering rain.

'You little-!'

But Bodulum was off, darting past to throw the doors behind her wide.

'Alarm! Alarm! We are –oh!'

Every face in that circular chamber turned to them, the half dozen gnomes glancing up from where they were perched on high chairs at even higher benches, tinkering over valves or mixing chemicals. The large pipes they had followed there snaked up to disappear into the large tunnel that burrowed from the cavern roof, a youth stood directly beneath it. He was as tall as Minsc but narrower with it, something about his proportions slightly off, the limbs that were swathed in midnight robes seeming too long for his body, a swathe of azure hair tied back from that pale equine face. Bodulum skidded to a halt before him.

'You- you are here, my Lord!'

'Indeed, I am, gnome. I came to check on your progress -and most fortunately, it seems.' Cold yellow eyes swivelled slowly to them. 'So, we are invaded, and not by the usual ilk.' He drew a deep sniff, gazing coming to rest upon Fritha. 'You have a Bhaalspawn among you.'

'_Two_ actually,' corrected Imoen, clearly tired of being overlooked, 'and _you_ are?'

'_I_, wretched one, am Abazigal's son, Draconis! And I-'

'Wait, wait, wait,' interrupted Imoen, 'you're a dragon called the Netherese for _dragon?_'

A glance between the two girls; Fritha snorted. 'Very imaginative.'

The youth seemed to grow taller, a long arm whipped out to snatch up his staff from the nearest bench.

'Silence! You are unworthy of the blood you hold and I will drain you of it!'

Fritha was not quite sure what he had been expecting to happen with a disadvantage of four to one. His first spell was certainly a strong one, a hail of icy shards summoned from the mere air and hurled towards them, Imoen's glowing barrier thrown up just in time. The two spells met in an explosion of energies to see the surrounding gnomes cowering from the raining shrapnel, and Fritha did not wait to see his second.

She dived left, attacking low though more for a distraction that to land any clear hit and his staff whipped up to block the thrust, then swung about with a blinding speed to catch Jaheira's swipe. Stave hit stave with a crack, the youth throwing more weight into the blow than he looked to possess to send her toppling backwards, and Minsc saw his chance. A short thrust forward with that greatsword and Draconis was staggering back, bent double over a glistening stomach.

'You…' he panted, eyes fixed upon his crimson palm, 'Y_ou! Aaarrrghhh!_'

The flash left a milky afterglow in her vision, Fritha desperately blinking past it to focus upon the source of that ear-splitting roar. Draconis was before them in his serpent's form, scales as blue as his hair had been gleaming on that long, lithe body and he brought to mind the younger guards in Candlekeep who had not yet filled out their gangly frames, as though all his growing so far had been 'up' not 'out'.

He was not so large either and the chamber could have easily housed him, even with the benches it held, had he not been thrashing so. His wounded belly kept low to the floor as tail and wings beat in furious tempest, overturning desks and chairs to throw a jewel-like spray of liquids into the air. The gnomes cowering underneath scattered, those few who had faltered lnow laid, crushed and immobile, beneath the heavy upturned desks, others screaming, badly burned by whatever noxious mixture had showered them. Draconis ignored their plight.

'Fools!' he growled, poisonous glare fixed to them once more, 'did you think me mortal?'

Fritha snorted, falling back to the doors with the others; he'd soon find out he was not the first dragon they'd fought. 'Imoen, take shelter in the doorway. Jaheira, cover her. Minsc, you're with-'

The roar cut off her order, but the Rashemi had understood. The pair parted, doubling their chances to get close as they ducked behind desks, dodging claws and tail. Minsc reached him first, leaping across an overturned desk and slamming his sword pommel into the beast's jaw. The distraction was enough to allow Fritha inside his defences, narrowly rolling past a clawed swipe to stab up through his unguarded armpit.

A howl that ended in an explosion of fierce yellow flames shook the room. Fritha scrambled back, diving for the cover of a desk, while Minsc merely threw himself to the ground to avoid the flames, a quick roll along his back putting out his cloak hem. Draconis had scuttled up the curving wall, long claws digging deep into the stone, clinging to his advantage. His tail was his only weapon there, nostrils smoking as the fires within recovered and desks were tossed, airborne once more, as he thrashed the room for them, seeking to drive the rats from his field.

Fritha ducked the bench that would have seen her unconscious, wood splinters hailing down as it exploded against the wall behind.

'Imoen!'

The spell left her friend with the cry, a bright arc of energy lancing from the girl's hands to dance across his twisting form. Draconis snapped back that long neck with a drawn, tortured shriek, fires blasting forth, though more with anger than aim, to consume the room. The last few gnomes were screaming as fire engulfed them. Fritha looked up to see the dragon's next move, her anticipation turned to horror as he scuttled further up the wall and disappeared into the ventilation tunnel, that long, sinuous tail whipping up after him.

Some of the things the gnomes had been mixing were clearly flammable, flasks bursting in glittering rainbows as the fires consumed them, flames sweeping across the desks, and as one they made for the doors. Minsc and Jaheira instantly threw their weight against them, attempting to contain the fire, Imoen at the desk and scrabbling through the chaos of parchment.

'Got the plans?'

A nod from her and Fritha did not look back, the heavy panting of the other confirming they were right behind as they charged from there, following the pipes above back to the room where their group had first parted. Solaufein appeared from darkness next to her.

'Fritha, what happened? That roar-'

'There's no time now; we'll explain on the way.'

**...**

Shivistra was on her feet the moment they burst through the doors.

'What- what has happened? You met with the gnomes?'

'Yes,' snapped Imoen, barely a step from the entrance they had just piled through and tugging urgently at Fritha's arm, '_and_ Draconis, and we need to get out of here before he brings this whole place down on us!'

'What? What happened?'

'We spoke to the gnomes,' explained Fritha, 'they're not slaves, by the way. Then Draconis was there, we fought him and he escaped into the tunnels.'

'And now he's going to be getting every salamander and golem in here on our trail – we have to go!'

'Not so hasty,' the dragon soothed, 'the boy has many faults, the main one being hubris and an overwhelming pride in the responsibilities his father has bestowed upon him, and he cannot move too openly if the mongrel is to remain unaware of his failure. Abazigal has a tie to this place, it was created and maintained by his magics, after all. The boy knows this and will act accordingly. He will need to kill you himself – He has no power over the golems, and the constructs cannot be activated without Abazigal sensing it.'

'Oh yeah?' sneered Imoen, 'And what about the _salamanders?_'

'He will not tell them for fear they will report it to his father at a later date. You will have some time yet.'

'Not to mention _you'll_ be trapped here if we leave,' added Brieanna, Imoen back at Fritha and pressing her case.

'This is suicide, Fritha! We have to get out of here!'

Anomen did not agree. 'If we leave now, the next time we face these constructs they will be marching on Tethyr. You did not see the workshop we found; if this army marches, it will be slaughter.'

'Boo says we cannot let such happen!'

'Does Boo want to die trying to stop it?'

'_Imoen!_' snapped more voices than Jaheira's, though only the druid continued, the tense frown shifted to Anomen, 'What did you find?'

'A workshop over many levels where gnomes engineer golems, ballista, explosives and other ordinance of war -you mentioned you had plans?'

A firm nod, books before Jaheira pushed aside as the papers they'd stolen were unfurled upon the desk.

'Here,' offered Solaufein, 'I think this is the cave we saw.'

Jaheira's frown deepened.

'What is wrong?'

'This chamber,' explained the druid, 'in fact, half the lower level – do you see the tunnel here, the way it dips? It forms an airlock over the entrance to the lower chambers. As the water rises, the air pressure will keep those lower levels from flooding. That was but one workshop you found; the plans show dozens of rooms linked to it down there, used for Silvanus knows what.'

'So it's impossible then,' ventured Imoen hopefully. Solaufein's gaze was fixed upon the plans before them, eyes narrowed at the cavern they had visited and the faded ink outline of a huge chamber drawn just above.

'There may be another way. The cavern where the workshop was housed had some sort of fissure in the roof, sealed by the gnomes. Here, you can see it on the plans and above it another cavern, separate from the rest of the tunnels. This workshop is the highest point in the lower caverns, if we somehow break the fissure and open it to the cavern above, then the air will be vented.'

Fritha nodded once. 'If we are going to do this, we must do it properly. We will divide into two groups. One will sneak into the main chamber and break the great seal. The other group will go to the workshop here and blow the fissure. The plans show that the cavern above it is huge, more than enough to break the airlock and allow the chambers to flood.'

Imoen was astounded. '_That's_ your plan?'

'You don't think it will work?'

'Oh no, it'll work – I just think we'll get killed before we confirm as much! You've seen the power here. Draconis won't risk loosing everything just so his _dad_ won't find out! He'll activate the constructs and trap us down here! We'll die for nothing!'

'And what is our other option? We cannot leave here with out destroying this place. And yes, it's suicidal and yes, it's not fair! It's not fair Gorion didn't tell us! It's not fair that some have had decades to plan and prepare, whereas I have to pull something out of my arse in the last few months, but this is how it is!' Fritha paused, letting herself calm as the weight of her words sank in. 'You must trust me, Imoen, we can do this, I just- I just know it.'

Imoen was shaking her head, stepping back to lean against the silent Valygar.

'I must be mad.'

Fritha's attention was already returned to Shivistra. 'Where will Draconis have gone?'

'The lower levels. He holds quarters there. He will try to face you himself, but be warned: if pushed he will open the seals to the upper springs cutting off escape to the gorge. If that happens, the doors to these upper chambers will seal and there will be no other way out. You will all drown with the salamanders in the main chamber.'

'Well, then we will have to time this right. Jaheira, Solaufein, myself and' Fritha paused, raking a critical eye over the available _muscle_, 'Minsc will go through lower tunnels and break the fissure in the gnome workshop. The rest of you will head to the main chamber. There will be too much traffic along the main tunnels, so take the passage here,' She tapped one of the many branching tunnels, 'it will bring you out just above the main pipe cluster, and you will have to move along the pipes to the nexus Bodulum spoke of. Release all the valves and the ensuing explosion will fracture the pipes below it. The pressure of the water behind the seal will do the rest.'

'And if Draconis realises our plan and releases the seals?' demanded Jaheira. Fritha snorted. 'All the better. This library above the water line. We can get back here before the doors to the upper chambers lock and escape out to the ruins above.'

'It will be tight,' said Valygar.

'But possible,' finished Brieanna. A moment of silence; Imoen sighed deeply.

'Oh, all right, let's do it.'

In the tunnels once more, the two groups parted with a farewell of hissed last instructions and fervent embraces, their knot taking the sloping passage back west to the precipice. Below, the salamanders continued their work, oblivious as the ants they resembled from that height, the light of the forges casting their armour in gold and bronze, protectors to some ancient prince. And there the three waited, while Valygar scouted the tunnel ahead, the man at length returning to say he'd found another door and together they set off once more. The tunnel sloped downwards, but more steeply than the last, a passage made by something which had no concerns of feet or balance. Here and there against the walls pools of water shimmered, sometimes next to sealed passages sometimes alone.

The door was at the end of the tunnel, the same flawless iron plate the others had been. They were deep within the caverns now, the thunderous roar of industry muted, but somehow louder, the din reverberating from the stones about. At the door, Imoen was ready with her spell, the symbol she scrawled hanging blue in the air before fading away. Nothing happened.

'What is wrong?' hissed Valygar. Imoen remained unfazed.

'It's not the same rune as before. Don't worry, Shivistra gave me a few to try.'

Anomen left them to her casting, his attention drawn back to Brieanna. She was a few paces up the tunnel lingering at an open doorway, her gaze lost in the shimmering waters of the pool next to it, liquid gold under her lantern. The light opened out the depths within, the pool falling away deep into the stone, the winding pathway to the grotto of some faerie-kin. He watched Brieanna gaze into it a moment longer, before she straightened, an absent hand sweeping down the open door frame that was carved a foot deep into the living rock.

'What power would it have taken to create this place?'

'My lady?'

She did not seem to hear him.

'Why did I let us come here? How can she even hope to-' Words failed her, lost as Brieanna threw herself through the doorway to collapse frustrated in the shadow of the heavy jam. 'Ah, doubts, always doubts! What's _wrong_ with me?'

'Brieanna,' he sighed, stepping through to join her, 'dearest, I understand your fears. The odds we face seem insurmountable, but we will prevail. We have to. Here,' he pressed, hand fumbling at the pouch at his belt, 'I wish for you to keep something for me.'

He held the small token up to the light, a crossed sword and arrow cast in pewter, tarnished over the years to dull shimmer.

'You recognise the icon? My mother bought it for me. We visited the shrine to St Sebastine the Tireless in Keczulla when I was a boy, and it was there I first saw the paladins of the Order march out. I've always considered it to be something of a good luck charm. Here, take it.'

Brieanna just stared at it, the pewter gleaming softly in the flickering light and, in the end, he had to take her hand and place it in her palm, leaving the woman to her silent reverie as he turned to take in the passage about them.

'Well, at least with all these tunnels, we will have a chance of reaching the library before the chamber floods. Listen to me,' he chuckled tiredly, 'I should have more faith. For all Fritha's faults, she really does have a knack for making things happen.'

Behind him, the grinding groan of a millstone at work.

'Brie-?'

The pain cracked dull behind his eyes, and the world went black.

**…**

Solaufein had the lead, a lissom, grey outline marked by that shock of white hair further down the tunnel as he scouted the next passage, while the rest of them waited there, all wary of what Draconis could be planning in the meantime. Fritha leant back against the cool tunnel wall and tried not to fidget, Jaheira's glower hot on her now unprotected back. Well, what did the woman expect? Speed was of the essence and she could hardly run as well in her chainmail. Those plans had better be accurate, too, both in their depiction of that upper cavern and the lack of doors along their route. She had had Shivistra and Imoen show her the spell to open them, though she would rather not rely on her own fickle-

'Fritha?'

Fritha whipped back to see Imoen racing down the tunnel behind them, Valygar striding after her.

'Imoen? You do know the point of splitting up is that we go _different_ ways?'

'Not funny. We've run into a slight hiccup.'

Fritha's face likely said it all. 'Which _is?_'

'I was opening a door with Vals, Anomen and Brieanna having some,' she slathered an insulting scorn upon the phrase, '_heart to heart_ in an adjoining tunnel and when I looked back the door was closed.'

'It just closed on its own?'

'Well, there's the thing. Vals thinks he saw Brieanna shut it –don't ask me how. Now it's sealed and none of the runes Shivistra showed me will open it.'

Jaheira breathed a terse sigh. 'After all this, I am surprised Draconis has not yet arrived to greet us personally!'

'Those two have probably snuck off for a quick fumble,' ventured Imoen, their groaned laughter letting the tension ebb slightly. Fritha forced a smile for those who could see it, the heat in her stomach pushing up to her face, building as the tunnel swam about her.

The airy stone room echoed with the applause.

'Good, Fritha-_daaj,_ very good.'

Fritha ran into the open arms, nestling into the scent incense and home as she was pulled onto her lap, her arms about the woman's neck. Small fingers reached up to that soft face, the skin smooth and downy, once-taut cheeks now succumbed to age and yielding to her touch like a late autumn peach. Bright blue eyes smiled at her.

'You will be ready to dance it before the altar soon, my _malal._ And we should not forget your teacher.'

She felt the silken sweep of her rings, the woman brushing the stray curls neatly behind her ears as they turned as one to the small figure behind them, a young girl stepping from the shadows. 'Acolyte Elund has taught you well.'

Fritha watched the broad face open with a smile, dark eyes shining above the thin, determined mouth, her features yet unmarred by the many years and battles that she knew were to come. The girl bowed deeply, her braid falling forward to swing across her shoulder in a long, dark rope.

'You honour me, High Mother.'

Fritha started, back in that tunnel and peering into two wide glowing eyes.

'Fritha? What's wrong?'

'Oh_, no!_'

**…**

Anomen blinked furiously, fighting against closing his eyes again as he focused upon the murky roof and pain flared through his skull, cold creeping through the shell of his armour from the ground beneath. He was in the tunnel still, the lantern at his side revealing him to be a few yards from the now closed door, a hastily scrawled rune glowing yellow against the iron. The darkness of an adjoining tunnel was an open maw to his left, black and ominous, the air chiming with the distant drip of water, and on the edge of the darkness he could see the rippling reflection of another pool play upon the walls. He tried to move, the panic instant as he found his arms would not respond, his wrists bound tight together and his struggles revealed his feet were similarly tied. There was no sign of Brieanna, though his field of vision was limited –perhaps she had been taken; perhaps she was in danger! The panic was rising, and with it a nausea that swelled with every throb of his skull.

'Brieanna?' His voice echoed mockingly about him, Anomen instantly berating himself. Any enemies would surely know he was awake now, and he put his growing fears into silent struggle against his bonds. He had to get free, find her - and then that voice.

'Do not bother, the ropes are quite secure.'

'Brie- _Brieanna?'_

He sensed movement above him, Anomen straining to catch a glimpse of her, his head following the voice as she moved.

'I fear a trick has been played upon us both, Anomen.'

'What? Brieanna, what are you doing?'

The woman sighed, dropping to a crouch a few paces to his side, the lantern flickering at her feet.

'My name is not Brieanna.'

'But, Brie-,' he faltered, twisting in vain to get a better view of her, 'I do not understand.'

Dark eyes stared straight through him.

'I met Brieanna on the road a few leagues from Vallumscourt. A Tormite to her core: all devotion, no grace. I travelled with her for a tenday. She was so eager to lecture, to brag about her life in the temple to St Rielle and the invitation from the Order; it was a relief when I killed her. I had meant to reach Athkatla under my own name, but this way was so much better. I took her papers and armour – the blacksmith in Eshpurta asked no questions when I came to him to adjust the fit. It was only by chance that I met up with the party of missionaries in Keczulla, but they certainly added another layer to my story.' Her gaze, at last, met his, face suddenly aglow, 'And I knew my Lord was with me, when I came upon _you_.'

'Me?' he choked. She nodded evenly.

'Yes, and for the first time, all my doubts fell away. We knew she had a lover in the Order, just as we knew she was last of Athkatla, but it seems our information was a little dated on both counts. It mattered not. I met you and I knew that My Lord would lead me to her.'

The realisation brought another swell of stomach-churning panic. 'You mean… Fritha! Do-Do not you go near her!'

'Fool!' the woman spat, 'I did not come all this way to harm, but to serve! You cannot understand what it is like, to lose your god, the hole it leaves…'

Her gaze shifted, eyes staring through him once more, shoulders slumped as though she would just break down where she was. Anomen was merely glad he was lying down, her words hitting him like a blow to chest.

'You are one of the Children.'

'No, no,' she refuted calmly, 'I had not that honour, but my Lord did grant me another… Would you hear the truth, Anomen? I believe I owe you that much.' She rose again, stepping out of view to take up the meandering passage of her tale.

'My name is Elund, a daughter to one of Bhaal's priestess, though by a mortal man. I never knew my father, but it did not matter: Bhaal was everything. I grew up in a temple on the edge of the Wealdath, well hidden from those who would have disrupted our most sacred task. Bhaal had been taken from us a few years before and yet our temple continued on, stalwart in our part in His glorious resurrection. It was by us He would return. We, the most blessed of all his brides, were to bear her: the one He had chosen to survive and raise him from the ashes of that mortal death. I knew her before you, before Imoen, before even that heretic, Gorion. She was only a child back then, a beautiful little thing, so young, yet so vivid and full of life. The elders all loved her as a daughter and I,' she stepped into view to grace him with that gentle smile, as the saints painted upon the temple windows, light pouring through to set her face in radiant beatitude. 'I loved her as all should love their little sister.'

'Fritha… was chosen?'

'Yes, and in her tiny form nestled all ours hopes. In that temple we raised her, protected her, but then another came to shatter our plans!' Her expression twisted, ugly memories stealing that saintly beauty. 'I was but twelve summers when the Harpers stormed our temple. The elder sisters told us to flee, to lead the Children into the Wealdath to hide, though few of us escaped. I lay, half burrowed under the rotting husk of a fallen tree, grubs and woodlice writhing against my skin as I listened to the last cried prayers of the sisters -and the screams of our Children- the air choked with the smoke of our burning temple. We were lost again, scattered and defeated. The High Mother, _her_ mother, had fallen in the battle, her daughter stolen away by men who did not know her worth, but that the girl had survived gave us hope. Those left gathered what few artefacts had been spared the flames and travelled far from that tainted place, to make a new home deep within the Troll Mountains. And there I lived my next twelve years, in the rocky foothills north of Vallumscourt. We had no way to build a new temple to our Lord, but the many caverns that riddled the mountains served us just as well and there we lived, keeping goats on the wind-ravaged heaths and raiding the occasional caravan that braved the mountain pass for food, cloth and… captives.'

Anomen almost choked on his horror. 'You- you would take people?'

'Oh, yes,' she confirmed matter-of-factly, 'we honoured our lost Lord with sacrifices as we had always done, the locals happy to blame the raids upon the orcs. We would watch the militia ride out, bent on their revenge. A few even strayed close to our home – they never saw Vallumscourt again, naturally. And there we stayed, our order resolute in our task once more, those more martial sisters taking up arms to continue our work, scouring the lands and putting to the blade those unworthy spawn, just as we had sacrificed them upon the altar long ago. And the rest of us, we remained within the temple and kept to our prayers. Some worried the old prophesies meant nothing anymore, tales reaching us that others among the Children were rising to our Lord's legacy, and at the final moment, when the pretender, Sarevok, seemed set to ruin all, she emerged! Oh, what a day that was in the temple, my sisters weeping with joy and throwing themselves before the altar to venerate Him with song and prayer. We sacrificed a family of crofters we had taken a few days before, their screams echoing in glorious cacophony about the main cavern. Our absent sister was alive and as powerful as though we had raised her ourselves!'

The smile faded, a dark worry creeping in. 'But, it seemed, the danger to her was no less. The news was brought by one of the Deathstalkers, not of our temple but just as resolute in his task, hunting down the Children in our Lord's Name. He had been badly wounded and by whom, but highest of their kind: Ameylssan the Blackhearted, the most revered of all the Deathstalkers. He died soon after, but not before he had recounted his tale. Amelyssan had betrayed us! As she had slaughtered the Children, it seemed, her own power had grown, as had her ambition. She craved the destiny of our Lord, wishing to rise in His place and become the new God of Murder. Amelyssan does not believe in the prophesy, but she is strong and knows enough of the old ways that such wild ambitions may not be so unfeasible. Such heresy could not be allowed! It was time to end our seclusion, though not all saw it to be so -some of the sisters believed it should be left to destiny and there was a schism in our order. The High Mother made her decision: as Amelyssan saw to pervert fate, so we would ensure it continued on the path set so long ago. One would be sent; I was chosen. I came to her side to protect my lost sister.'

'Protect her from what?' Anomen roared back, 'You mean Fritha more harm than any we have met so far!'

The heavy boot collided with his shoulder, pain exploding across his back, and he swallowed the sick it had disgorged.

'Fool! Amelyssan toys with you even now! Feeding you lies to lead my sister to her end, though she, too, hides behind another's name.'

Anomen gasped the word through the cloying pain. 'Melissan…'

The woman nodded slowly. 'Yes, now you see the danger. But it is more than that. Fritha has grown strong without us, but she has lost her path. I am here to see she finds it. I know what she hopes to do, slim though the chance will be, to invoke the old prophesy of Alaundo and steal My Lord's rightful power for her own ends. The power _will_ be hers, and I will see it used as my Lord, Bhaal, intended.'

She drew the knife slowly, all reverent deliberation. Anomen watched the blade flash with her eyes.

'What, what are you doing?'

'Is it not obvious? I was worried, at first, to learn of your separation –what if the girl hated you? But when I first saw you together, I knew that fear was unfounded: you held an affection for each other still. I tried in vain to pair you again, but you were both so stubborn! And then I saw another way… I would take you myself, hold before her face the love that should have been hers – it would serve me better in end. I see it in her eyes… Imagine what will happen when she finally opens that door to your tortured, lifeless body, my own innocent in unconsciousness further down the tunnel… Imagine the pain and rage and hatred of a love unfulfilled. And to whom will she turn in her anguish? The girl who only comes to her side when driven there by a lover's quarrel? The nagging druid whose betrayal lingers between them still? The drow then, who would follow her into the Hells with a smile? No, she will turn to the one who shares her pain, the one who shared her love. She will turn to _me_. With my guidance, Fritha will relearn the old ways and take up the life for which she was destined; mercy turned to hatred, sacrifice to resentment. Amelyssan will be _nothing_ before her blade, anger consuming all that she once was, and when the other godspawn lie slaughtered, she will claim the Throne and Bhaal will be reborn!'

Anomen fought against the ropes, the bonds sawing into his skin.

'Brieanna, listen, this is not you! Look inside yourself, you do not wish to do this!'

'Silence! I will serve my Lord and He will rise once more!'

'Brieanna!'

'_That is not my name!_'

'But it is who you are becoming!' he pressed, pleading, 'It is not too late! I sense the indecision in you even now!'

She threw her head back for a great bark of scornful laughter. 'Ha! You are wrong! I was closer to better men than you and even _they_ could not see through my deception. Even within the Order, people were so trusting, so easily manipulated, I could have almost pitied them! That you could have seen the quiet pride with which the Prelate looked upon me when I told him I wished to defer my judgement –how I could have laughed!'

And she did, though it held a brittle quality this time, and Anomen felt a stab of pity for this lost, lonely woman.

'But it was not all a lie, was it?' he confirmed, the soft interest to his tone cutting off her laughter far more surely than any shout. 'Your tales of the peaches and your sisters and your lover, they were true, were they not? Why now, Brieanna? We have hardly touched upon a courtship. What happened to your plans to show Fritha the love she could not have and then steal it for good? You could have murdered me a month from now, much more assured of victory. Come,' he pressed, gentle and insistent, 'you said you owed me the truth –I would have it all.'

The determined frown had eased, something else creeping in and she turned away.

'I… I was so overjoyed when we first met; I thought it would be simple, but then something changed… You are strong Anomen, and passionate too, though different from the men I knew at the temple, your strength tempered by a quiet devotion. I confess it was intriguing to me, perhaps too much so…' Her attention had dropped to the knife, voice lowered with it, pleading for him to understand. 'Fritha will need time, to feel your death and be re-educated in our ways, and I do not know when another opportunity will present itself – or if I would be strong enough to take it should I delay further… I had hoped it was Solaufein. I would watch them together, so warm and easy. I had hoped it would be he lain here instead of you. But I knew the instant I saw her, her horror when she discovered us in the oasis, and I know now what I must do.' She turned back to him, ablaze once more. 'In another life you could have been great, though it is wasted now in worthless chivalry. I see that in you, the potential of it and I could not help but feel it stir my heart! But you must understand, Anomen, He is my _god!_'

'Brieanna, if you feel-'

'My feelings are nothing more than a trial, sent by my Lord to test my resolve, and I will not falter! With one blow I prove my path, my faith and take the first step to restoring my Lord to life!'

She raised the blade, their eyes meeting and within he could see the doubt wavering, the word poised on his lips.

'Brie-'

The roar of water, the woman whipping round as he did and there she was, emerged from the pool like some flame-haired deva of vengeance, soaked through and white in her anger, the girl throwing back that weight of sodden hair to drawn her sword.

'Back from him, _NOW!_'

'Fritha!'

The knife lunged downward, Anomen frozen as he gazed up into his end. Fritha's scream filled his senses.

'_NO!'_

The tunnel exploded in blinding blue, her sword hurled across the room, a bolt of azure fire, and Brieanna's surprised matched his own as they both stared at the blade that had impaled her metal-closed chest. A choked gasp and Anomen rolled just in time, her body clattering to the ground beside him. Fritha had hauled herself from the pool proper now, a shower of droplets dislodged with every squelching step in that slow approach, clothes and hair plastered to leave her narrow frame even smaller. Brieanna was trying to speak, blood frothing from her mouth as she fought to form the words, defiant of her fading life.

'You are… _chosen_. My Lord… _will_ return… in you.'

'Perhaps,' Fritha conceded quietly, 'but it will not be of your doing.'

The realisation left the woman in a howl, a bloody hand thrown up to the uncaring heavens. 'Oh, my Lord… I have failed You!'

Fritha dropped to a crouch, a hand moved up to cup the woman's face and take the tears from it with a gentle thumb.

'No, no, hush now.'

'I wished only… to guide you, Fritha. To serve… just as they had taught me. You were to be the greatest of us… We loved you…'

'You were loyal until the end; were I Him, Elund, I would be very proud of you.'

One last gurgled sigh and the woman slumped back, Anomen transfixed by that motionless face a moment longer before he was struggling frantically, desperate to be away from the body. Fritha was at his side in an instant.

'Just ca- just calm down, Anomen; I'll see to the ropes.'

They yielded to her knife easily enough, the man unmindful of the already raw skin as he tore them aside, Fritha dancing back to help him to his feet.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, I-' The world pitched sideways, the girl leaping forward, arms braced against his swaying weight, struggling to right him.

'Whoa! No, you don't. Here, sit down, Anomen, you're too heavy for us to risk that again.'

He shook his clearing head, the desire to be away from there so strong he would have crawled on his knees, though it was not necessary, Anomen testing his feet with an unsteady step towards the tunnel to their left.

'No, I will be- I just need a moment.'

She let him go, and he walked until the light was no more than a distant umbra along the tunnel's bend, Anomen letting the darkness envelop him, enter him, anything to hold back the thoughts and feelings he knew would eventually have to be faced. His world swam, body braced against the cool wall and he was only vaguely aware of his retching, mind going over and over the merciless truths.

She was dead.

Brieanna, his lover, was a Bhaalite, and now she was dead.

She had planned to murder him and corrupt Fritha, and now she was dead. Fritha was chosen.

Brieanna was dead.

By the time he returned, her body had been moved, the woman now lain peacefully by the pool, Fritha's sword removed and soaked cloak over her as a shroud. The rune on the door was gone, either removed or faded since, well… His mind forced him onward before he could consider it. Fritha was seated and shivering just before the doorway, her rattling jaw distorting the greeting.

'Anomen, you're back.'

He nodded -there was nothing to say- the man dropping to sit beside her as she continued to the silence, 'Are you feeling all right now? Your head, I mean.'

Another silent nod, the stillness hanging over them until he could bear his echoing thoughts no longer. 'How did you know?'

A pensive frown, Fritha stealing a reluctant glance at the body opposite.

'I… I had a vision – I realised she had been with me at the temple as one of the younger acolytes -though that meant little in itself. I could have just as easily charged in here and found you both fine and sat upon the floor awaiting a rescue.' Dark eyes flicked again to that body. 'I am sorry… I know you and she-'

'I would rather not speak of it.'

Fritha pressed him no further, pulling her knees to her chest to let silence engulf them once more. He watched her shiver, a distant part of him shouting for him to offer her his cloak, but it was as though he was seeing the world through a veil, numbed and distant enough to ask even that last question.

'You will become Bhaal…'

She started at the revelation, perhaps thinking her secret still her own, the girl absorbing his statement to nod unflinchingly. 'Most likely, yes. She- She told you, did she? Yes, well, there is a very slim chance I can tame the power, and avoid my fate, but… yes…'

'How long have you known?'

'Since the temple in the Mir… That place awoke memories in me, and Sarevok confirmed my fears in one of the many dreams I have had since.'

'You have not told the others.' It was not a question. Fritha shrugged.

'Only Solaufein.'

'And how long do you plan to continue in this lie?'

She sighed deeply, the hint of a whine creeping in. 'I'm not lying, Anomen, but the truth is a very difficult place right now. You can't understand…' She glanced to him, her eyes holding only a hint at the desperation she likely felt, 'I can't make you, but I'd rather the others didn't know yet.'

'I see… I will keep your silence.'

'Thank you.'

And a silence that was wholly more than figurative as they both returned to their own thoughts. Anomen watched the blood puddle under that body, rivulets tainting the pool behind it to curl in carmine tendrils. Fritha was hunkered back against tunnel wall, closing in on herself to conserve what little heat was left in that chilled body, Anomen sat there next to her, caught between the dead and the dying.


	36. Chasing the Dragon

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Chasing the Dragon**

Fritha had long ago stopped shivering. Her body was beyond a cold it was able to alleviate and it seemed to know it, too. Anomen was still seated next to her, staring blankly at his hands as though it was too much even to raise his head. They had not spoken since he had asked about the prophesy and her _starring role_. Brieanna had obviously given him the villain's exposition. Another unwilling glance to that cloak-covered body, and Fritha felt the cold misery threaten to swallow her whole. How could she be _dead?_ It had only been moments ago they had all stood together in the library, and Fritha half expected the woman to arrive with the others, all breathless panic and-

'Fritha!'

The door next to them rolled back and the rush of cool air set her to uncontrollable shaking, she and Anomen struggling to their feet as Imoen bounded into the lamplight, Jaheira and Solaufein fast on her heels.

'Fritha, you are well. When you ran off like that…' The drow left his admonishment to be inferred, hand already at his throat to throw his cloak about her. The girl quickly sidestepped the sweep.

'No, no, Sola, it will only get yours wet, too.'

'And Anomen's fine, as well,' trilled Imoen, giddy in her relief and casting about them, 'So, where's -is that- Is that _Brieanna?_'

All eyes seemed to find the body at once, the stunned silence at last broken by Valygar's gruff demand. 'What happened here?'

A glance between the two witnesses. Anomen seemed to stare right through her. Fritha swallowed; the weight of guilt was almost choking. 'We… we have a lot to talk about.'

'Yes…' agreed Jaheira slowly, 'Here, Fritha, your bag.'

The feel of it was comforting even as the strap pressed wet clothes to her bristling skin, the bulging leather bag slick against her hip. 'As for what happened, I- I don't know all the details myself-'

Anomen's voice held a forced detachment, as though he was talking of another woman -as another man. 'Brieanna was not who we believed her to be. She was an acolyte of Bhaal come to infiltrate our group and lead us down a path that would see her god's resurrection. She planned to sacrifice me to further gain Fritha's trust.'

'By Silvanus…'

'She told me before,' he faltered, Fritha noting the eyes that refused to dart to her, 'before she died, that Melissan is also a member of her order, though the woman has strayed from their original calling and plans to use us to destroy her enemies that she may ascend in Bhaal's stead.'

The uproar about them seemed somehow muted.

'Melissan?' cried Imoen, 'I _knew_ there was something off about her!'

'Yes, indeed,' agreed Valygar, 'but this_?_'

'You are sure this was not a lie to sow yet more chaos?' pressed Jaheira, starting Anomen from some private reverie.

'…Yes, I am sure. Brieanna promised me the truth. I believe she meant it.'

'Then, could it be,' supposed Jaheira, 'that Melissan is the last member of the Five?'

Solaufein was nodding slowly. 'That would certainly make sense. She was in contact with all of them. At the temple, we learnt that Yaga Shura only attacked Saradush after he discovered Imoen was there, and Melissan was one of the few people who could have given him such information.'

'Yes,' pondered Imoen, letting her own theories gain momentum, 'yes, and she arranged for the Bhaalspawn to meet in Amkethran, not to mention she's been leading us about since she met us. That was probably why she was so desperate for us to attack Sendai – getting that army out the way would have given Abazigal enough time to finish things here. We'd have had a war on our hands and enough Children chewed up during it to let her take over Bhaal's throne.' She sent a frown to the body, 'So Brie was with her, then.'

Anomen swelled. 'No! Brieanna was her enemy; she came only to protect Fritha!'

'Yeah, so we could raise Bhaal – great plan!'

'Imoen…' warned Valygar coolly. The girl snorted, but said no more, the silence forcing Fritha back to the fore.

'Right, well… right…' Her voice broke. It all felt so wrong. Brieanna was dead and everyone was just going to carry on like she wasn't her murderer. 'Well, whatever they have planned, time here is running out. We need to get on.'

'So,' ventured Imoen, all ponderous discomfort, 'are we going to leave her here?'

'No!' boomed Anomen. Fritha was ready for him.

'We will take her to the library; she deserves a proper burial.'

'Perhaps we can ask Shivistra if she has heard anything of this Amelyssan,' considered Jaheira.

'Yes, yes,' Fritha snapped; dead eyes were boring into her back, 'whatever you want, only let's go.'

They turned to leave, Anomen first with Jaheira and Imoen, Valygar and Minsc shielding the unhappy task from view with their bulk as they uncovered the body and carried the cloak and its burden between them. Solaufein dropped back to join Fritha at the rear, and she caught a glimpse of those fine silver eyes, full of the melancholy peace they usually bore, before the lantern was doused and the world was grey once more.

'Anomen –he knows.' It was not a question. Fritha sighed.

'Yes… He said he'd keep it to himself.'

'And how did he take the news?'

'Well enough. He didn't really say much. Just asked me about Bhaal and that was it. Brieanna had just died and, well…' She trailed off, ignoring the iron grip of his hand about her forearm, the pain liminal through that veil of guilt.

'Fritha, you did what you had to.'

'Yes… but I always seem to have to, don't I?'

Her cloak served well enough as stretcher, though Fritha was glad when they had arrived back at the library and it could be a shroud once more, Brieanna's body laid gently at the foot of the stairs and Anomen was left there with it, standing above in silent contemplation. The rest of them turned instinctively away, Shivistra polite enough to hold her questions for the time being. Fritha wondered if they would not have been a welcome distraction though, Jaheira seizing one sodden elbow.

'You need to change.'

'In to what?' Fritha sighed, 'My clothes are in my pack, back with the horse.'

'Fritha-'

'I'm fine – it's warm enough when I'm moving. Here, help me out of my boots, they weigh a tonne now they're waterlogged.'

The druid obliged her with much grumbling – her sandals did not provide anywhere near the same protection, but there was little else to be done, especially when speed was so crucial to their plans. The activity at least helped a sense of normality to return to the group as Fritha sat, clinging to the arms of the chair she was in, Minsc braced at the back, while the druid heaved at her squelching boot.

'Twist your foot more!'

'I'm _trying!_'

'Right,' Fritha huffed as she eventually straightened, feet feeling damp and strangely exposed in her sandals, 'We need to get on.' More eyes than hers glanced reluctantly to Anomen's back. 'Anomen, if you'd like to remain-'

'No,' he cut firmly, at last moving to join their uneven half circle, 'I will come.'

Jaheira sighed, somewhere between impatience and pity. 'Anomen-'

'I am not a child to be coddled!' he snapped loud enough to make them start, 'You think this is the first comrade I have lost?'

Fritha swallowed dryly. 'Right then. In light of recent events, we will change the groups; I believe you, Minsc, should instead accompany-'

The knight would not let her finish. 'The groups can stay as they are; you may need Minsc to break the fissure.'

At least the guilt-riddled anger kept her determined. 'And _you_ may need help to break the seal! Minsc, you will join Anomen and the others. Understood?'

The Rashemi nodded once, Fritha's smile softening the previous bark to her orders.

'Good then, and –and take care, everyone.'

**…**

The way there had gone by without incident; it was making Solaufein nervous.

'Here,' hissed Jaheira, glancing up from the plans to gesture to the turning at their right, her face fine-boned and eldritch in the pale green werelight. 'The stores are marked along this one.'

Fritha nodded, taking the lead once more. The tunnel was wider than most they had travelled, large pools dotted here and there against the walls, polished jade mirrors in the murky light.

'Are you sure it's this tunnel?' hissed Fritha, 'I can't see any doors, only…' She gave the closest pool a disgruntled frown. 'Oh.'

'The way in,' considered Solaufein. 'Clever really, for it ensures only the salamanders can take the explosives with any ease – any fires sealed within in case of explosion.'

'I wonder if bringing them through the water will not ruin them, though,' offered the druid.

Fritha shrugged. 'I can't imagine it would, if they put them in there. I'll go,' she sighed, slipping off her sandals, 'I'm already wet anyway.'

Solaufein's protests remained silent; their situation demanded such sacrifices, the girl dropping her bag at her feet to take that single step over the edge. The dark water consumed her whole, and she was gone. A glance between the two left; Solaufein set to pacing, eyes darting back and forth along the silent tunnel. Moments crept by with the aching creep of a glacier's passage. Jaheira kept her peace for as long as she was able.

'Solaufein, please cease that. It is very distracting.'

'She has been gone too long.'

'No, she has not, and if you are going to be this fretful, then I suggest you volunteer yourself next time.'

'_I _cannot swim,' he admitted mulishly, 'But you-'

'If you think I am going to remove my armour each time-'

A choppy swell to the pool next to him, a muddy brown shape rippling within.

'She is back!'

Fritha broke the surface with a frantic gasp. 'Salamanders!'

Jaheira's staff was above her instantly, the girl hauled bodily from the pool with a strength he had not thought the druid possessed, and the pair just staggered clear as two lithe bodies coiled from the water to meet his blade. The fight was over before it had even begun. Behind him, Fritha was shivering again, water dripping from the tip of her nose as she struggled with her sandals. Solaufein took a flailing hand before she ended up back in the water.

'Be careful of your feet, the rocks are sharp.'

She did not look to him, eyes locked upon the pool behind her and the two heads that were bobbing in the bloody water.

'What did you find?' pressed Jaheira, 'Were there any explosives?'

Fritha shook her head, the water reflected in her eyes. 'No. It was a prison, only I don't think he was kept there, just brought to be… His body- the air stank of fish and blood and -and burning. He begged me to end it-'

'Fritha!'

The druid's snap seemed to rouse her, the girl frowning as she finally found them there. 'There was a man. He was one of the monks from the Amkethran monastery. He was near death, confused - he spoke like he knew me – said his mission had failed. I tried to save him, but… Then, those salamanders appeared from the next chamber.'

'Why is Balthazar sending monks here?' wondered Solaufein. Jaheira nodded.

'A good question, but one for another time. We need to try the next chamber; can you continue, Fritha?'

'Me? Yes, I'm fine,' she assured them, firm and utterly unconvincing. 'Nothing I haven't seen before. Come on, this one looks promising.'

She was correct, the girl emerging from the pool soon after entering to relate her find. Three more trips back and forth saw her hauled from the water once more to stand dripping between three sealed barrels of blackpowder, each keg the size of a large striped melon and just as heavy.

'I hope this is enough,' Fritha sniffed, mopping at her face and making a half-hearted attempt to wring out her hair. Jaheira hefted up a barrel, testing its weight.

'As do I – there is enough here to blow a hole in the wall of de'Arnise Keep.

'Well, we cannot carry any more, even if it is not,' reasoned Solaufein; he was keen to be off again. The man stooped for the closest barrel and Fritha caught up the last, setting it to her shoulder with a huff.

'The others should be in place now – we need to get going.'

**…**

Imoen crept up to the door, the others left behind, just about the last bend, to wait for her in the darkness. It felt as though hours had passed, though in reality it had barely been a quartet of one. Anomen was not speaking to anyone, Minsc and Valygar sharing his grim silence, and Imoen was almost glad to leave them; there was enough gloom in those tunnels for her.

The rune she wove hung bright in the air as the door rolled back, the salamander she'd revealed so stunned to find her there that, for an instant, both just stared at each other. A clawed hand whipped out – the trance was broken, the surge of magic so powerful the arrow found no skin to plant in as fires consumed his form. Footsteps rattled at her back. The men had jogged over to join her, Valygar's bow still in hand.

'Imoen, are you all right?'

'Yeah, fine,' she gasped, turning deliberately from the charred mess at her feet, 'it was just a surprise, is all.'

'Boo says more for it than you, yes?' smiled Minsc kindly.

'Come,' said Anomen, pushing past them to take the lead, 'we should keep moving.'

Onward into the bowels of that place they walked. Here and there, branching tunnels would provide a window on to the main chamber their passage coiled behind, red light from the forges giving the uneven walls a visceral look, their group swallowed within the intestines of some great beast.

'This way,' said Valygar, pointing to the tunnel to their right with the folded plans he held, the man taking the first steps into the darkness ahead. Anomen and Imoen called their werelights, opening the passage in white and yellow. Valygar watched the light flicker above the shoulder at his side.

'I often wondered about your lights -where they come from, I never cast one myself – no need as a student and since…. But I am still curious as why the colour's differ; why yours is yellow, while Jaheira's is green and Fritha's blue.'

Imoen shrugged, glad he was there to distract from her burgeoning fears. 'Couldn't tell you – perhaps it's something inside that colours the magic, though I'd have thought mine'd been pink if so..'

'Yellow then, for your cheerful disposition,' he chuckled, gaze still carefully trained on the tunnel before them and an arm was thrown suddenly out to halt her.

'Wait- up ahead.'

Voices raised in anger, some shrill, others hissing.

They crept as close as they dared, the group taking cover in the shadows as their tunnel opened on to another, where a knot of gnomes and salamanders argued fiercely in a small hollow just opposite. Imoen winced as the slap rang out. One of the three gnomes was knocked onto his back by the force of it, a salamander hissing madly as his fellow tried to wrestle him back. The gnomes were helping their friend to his feet, blood pouring from his purpled nose as he swore his revenge.

'Just you wait until Abazigal hears of this – you may think Draconis does not care, but the master here knows which of his servants are easier to replace!'

He shook off his friends, the three stalking up the tunnel behind and the salamanders lingered there only a moment longer before they took the same tunnel, and their own company was free to press on.

'Here, this one,' whispered Valygar, taking another turning to their right, the tunnel mouth that was there goal just a small orange portal at the passage's end. 'It is not far now. According to the plans there should be a large cavern just to our-'

He trailed off, Imoen's gasp spoke for them all. Next to them was the opening to the cavern he'd mentioned, but the simple plans made no mention of what it held within. This was no carved chamber of the gnomes, Imoen's werelight catching on the delicate spires of stalagmites, minerals within the rock tracing rich veins of yellow and blue. Stalactites hung from the distant roof, the pairs joining here and there to make elegant columns and the whole air of some fey grotto. There were crates and sacks of coal set here and there between the rock, the place a convenient store for the industry now not so far beneath them and it seemed the salamanders' attitudes were similar to men's about her, Valygar surveying these wonders with a practical eye.

'We can wait in here for the signal –there are plenty of places to hide while we do so.'

The signal: an official term for what was essentially the noise of the other's explosion, and Imoen was again overwhelmed by the madness of their plan – the girl unable to marry this fear to the fact her oldest friend seemed so sure of it.

'We should check we are in the correct tunnel before we commit ourselves,' offered Anomen bluntly, turned and back in the tunnel once more, leaving them no choice but to follow him.

At the long tunnel's end, the mouth out on to the main chamber grew larger with each step. Imoen was just a pace behind the knight, the red light casting him and the walls about them in a bloody glow that only heightened her sense of dread.

And then they were there, Valygar and Minsc pressed to the tunnel walls, she and Anomen crouched together in the mouth to take a closer look upon that infernal pit. The lakebed below was a hive of activity, the clang of metal and hissing steam carried to them on a miasma of smoke and sulphur. Below, were the thick pipes the plans had promised, the curved metal running a foot or so beneath them, bracketed to the chambers wall at regular intervals on its course to the large nexus of pipes and valves on a ledge but a few yards to their left, and the girl could almost sense the foreboding weight of that great iron seal just above their heads.

Imoen's ears pricked –another sound had joined the clamour and it was not of the cavern below. The rattle of harnesses – something armoured was moving along the tunnel behind, their shadows dancing on the tunnel wall of that last distant bend. Any moment they would round the curve and see them there, the storeroom too far back to reach in time.

All seemed to realise their course at once. Anomen rose first to no less than throw her onto the pipes below, the men scrambling out after to edge quickly along the metal. Minsc was last, the man's weight in addition to their own finally too much for the groaning brackets. Two gave way at once, the screws fired into the chamber. The pipes they had held sagged, metal groaning so loudly she was surprised the whole cavern had not whipped to the noise. Anomen was fighting to keep his footing on the creaking metal, Valygar throwing a hand out to haul him back and, at last the pipes settled once more, relieved smiles frozen to their faces as one by one they turned to see them.

Crowded into the tunnel mouth with crossbows trained stood a whole squad of salamanders.

**…**

Fritha stood in the shadow of the doorway, eyes narrowed in the bright light that streamed from the workshop beyond. The gnomes were continuing their work, unaware of the chaos about to erupt in the smooth run of their daily lives. They called to each other in friendly banter as they tinkered and fixed, and Fritha could have almost felt sorry for them - had not their craft been the construction of brutal war machines. Solaufein was pressed behind her, further into the shadows and so close she could feel his breathing stir her hair, Jaheira crouched similarly on the other side of the doorway.

'I see the fissure,' Fritha murmured, eyeing the crack along the cavern roof far above, 'but how in Hells do we get up there?'

'Those pipes,' whispered the drow, her focus changing to follow the metal ducts that ran from one side of the roof to the other, intersecting that pale scar, the lower half of the metal tubes set with fine mesh grills. 'They look to be part of the ventilation system we followed here. If we get to the highest floor, I can climb along and wedge the casks between the pipes and the fissure.'

'I think the gnomes might notice that.' Fritha opened the floor up to suggestions. 'Any way to get rid of them?'

'The plans show the lamps over the entire workshop are fuelled by coal-gas,' murmured Jaheira, parchment square in hand, 'and controlled by a central valve in the corner just…' She pointed to the wall next to the pair and the wheel that was just beyond it. 'If we could reach it, we could put the whole workshop in darkness. Though, given, we would have to get inside to do so.'

'Could you call a fog?' asked Solaufein.

'No, my magics work within Nature; the air down here is too warm, too inhibited.'

Fritha raked her gaze over the cavern, drawn back to the snaking pipes above and how they disappeared into the wall, burrowing down through the rock to surface again just above them. Light from the workshop lined a maintenance hatch in white-gold edging.

'I've an idea.'

The air swept about her face in constant, cool breeze, a gentle pressure at her back like an insistent friend. Her damp hair had been tugged across her shoulders, the finer tendrils blown ahead to dance along that wide tube. The polished bronze pipe was much duller inside, soot and dust covering the curving metal in a grimy film. The hatchway was just large enough for her head and shoulders, though the dry air was making her eyes water, her hand leaving the dusty rim to brush the tears aside. Below, Solaufein felt the shift in her weight, hands closing about her ankles.

'Fritha?' His voice held no strain even for the fact he was supporting her entire mass on his shoulders. 'Is it the right one?'

'Yes, it's the inflow.' Her voice echoed against the metal bluntly, like shouting into a bucket. 'Here, pass them up.'

Solaufein's cloak came first, the girl packing it roughly into the pipe before her, followed by most of the bandages Jaheira carried and all the blank pages Fritha had ripped from the back of her diary.

'Are you ready for the oil?' came the druid.

'Just a –yes, pass it up.'

Fritha groped upon the air, Jaheira taking her hand to place the large stone bottle within; spare lantern oil was one of the few things brought wherever they went. The liquid was pungent in such quantity, but not unpleasantly so, Fritha managing to spare her tunic as she emptied the bottle over the jumble of fabric and paper.

'There, take the bottle, I need both hands.'

Fritha was used to calling a blaze, much more effort going into coaxing that small flame from the tempestuous fits of magic within, though whether she needed to have bothered was debatable. Flames licked over the oil, consuming it with the hunger of a starving man, bright yellow leaves dull behind a veil of thick black smoke.

'It's done,' she coughed, drawing breath for the words and inadvertently inhaling a mouthful, 'here, let me down.'

Fritha ducked under the hatch, Solaufein gripping her ankles to steady her as she latched it closed once more. Jaheira was ready for her, hand outreached to help her leap down and together they pressed into the darkness of the chamber to wait. The baited anticipation, watching the first fine tendrils curl from the vents above as hope bloomed similarly in her stomach. From what she could see of those gnomes on the upper level, they smelt before they saw it, work left idle on benches as, one by one, they stopped to sniff the noisome air. It was really billowing now, great choking clouds pouring from the vents, the commotion on the upper levels not going unnoticed.

On the ground, a wide gnome whose bearing marked him as someone important glanced to the noise and nearly toppled off his stool.

'Gond's Fingers! What in-?'

His curse started the whole of the chamber, every pair of eyes suddenly swivelled and gawking at the caliginous clouds billowing above. Solaufein saw his chance, slipping though the doors to head for the heavy bronze wheel in the nearest corner.

'What in the Abyss is _that?_' continued the foreman, fear tainting the anger, 'That last tremor – I'll bet my wrench the pipes in the smelting room have ruptured!'

'Should we check the flow, Olan?'

'Can't hurt. Send- Oh, what now?' Olan cried, as the room was plunged into sudden darkness, his voice raised and carrying over the unnerved muttering about him. 'Right, evacuate the workshop – all levels! Foremen count off your teams! Come on, hurry now, I ain't staying down here to choke to death. All levels take the nearest exit tunnel, we will regroup in the dormitory –I'll speak to Bodulum,' he added more quietly, 'he can send a team of salamanders down here to checks the pipes, put those snakes to good use.'

Fritha and Jaheira pressed back from the door, the shadows swallowing them from view of the dozen gnomes who were marching from the ground floor, handkerchiefs and sleeves pressed to mouths and muting the low grumble. Fritha waited until the sound of their footsteps had faded completely, Jaheira providing the leg up to the hatchway and the pair danced hastily back as Fritha hooked her blade under the burning cloak and pulled the whole lot out again.

'There,' said Jaheira, hand batting the smoke from her face, 'it can burn out here -the ventilation system should clear what smoke is in the workshop.'

At her mention of the place, the lights within flared to life. Inside, Solaufein was re-locking the gas valve, Jaheira sending a frown to his watering eyes; the air certainly held a sting.

'You are all right?'

'Fine, the smoke is warm enough that the worst is still above us.'

Behind them, Fritha was taking in a complete view of the workshop, dread and thrill sharing her heart as she realised the sheer size of the operation they were fighting to bring down.

'Look at this place… Here,' she continued, finding herself before the rack of green glass globes, a pale waxed wick hanging limp from each like a rat's tail, 'Alchemist's fire -we can use one of these to help light the barrels.'

She took three in the end, laying them careful in the top of her bag before tripping over to the elevator, an open wooden platform that jutted from a tall frame, workings of cogs and counterweights towering to the roof. Jaheira was ready at the mechanism.

'Hold on to the rail.'

And with a jerk, they were off, the druid releasing the brake and the ground floor rushed away from them, three more tiers rattling slowly by until they reached the upper level.

It was much the same as the tiers below, the wooden floor stretching across a good quarter of the cavern and set with benches and shelves, tools discarded about them in the previous rush. Three tunnels lead off into caverns about them with no hint as to which the gnomes had left by. The ventilation pipes were just overhead, far out of reach of the gnomes and Fritha too, and only Jaheira was able to brush the metal with her fingertips. Fritha blinked past the sting to the air. The smoke up there had lingered, though as something she could only feel and smell rather than see.

Jaheira and Solaufein were busy preparing for his climb, the druid passing him a rope to wrap about his torso, while the woman set to tying the three barrels to the other end.

'There, secure?' she asked, at last. The drow tugged the rope and sent her a nod, Fritha already fishing through her pack for the glass globes she had just filched. It broke easily, Fritha cracking it like an egg to dribble the oil within over the waiting casks – the easiest way to light them without wicks.

Jaheira gave him a leg up, that load of oily barrels swinging beneath as Solaufein latched arms and legs about the smooth pipe and shimmed slowly from the safety of the platform. Though she had performed similar acrobatics herself in the past, Fritha could hardly bear to watch, the man dangling a hundred or more feet above the cavern floor, the barrels' shifting weight unbalancing his every move. At last, he was below the fissure, room enough above the pipe there for him to right himself as long as he remained stooped, and the drow clambered up to sit upon the pipe proper, a leg over either side.

'Wedge them in under the cement, Solaufein,' called Jaheira, 'As compact as you can.'

He raised a hand to acknowledge the order, the barrels hauled and lodged before him between pipe and hastily sealed roof, and he was wedging the last one in place when that growl bristled the back of her neck. A long blue snout was emerging from one of the tunnels below them; Draconis had arrived, brought there by the gnomes' complaints or his own intuition. Fritha dropped to a half crouch, she and Jaheira slowly edging back as the creature turned that narrow head back and forth, long tongue flickering between his front fangs as though he meant to sniff them out. Fritha swallowed, heel rasping against a discarded toolbox with another step back and yellow eyes snapped to them.

'He's seen us!'

He had not spotted the drow, however, and was clearly reluctant to use his fires and lay waste to yet another workroom. Sharp claws scratched deep into the wood as he sprang for the level below them. His upper body coiled up to find purchase on the tier they stood upon, jaws snapping and free clawed foot swiping at anything within reach to send benches and stools arcing over the edge.

The women fell back, Fritha in front with her sword while Jaheira was a step behind, her staff raised to guard them both. Claws swept for them, Jaheira knocking the foot up and Fritha sprang forward to sink her blade deep into the callused pad. Draconis snatched it back with a howl, angrily smashing a bench towards them. The pair jumped clear, but in differing directions, Jaheira now balanced at the tier's edge, those gleaming jaws closing upon her and Fritha was too far away to do anything but scream. '_Jaheira!_'

Solaufein's cry started more than Draconis, that harnessed fury all summed in a word she did not know as the drow leapt from the pipe above, sword held downward like a spear to slice along the creature's right leg. Draconis whirled to the man, jaws wide and more than ready to take his retribution. Fritha thrust a hand into her bag; fire flared about the globe she'd snatched.

'Get down!'

She hurled the globe with all her might and flames exploded over the oil-soaked barrels, burning off the fuel to char the wood beneath. The black powder within was just awaiting that spark and they were suddenly forgotten, Draconis was scrabbling along the pipes, the metal brackets snapping from the roof under his weight. He reached the blaze, a clawed foot drew back for that last frantic swipe to knock them from the roof, when-

Fritha dived for the nearest bench. The explosion ripped over ahead, scattering stone and metal across the chamber, the dragon's roar echoing away from them as he plummeted into the cavern below.

And then, silence; no rush of air or change in pressure, the dust settling about them as though nothing had happened. Fritha straightened, slowly edging forward with the others to see the fissure above, a crater blown deep into the rock, but seemingly still intact, Draconis and their exit both hidden beneath a pile of rubble and pipes.

'Did it work?' she yelled; the explosion had left her momentarily deafened.

A deep rumble answered her, the stone above groaning as the fissure began to shift and crack. It began as a drip that swelled to a trickle, and the three backed slowly into the tunnel behind to watch the torrent force its way through that leering fissure. What had they done?

**…**

The ropes dug in to her wrists as Imoen fought to twist them free, her shoulders aching from where her hands had been roughly forced behind her back and tied there. The lakebed seemed even more vast once she was stood in it, the soft clay floor divided roughly into three areas, forges and kilns towards the seal end while the constructs the salamanders worked upon were lined opposite before a huge set of doors, lithe bodies paused in their labour to watch them pass.

The whole western side had been mined for clay, the man-deep pits they had left, the perfect prison, and Imoen fought to keep her footing on the slippery slope as they were forced down into the nearest. A few expressive hisses from the commander, and those working on the forges nearby slithered off, the bolder ones throwing sullen glances back to the guards who had dismissed them.

Imoen had not noticed it before, but now both were present, she could see distinct differences in the salamanders there. The majority of those who worked in the lakebed were smoother skinned, their vermillion scales holding a soft glimmer in the forge light, faces dominated by a blunt snout with small dark ridges running from their foreheads to half way down their long serpentine bodies. Unlike the eight guards who were lined above them now, with crossbows ready and trained. Their scales were somehow sharper, reflecting the light in harsh angles, dark stripes of black and brown either a part of or painted onto the dark red skin. From beneath their helms, crests of ornate spines fanned from about what she assumed were their ears, the ridges down their backs equally pointed. Imoen watched them watch her with a hiss of her own.

'_I knew it! I knew this damn plan was suicide!_'

Anomen met her rising panic with a stoic, black gaze. 'War demands sacrifice, Imoen.'

'_Shut up!_'

Valygar edged closer, thick arm pressed to her shoulder in the solid comfort only he could imbue. 'It will be all right, Imoen.'

Above, the guards had parted, the commander gliding to the pit's edge to cast over them with narrow red eyes.

'Yous wills tells us huay yous here.'

His voice was like air sucked through an old bellows, all wheezes and gasps. Imoen faltered, fighting the urge to shrink back and drawing strength from the presence behind her.

'We- we came to see Abazigal. The golem said-'

'_Lies!_ Masters nos here.'

'Well, we didn't know that!' she snapped, angrily, 'Maybe Abazigal meant for us to meet his son. He sent us to help Bodulum and the gnomes.'

'Thens huay son nos tells us?'

'I don't _know! _We met Bodulum and he told us to go to the nexus. That's where you found us!'

A long pause, red eyes boring into her, and Imoen met then defiantly, body aching with willing him to believe her. The commander drew a breath, halting common hissed with a slow, deliberate emphasis.

'Huay yous _here?_'

'I told you! We came-'

A rumble from deep within the tunnels opposite cut her off. Imoen just checked her wince: the signal. The commander let the suspicious frown linger on her, a sharp hiss dismissing half his team, most probably to find the source. He turned back to them, the agonising slowness with which he moved and spoke making Imoen twitch. Another unintelligible hiss to the two guards standing at the top of the slope, the creatures advancing down into the pit as well, heavy iron spears lowered at Imoen and the man just behind her.

'What- what are you doing? Vals!'

'Yous both wills come,' hissed the commander. Minsc made a dive for the nearest guard.

'No! You will not take-!'

A heavy body caught the lunge before he made contact, Anomen physically barring his way as above crossbows were shouldered.

'Silence, Minsc, you help no one!'

Imoen took the first step, she and Valygar encouraged by prods and hisses up the slope once more to stand above the pit, Imoen left before the commander as the two guards took Valygar a pace or so further from the edge.

'Huay yous here?'

'I-' she faltered, glancing back and forth between the commander and Valygar. Imoen swallowed dryly, an imperceptible nod from the man confirming their course; her dread began to rise. 'I told you before, we-!'

A brutal swipe with a spear shaft brought the man to his knees.

'Vals!' she screamed, fighting with her bonds – if she could just loosen them a bit more! Cold red eyes were back and staring into hers.

'Huay yous _here?_'

'Stop it! I told you-'

But the commander was not listening, hissing his orders to the guards and together they hauled the kneeling man over to the abandoned forge just behind them. The anvil was a brown so dark it looked black, the surface scarred by the heat and impact that had seen the birth of countless weapons. Its weight had taken it at least an inch into the soft ground and Valygar's once powerful hand looked small and fragile as one guard unbound and pinned it there. The other creature hefted up a discarded hammer; Imoen felt the moan rise from her throat.

'No, not that! Please, not-'

Valygar kept his head down, refusing to torture her further. The commander let the moment drag on for an infinity, until-

'_Huay_ _yous_ _here?_'

'_Please_,' she choked, 'I _told_ you-

A nod to the guard; the hammer raised.

'All right! I'll tell you, I'll tell you - _Nooooo!_'

Valygar's scream joined her own. The guards were hissing again, short staccato breaths that seemed to be laughter over the man who was now hunched before them, weakly cradling that mangled mess of bone and flesh. A last vicious jerk tore her hands free of the ropes, all the rage of her dark blood screaming for retribution.

'_You-_'

The commander whipped to her and stopped, every body in there suddenly frozen as they heard it far above them and, for an instant, Imoen was back in Candlekeep, stood upon the western ramparts and listening to the waves buffet and break against the cliffs below. And then it came, water tumbling from the precipice far above them to crash into the lakebed. That instant of distraction was all they needed. Imoen felt the magic explode from her, energy cracking from her freed hands to immolate the commander where he stood, while Valygar snatched that hammer from the gawking salamander to take his own revenge upon the guards, a scuffle behind finding the last two dragged into the pit to meet a brutal end.

Imoen readied another spell, letting the heat fade from her fingers when she realised there was no one left to fight. Across the lakebed salamanders were casting aside tools to flee the falling waters.

The upper seals were open – they were out of time.

**…**

The three scrambled along the tunnel, half-drowned and still in shock, Solaufein maintaining the vice grip on her wrist as he kept Fritha with him.

'_Water?_' she shrieked over its roar. Solaufein looked just as wild, leathers glistening wetly, tunic and trousers plastered to his lean frame.

'That cavern – it was not empty, it was another underground lake!'

Jaheira was already back at the plans, leaving dark spots on the parchment wherever her soaked fingers touched. 'We need to get higher – here, we take the next turning; that passage has a large elevator linking it to the tunnels above. Come on,' she urged, quickening her pace, 'the others are breaking the seal as we-!'

A furious roar from the cavern behind cut her off; Fritha translated for the group.

'Oh, _bastards!_'

They were off again, Jaheira taking the lead at dead run as they pounded down the curving passage, the scrape of clawed feet scrabbling after them.

At the end of the tunnel, a solid iron door swung into view. Fritha willed a body that had little left to give faster, out-striding even Solaufein. She reached the door in a skid that saw her hit the cool metal, throwing a hand up to trace the rune in blue and ignoring the pain in the wrist that had taken the brunt of the collision. The others arrived, panting, just as it was rolling back and the three leapt through. Fritha dismissed the rune to see it close again, her attention immediately upon the large pool at her feet. Jaheira was already a few paces from the door, urging them after her.

'Fritha, come on!'

'Just a moment.'

Fritha fished the last glass globe from her bag to hurl it against the wall, oil showering down to slick upon the water in a curdled black film. Next to her, Solaufein was tensed and ready to run, a hand twitching over her wrist as the water in the pool rose, displaced by something very heavy.

'_Fritha…_'

But wave of her hand set it alight, flames roaring across the surface, and they were off again, tearing down the tunnel, a howl just behind confirming Draconis had found her trap.

'Here,' gasped Jaheira from the lead, pointing to the turning mere paces ahead, 'the shaft is just-'

The three rounded the corner and skidded to an abrupt halt, suddenly transfixed by the shaft in which they stood, a network of ladders and wooden platforms weaving up to the distant mouth, while a large wooden crane ran almost to the top, poised and silent like a hunting heron.

'The elevator…' murmured Jaheira, 'it is not finished.'

'Plans,' gasped Fritha, the realisation choking her, 'they're just _plans!_'

'We can still make it!' snapped the druid, leaping up the first four rungs of the nearest ladder and Fritha scrambled after her.

The ladder was narrow and tightly runged, made for smaller folk than they, the wood slippery under wet hands and feet, and Fritha's haste was hardly helping. Behind, Solaufein was having much less trouble, and she had the impression he could have tripped up the frame faster than either of the women, the only thing keeping him there a desire to put something between her and the pit below.

The first platform was just above, Jaheira reaching down a hand to help her up the last few rungs. It was the only level not bolted into the walls and supported instead by two thick wooden trunks that were set into the rock below. Solaufein tripped gracefully up the last few steps, almost toppling backwards to his death as a tremor shook the shaft, so violent it felt as though the very rock was vibrating.

'What was that?' gasped Solaufein, 'Another earth tremor?'

'Presumably, the rest of the workshop caving in,' offered Jaheira from the next ladder, 'we don't have much time.'

It began as a sigh that grew, a building storm soughing through an autumn canopy. The drow eyed the shaft below them. 'That noise…'

'Climb!' yelled Jaheira.

It hit them in a roar, a torrent of water crashing into the shaft below, one of the supports instantly swept loose and taking half the platform with it.

'_Solaufein!_' The word left Fritha's mouth more croak than cry, the air forced from her chest as she threw herself to the fractured decking to snatch that flailing hand, her arm almost jarred from the socket. The waters boiled below him, the man struggling to find a hand hold and Fritha could only watch in horror as that shadow rippled closer. She screamed his name, the word lost to that roar as the creature's long lissom neck reared from the water, jaws wide to close about those dangling legs.

'_No!_'

A snap far above her, a grey blur streaking past her eyes to smash that yawning maw back into the churning waters. Solaufein had managed to find a hand hold, the man heaving himself back onto the platform with a grace few could have matched and Fritha was at last free to look up. Jaheira was high above her, still swinging on the rope where she had cut the crane's counterweight free, the druid letting go to drop neatly to the platform below.

'Come, we need to keep moving.'

Solaufein gestured to the ladder before them. Fritha laughed weakly.

'No, no, Sola, you first this time.'

**…**

'Vals… Oh, Vals, your hand!'

Imoen choked back the rising swell of tears, fingers extended but not daring to touch the crumpled mess he was holding to his chest, the man pale behind a fine sheen of sweat. About them, the lakebed had exploded in a cacophony of shrieks, the salamanders fleeing madly as water coursed from the precipice high above in two crashing torrents, spray hitting the forges to explode in clouds of steam and red hot metal. Draconis had done what they had feared; now all that was left was retreat.

Anomen took in everything he needed of the chaos in one sweep and whipped back with his conclusion. 'We must get back to the library _now_.'

Imoen had other priorities. 'Anomen, his hand- you have to-'

'It won't matter if Valygar's hand was tended or not, if we all drown!'

Imoen let the tears finally spill in her rage. '_You bastard!'_

'Imoen,' murmured his voice behind, and the girl could not bear to turn and see that worn yet resolute frown, 'he's right.'

The knight left no more time for arguments. 'Exactly - now move!'

Weapons retrieved and they set out, Anomen at the fore with sword and shield, smashing away any creature who took too long to move from their path. The lakebed was beginning to fill, the once baked mud mixed to a fine slurry by the fleeing bodies. They were heading for the carved slope they had been led down, Anomen felling a salamander from their course with a vicious swing, the first man to set foot on that solid rock. Imoen charged up the slope after him, pausing just before the tunnel mouth with the knight to check on the men who followed behind, Minsc helping the limping Valygar. And there she stopped, the girl's gaze drawn up, transfixed by the great iron portal that loomed above them, a dark, sleeping eye. Something within her chest, oily and primal, stirred.

'The seal – We have to break the seal.'

'Are you mad?' yelled Anomen, 'The doors to the upper chambers are going to close soon! We'll be trapped down here!'

Imoen could not seem to tear her eyes away, the golden pipes glinting softly between two columns of shimmering water.

'There's still time. I could use a spell - freeze the pipes. The change in temperature-'

'Imoen, move!'

'No, I can- get off!' And suddenly she was up, thrown over Minsc's shoulder, her cries ignored as they pounded into the tunnel.

**…**

The passage was becoming wider with every frantic step, mouths to tunnels from all over the springs opening along that main artery to lead into that great glowing cavern. Solaufein reached the crossways first. The knot of tunnels mouths were ablaze, red light streaming from the main chamber with the confused screeching of the fleeing salamanders. Fritha skidded to a halt behind him.

'That noise…'

'This way!' panted Jaheira, turning into the tunnel next to them at a run.

'Wait! What about the others?'

'There!' pointed Solaufein, a hand thrown to the shapes that had just appeared further up the tunnel. Valygar was limping between Imoen and Minsc, the desperation of a cornered man echoing through Anomen's roar.

'_Come on!_'

Jaheira was halfway to them, Solaufein barely a step after her when he realised he was alone.

'Fritha?'

She was bathed in red, light from the chamber bringing the fire from every curl while far below them salamanders slithered in frantic retreat from the waters that cascaded from the very precipice they had once stood upon, though Fritha looked to neither, her gaze transfixed by the huge iron seal opposite.

'They didn't break it. It's still closed.' There was a determination to her face he did not like.

'Fritha, come, there is nothing we can do now.'

He tried to grab her; she shook him off.

'Go. I'll catch up to you. There's still time.'

'Fritha!'

'_Go!_' she snapped, the command punctuated with a shove that sent him staggering back and, in that instant, in the glow of the kilns, her eyes black stones that reflected no light, he looked upon the face of Murder. Slowly, Solaufein extended an open hand.

'Fritha, please… it is not worth your life.'

She stared at him, eyes meeting above the outstretched offering and he watched her gaze clear. 'Yes… all right.'

Her fingers reached forward only to whisper against his palm, inadvertently snatched away as she whirled to that deep growl.

'_You!'_

A man's shape moved across the light, a dark silhouette in tattered robes limping from the nearest tunnel to stand before the main chamber, a demon haloed in the fires of his Hell.

'Draconis.'

The word made him smile, his torn face twisting to show more teeth than should have been possible, his staff glowing in his hand. 'You think you have defeated us? _This_,' he flung his arms wide; the staff glowed brighter, 'means _nothing_ while we still live! And this place -this place will be your _tomb!_'

He raised the staff; Fritha was faster.

'_No!_'

He had expected an attack, not a tackle, her weight hitting him full in the stomach and Solaufein watched with a sick twist of helpless horror as the pair plunged into the blistering red light.

**…**

Jaheira planted her staff, trying to keep her balance in the raging waters that coursed about her calves. A torrent was crashing from the tunnels either side to pour into the main cavern and taking the crumbling precipice with it. Minsc and Anomen were already gone, pounding ahead to the doors to catch them before they sealed, Valygar and Imoen pressing to join them, the girl shrill in her fear, a hand locked about the larger man's arm as she fought to keep her footing.

'Jaheira, come _on!_'

'You go, help hold the doors. I need to wait for the- Solaufein!' she cried, the drow tearing from the tunnel before her, 'Hurry! The doors will close soon! Where is Fritha?'

'She-'

The scream swelled to a rapid crescendo, the rush of noise and air hitting them like a whip crack and they ducked back from the edge on instinct as the serpentine streak of blue swept high above them, corkscrewing madly about the cavern roof, a blot of copper latched beneath his right wing and holding fast. Jaheira straightened to watch the creature wheel and dip out of sight.

'She _didn't._'

**…**

Fritha kept low, eyes screwed shut and body locked about the writhing joint of flesh above. Her hands and knees were grazed bloody, grated by rough scales, another series of dizzying turns leaving her head spinning. She had known he wouldn't survive the fall from that height. She had known if they fell she would force his change. She just hadn't had a chance to give thought to how she'd get out of it.

The body under her made a sudden dip, muscles in her arms and legs screaming as she gripped tighter. They were banking sharply and with dawning horror she watched the rough wall swept closer. Fritha pressed in, trying to meld her form seamlessly to his, the cover of his wing sparing all but her right leg from the jagged cavern sides. Her scream sang out, the flesh torn from knee to ankle, the pooling blood slick against the leather of her sandal. Another turn like that and she'd be falling to her death, the idea making it hard to let go as one hand groped for her sword, her body braced for the jolt.

Light danced along the metal as she drew it, the blade alive, a red sliver of dusk sunlight and she drove it up with all her might, the sword stabbed quickly into the joint above. Draconis screeched, wheeling left and it was all she could do to hold on, sword still in hand and other locked about the bleeding shoulder. Her body was now hanging above, rather than below the creature and she found purchase between the two rows of undulating fins, that ran from neck to tail along his back, as he came out of the turn. For a moment, they soared together, high over the cavern, both catching their breath from the battles that had brought them there, Fritha in a better position to gather her surroundings now she was no longer upside down and clinging for her life. The seal was just below them, almost glowing in the forge-light, that golden nest of shining pipes coiled beneath. She raised her blade; it was now or never.

The creature's howl left her half deaf, Fritha staggering to her feet and to heave the blade from his spine with difficulty. He was falling under her, wings flapped feebly against the descent and she scrambled frantically along his back, his body a last grasped foothold for a leap towards their target. She misjudged the jump to hit the wall above, her body too frightened to be winded, every limb clawing against the rock for purchase as she slid downwards until her feet finally touched upon the thick iron rim.

A single heartbeat and then the crash she knew would come, so deep she felt it through the iron beneath her. The tortured shriek of twisting metal billowed outwards with a cloud of scolding steam, and the cavern echoed with the final screams of Draconis.

**…**

Solaufein did not even think. The rope was torn from his bag and thrown to Jaheira before he had realised. There was no pause to check she had even caught it, the end he held wrapped crossways about his torso to step from the precipice. That instant of stomach-plummeting freedom, the water sheeting from above blinding his descent, and all the while he braced for it. Any moment now…

The rope went taught with a spine-cracking jerk, his back wrenched and body smashed into the wall behind, and, for a moment, he dangled there. Fritha was just below him, faint and battered, standing on the seal rim he'd see her leap for and prayed she'd make, the girl grabbing his hand to guide him in as those above edged him lower. She tried a smile.

'I thought you drow are supposed to be graceful.'

Solaufein was torn between an embrace and just strangling her. Below, the seal was beginning to fail. The metal pipes were torn away by the crash and the water gushing through was the rest, iron petals peeled back from the budding hole as the pressure finally released, the air choked with steam, smoke and the cries of the drowning.

'Come!'

He did not wait for her, the girl pulled to him with force enough to make her gasp, arms locked instinctively about his neck as he leaned back and tugged the rope. Strong arms above began to haul them up, Solaufein walking the wall, the girl curled against his chest and doing her best to shelter his face from the water and rocks that cascaded about them. Imoen appeared over the edge holding Jaheira's staff.

'Hurry up, or there won't be anything left to haul you on to!'

They were within a few feet now. Jaheira did not wait any longer, her long arm scrabbling over the edge to haul first Fritha and then the drow up the last few steps. Valygar's chest was heaving, rope wrapped about his thick waist, the anchor that had pulled them to safety, while Fritha looked as though she would just fall to her knees in the churning waters. Solaufein caught her under the arms before she could. Imoen was already at her lover's arm and dragging him after her into the tunnel. Solaufein followed suit, forcing the girl's body along with his, Jaheira on her other side and carrying Fritha them between her.

The lower tunnel was up to his waist, limbs heavy in the dragging current as he tried to haul both himself and the girl at his side onwards, the waters subsiding as they moved further up the slope. Ahead, he could see the knot of light, Valygar lending his bulk to the cause with the other men, backs set and limbs braced against the doorframe to prevent that great iron door from rolling shut for good.

'Come on!' screamed Imoen, darting through the gap they'd left.

A last burst of speed, Fritha dragged after Solaufein and shoved through, he and Jaheira bounding in after her and with a single, shared leap, the three men jumped aside.

And silence, all panting in the darkness. Fritha was on her knees beneath them and shaking wildly, her hoarse gasps slowly giving way to a noise somewhere between laughter and sobbing. Solaufein crouched beside her, an arm about her trembling shoulders.

'It is all right, Fritha, there now, it is all right.'

'I know. I'm fine. It was too much,' she panted, a firm hand rubbing her sternum, 'There was just too much.'

'I do not know,' muttered Valygar weakly, 'from where I stood, it appeared to be just enough.'

Imoen gave a dry sob, faced buried against his chest to hide the tears. 'Oh, Vals.'

'Come on,' clucked Jaheira, too relieved even to attempt a scolding and taking Fritha under the arms to heave her upright, 'up you get. We'll all feel better under the sky once more.'

**…**

The library was empty, much to Imoen's anger.

'Ungrateful bitch, she could have helped! Dragon's have magic and- and-' The desperate tremble stole the last of her tirade, tears welling again as she glanced again to Valygar's mangled hand.

'Shush, Imoen, it is all right.'

Anomen's torment was more muted, the man standing over Brieanna's body, staring down at a woman he no longer knew. Minsc planted a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

'Come, good Anomen, we shall carry her out together.'

Up the stairs and through that great stone door, the further three tiers of Abazigal's tower richly furnished in Tethyran woods and Calimshite weaves. A bed chamber, kitchens and throne room were packed with treasures that would not have looked out of place at the Ducal Palace, all solid gold candlesticks and silver vases.

Outside, the sun was just a bright red sliver along the western horizon, the amber sky fading to a mournful grey and casting long shadows across the broken columns and crumbling rooms that bordered the large stone courtyard. Here and there, bleached bones were scattered, all that was left of the long plundered tombs that lined the southern wall, the statues of two woefully dilapidated lions on guard at each end. A long terrace had survived on the north side, once brightly-painted tiles now faded by sun and heat to washed out smudges of colour. Imoen knew what _that_ felt like.

'Does anyone know where we are?' asked Valygar. Jaheira was already rooting through her bag.

'I think these ruins might be marked on the map.'

But it was not the map she produced, the woman finally drawing a large jar and thick wad of linen bandages from her bag, and Imoen moved away, unwilling to watch as Jaheira set to binding Valygar's hand.

Across the group, Solaufein was fussing similarly over Fritha, her hands, knees and face all bearing the grazes of her flight. One trouser leg was completely shredded below the knee, the calf beneath a mangled mess of grit and blood that the drow was attempting to clean, the man wincing with every reluctant hiss. Imoen tried to summon some sympathy – it would not come. She slumped wearily onto a fallen pillar.

'Let's just stay here tonight.'

'And what of our horse?' reminded Jaheira, 'I will not see the creature left without food or shelter.'

Imoen rolled her eyes; she cared more about that stupid pony than them. 'We'll be there in the morning. I don't-' A shadow rippled over the courtyard. Imoen felt the panic hit her throat. '_Everyone, hide!_'

They scattered just before it hit, fire exploding across the cracked stonework. Valygar grabbed her, diving into the nearby remains of a room, the pair running forward to duck under the ruins of a large window, its shutters long rotted away and affording them a clear view of the courtyard beyond. And there, in the fading amber sky, it looped and dipped, the rich blue body lustrous in the dying light, like the deep blue glaze of the fine Eastern porcelains.

'Abazigal?' Imoen breathed, eyes locked on the rolling form, 'He came here? He _actually_ came here?'

'Perhaps he felt something,' offered Valygar, the man hastily trying to secure his bandages, 'his magic built this place; perhaps he sensed it fall.'

'But you heard Shivistra: he won't risk fighting another Bhaalspawn. He'll just fly- What the- _Fritha?_'

'_Abazigal!_' Fritha watched the shape above pause, great wings keeping a slow, steady beat as he reared back to regard her. It felt so good to shout again, really boom something from deep within her lungs after the desperate whispering of that pit. The Fates had sent her a gift, if she could just seize it. Her body felt tense under her, the pain that had been so permeating before fading into the background, a noise she could not quite place. 'Creature, I have come for you!'

If he had not taken the time to roar, the fire would have caught her. Fritha dived for the shelter of a lion statue and did not wait for him to find her there, tearing through the ruin of a room where Jaheira and Minsc had found refuge. Her leg felt cold and wet, chest burning where lungs winded from her previous fall screamed for breath. The druid was beckoning to her frantically, while Minsc looked torn between doing the same, and coming out there with her as she stepped from between two broken columns.

'Pathetic creature! Your own kind shuns you as a mongrel and how right they are! Even the draconic carved above your _door_ is spelt wrong!'

That was closer, the scent of charred brick following her into the covered walkway. His roar echoed against the stone, a shockwave across the desert. Fritha kept low, racing up the crumbling steps to appear on the terrace above.

'And Bhaal does not want you either! Do you recall the camp you destroyed in Tethyr? I was there. The instant you arrived I was to be executed, mere moments from death. But _They_ would not let it happen. The Fates are with me, Abazigal, and they are not without humour; they sent _you_ to my rescue.'

She leapt down, landing heavily in a crouch as fire consumed the terrace. He was lower now, hovering over her, smoke boiling from his nostrils. His fires were spent, and she could see hatred being weighed against survival in those malevolent yellow eyes. It was time to tip the scales.

'Look! Look upon what I have wrought here! Your slave is fled, your army destroyed and your son is _dead!_ He died screaming your name – begging you for aid! But you a _coward_ who hides behind his child! Draconis is gone now, mongrel; who is left to die for you?'

The roar shook the very ruins. Fritha raced back to shelter under the half-fallen gatehouse, Abazigal's vengeance bringing him to her as he swept down to fill the courtyard.

'_You will die here, mortal!_'

Across the ruins, allies arose, their weapons ready. Fritha drew her sword.

'The Fates say otherwise.'

The creature was much larger than his son had been, thicker about that azure body, though the long neck and tail were the same, wings spread wide to block the low sun. They moved slowly to surround him; the creature waited, both groups tensed for the first move. It came in an explosion of magic. Imoen hurled a bolt of fierce light towards the creature, the energy ricocheting off that thick blue hide to leave only a scorch. Abazigal observed the burn with a throaty chuckle; the sound made Fritha's skin prickle.

'Anomen, Minsc, left flank! Imoen-'

The dragon's bellow trembled through the stone about them, the scattered bones reforming at his call, a half dozen, half-made figures doing their best to stagger, limp and crawl for the astounded Imoen.

'Vals!'

But it was not the ranger who answered her. Jaheira broke from their line, racing back to take the skull from the nearest, while Imoen blasted another with a similar bolt of light.

About Abazigal, the others pressed the fight. Anomen and Valygar were paired, the knight and his shield providing protection for them both, the two fighting with Minsc at Abazigal's head while Fritha and Solaufein tried to outflank the creature, but to little avail. Beating wings and tail had surrounded him with a constant storm of dust and rubble that hid well the sharp claws.

His tail whipped out, the nearest lion statue exploding in a hail of shrapnel and Valygar and Anomen dove apart, the ranger finally leaving the protection of that shield as they hit the stone tiles. Abazigal snaked his head in low, making to crush him while he had the chance and Minsc leapt between them. The great sword bit deep, the ranger's swing cleaving lip to nostril to shower both man and dragon in blood. Abazigal reared back, howl joining the roar of fracturing stone as his temper was vented upon the ruins about them.

Fritha dived behind a fallen column, debating an attack during this distraction and immediately reconsidering, Solaufein's attempt to charge closer seeing the drow ducking that thrashing tail by a hair's breadth. The other men were across the courtyard, on their feet once more and regrouping for the next attack. Abazigal watched them, both groups calculating their next move as the men spread out once more. Fritha hurdled the column before her, a nod to Solaufein as the man marked a gesture to the creature's back legs in silent coordination of their next attack.

The dragon had decided his move too. Abazigal reared up, huge underbelly expanding and she braced for the roar, the silence that followed somehow accentuated by the fine tendrils of smoke that coiled from his nostrils. Fritha realised what was coming an instant too late.

'Fall back! Fall-'

Fritha dived back over the column behind her. The men scattered in time, but only just, fires missing them, though the backlash of hot air knocked any still on their feet to the ground. The group were sprawled and scattered about him, Abazigal looming over all with the smug air of one who had time to enjoy this, his head coiling down to snatch Anomen in his jaws. The man instantly snapped from his daze, mace smashed into his wounded nose to see him dropped again.

Anomen landed, winded, on the stone beneath, Solaufein racing in to stab deep into the creature's neck. The blade barely had a chance to bite. That sinuous length whipped back to send the drow flying. Valygar dived in to attack his opposite flank and a claw swipe knocked him flat. He rolled just in time to miss the following stamp, Fritha scrambling to help him when a cry behind drawing her attention back. Jaheira and Imoen were both pinned in the ruins of a small room, skeletons being felled only to rise again but moments after, as the pair were slowly overwhelmed.

Fritha felt frozen, every limb trembling with the knowledge she had called this death upon them all. And then, through guilt and fear, there it was, rising above her, a broken tooth that teetered upon upper terrace, loosed by the dragon's thrashing and haloed in red from the sinking sun.

'_Minsc!_'

The Rashemi whipped from her to the fracture column and she saw the understand flash in his leap, the man suddenly up and tearing for the stairs. Abazigal jerked to the movement, Fritha diving in to catch those yellow eyes, her scream ricocheting against the stone about them.

'Come on then! This all you have, godspawn? Ha! Draconis never stood a chance if _you_ sired him!'

The others were still struggling to their feet, Abazigal ignoring all but the girl before him, wild-eyed and screaming threats like she had nothing left to lose. The lithe neck reared up, smoke billowing from his engorged nostrils; Fritha braced herself and refused to look up.

'_Come on!_'

The grind of stone and she could hold her gaze steady no longer. On the terrace, Minsc staggering back, the pillar he had thrown his weight to teetering there. It hung for an instant, a broken column of stone broader than the man himself, to plunge over the edge. Abazigal whipped about just in time, fires lost in a smoky gasp, his attempt to scramble back in vain. A sickening crunch as it broke across his neck, his head brought down with it to hit the stone in a puff of smoke, tongue lolling from those bloody jaws but a few yards from her feet.

Fritha swayed, a tremble of laughter escaping her lips.

'Sola?'

And the drow was ready as she keeled backwards into his arms.

**…**

How nice to be dry again, the cold winds tearing at her tunic and hair, rippling across the cloth and throwing each curling tress before her like the trailing streamers the knights would tie upon their lances for the Midsummer tournaments. She heaved the wealth of hair back from her face, casting about for her usual companion.

'Sarevok?'

'He's not here.'

Fritha whipped back, hair left to the mercy of the winds once more, that voice all too familiar to her, and there she was, her macabre twin, the tempest doing nothing to disturb the neat arrangement of curls that fell about her waxy, grey face, the girl's features a lifeless mirror to her own: the Instinct.

Fritha frowned. 'Where is Sarevok?'

'Indisposed. The Essence is keeping him busy for a time.' An image behind her eyes of that great man, panting wildly as he hared his bulk across the tiled plane, the monster just as worn out upon his heels and Fritha tried not to laugh. 'We decided it was time we had a talk to you away from your brother's influence.'

Fritha shrugged, already returned to more important matters and fighting to tie back her hair. 'Fair enough then, talk away.'

Her blasé attitude seemed only to rile the girl, neat mane of curls tossed back, every point stabbed with a bony grey finger.

'You may think you have tamed us, but we will not sit by and watch you throw everything away! We know what you are planning. You think you can deny your fate, and perhaps you can. But you cannot deny your heart, Fritha. We are inside you. Instinct and Essence are the names you have given us and these are the forms we take, but do not be fooled. We are not something separate, we are _in_ you, in blood and bone and every beat of your rotten little heart!'

The girl's face twisted with a delighted sneer that revealed that _rotten heart_ for all to see –Fritha made a note never to pull that face herself.

'You could feel it, couldn't you?' the Instinct pressed, eyes alight as she leaned in, 'you felt it when you sent that dragon soaring down to his end. There is a power within you, one so large it could swallow you and all you love in a heartbeat. Embrace it, embrace _us_ and you will become more powerful than you could ever imagine.' The sly smile twitched. 'Enough even to save _them_. Abazigal is dead, but at what cost? Brieanna is gone, and Valygar will never again lift a bow.'

Ooo, a low blow; Fritha let anger and guilt fight each other to a cold truce.

'That was their choice. If I succumb to you to spare them now, I will only destroy them later when they are forced to take arms against the foulness I've become.'

The girl looked as though she wanted to grab her in her rage. 'You _cannot_ deny who you are! _I_ threw us at Draconis! It was the Essence who coursed through you as you yelled taunts to Abazigal! We are in your every breath!'

'Perhaps…' Fritha admitted finally, 'but you are mine to control, and that is how it will stay.'

She made to turn away, the softer tone halting her.

'You miss us, don't you? You miss talking to me.'

The girl looked sad, and Fritha felt it, the loneliness that had never been far away since her soul had been returned and she had, at last, lost her oldest friend– and perhaps the girl felt it too.

'Yes. You understand, without me having to explain. It was nice.'

'I could come back, if you want? Talk to you again, like before when you were young, when Gorion had stolen you away and there was no one else.'

Fritha was almost tempted. But this was not the voice she had chatted to in those long, lonely hours in Candlekeep, in the days before Imoen had come and shown her what true friendship was. Fritha watched her, the girl looking melancholy even for a corpse; perhaps it was another trick, another way to worm in and manipulate her, but in that moment, Fritha liked to believe it wasn't.

'No, I don't think so.' She went to turn again, the words leaving her in a confusion of regrets, 'I- thank you – for before. I wouldn't have survived the Underdark without you. But we can't go back there… Goodbye.'

Fritha turned and closed her eyes, face titled to that boiling sky, the cries following her as she made to surface.

'You will never tame the power without us! We're inside you! Bhaal will come and He will _consume_ you!'


	37. Broken

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Broken**

Her eyes opened to a smile, dark lips spreading to part over even, white teeth. Solaufein, of course – Fritha passed out so often now, it was probably negligible to the others.

'Was I out for long?'

'No,' he assured, arm slid about to support her as she made to sit, 'barely a quarter hour; you are getting better.'

Jaheira had glanced back at the noise, straightening from where she had been talking to the stony-faced Anomen and suddenly marching towards them.

'Fritha, lie back down now! You were supposed to say when she was awake, Solaufein.'

'I'm fine,' the girl dismissed, already impatient with her coddling. The two helped her to stand, Jaheira rather more begrudgingly and using the opportunity to check for injuries.

'Fine, indeed! I am not surprised you fainted -this bravado of yours will only take you so far, Fritha!'

Fritha tuned it out –she had heard it all before, the activities behind her more than enough distraction from the lecture. Valygar, Minsc and Imoen were working their way along the nearest bookcase, throwing books into the rough sack Minsc held. Fritha frowned.

'Was not our deal with the Amma that they have first pickings of this place?'

'They won't miss things like this,' reasoned Imoen, no pause to her task, and Fritha noted no glance was sent her way. 'Besides, saving the Sword Coast doesn't come cheap.'

Fritha watched as a gold bound, ruby-set tome was tossed merrily into the depths. 'No, I suppose it doesn't.'

'Here, Minsc help me with these,' Imoen continued, reaching up to a shelf a head's height above her and stacked with ancient books that looked to be missing half their bindings.

'I wouldn't bother with those,' warned Valygar, 'it will be too hard to find buyers.'

'Not to sell,' she laughed easily, 'to study. You heard Shivistra, these books were collected to help Abazigal harness the power of his blood –_our_ blood. If it can work for him, it can work for me. Imagine if I could channel the power of the taint into my magic,' she pressed, in face of his frown. 'The people I could save, the things I could do! Vals, there could be something here - I could learn how to-'

She swallowed, gaze flicking reluctantly to the sling he now wore. Valygar sent her pained look, the hand that was still whole reaching up to lightly caress her hair.

'Imoen, there is nothing here I need.'

Tempers flared as she brushed him off.

'You! Why are you so stubborn! I want to help you!'

'These books contain only corruption, Imoen! Magics that harness the power of blood – that is not even the way of the Weave!'

'So we just leave them here?' Imoen demanded.

'For the Amma to take them and sell them on? No, they must be destroyed.'

Imoen looked positively wild, whirling suddenly to the girl behind them.

'Destroyed? _No!_ The knowledge here is immense - Fritha tell him!'

Fritha sighed, letting fingers trace over the peeling cover of the book discarded to the table before her, frayed, faded green linen that gave no hint at the power within. It went against everything she had ever been taught, and yet…

'Books are not evil and neither is knowledge… but I've seen enough of the world to know that if something can be used to hurt others, it will be… We will take anything we can safely sell on – the rest, we will burn before we leave.'

'Fritha! Are you mad? The whole library? The Amma-'

'Will sell nigh on everything they find here,' cut in Valygar firmly, 'Can you guarantee where these books will end up? Or how they will be used? There is more than enough treasure in that throne room to satisfy our promise to the tribe.'

'Fine, then!' snapped Imoen, pushing roughly past Minsc, 'If that's what you're going to do, you can finish it without me!'

The outburst did little for the group's mood, though Fritha doubted it could have become much worse, the girl taking Imoen's place while her friend sulked wherever they were not, skulking between the bookcases and muttering darkly. It did not take long to harvest everything of value, the more expensively decorated tomes supplemented with a few more benign volumes Fritha felt sure they could sell, their group gathering on those curved stone stairs.

'We have everything?'

A round of nods, Minsc hefting the sack at his back. Fritha glanced to the girl next to her.

'Imoen?'

'You want to do it, do it yourself!'

'Fine,' she sighed, tripping down the steps, Brieanna's lantern in hand. The oil smelt rich and peaty, though she had little time to appreciate the scent. The flames burst to brilliant life with a trace of smoke, licking eagerly up the wooden frame, pages of the nearest book curling back, ash-blackened petals before the fire consumed them wholly. Fritha was already back at the stairs, pushing her way through the others to take the lead, the first to step through the heavy stone door.

'Let's go.'

**…**

They reached the horse within the hour, the beast given food and water at Jaheira's insistence before they set out once more; the others used the chance to change into something dry. Fritha pulled on the welcome warmth of her blue linen robe, muscles aching with the movement – it had been a long day.

It would have likely been safe enough to camp there for the night, a quick check by Minsc confirming no sign of the gorge's previous guardians. But it seemed no one wanted to remain there, an air of tragedy hanging over the place despite their relative success, and the plains were in the deep in blue grey twilight before they were even ready to set out again. Another hour's walk retraced their steps of the day and the stars were out and making their sweep of the heavens before they finally halted to make camp.

'Well,' began Jaheira, surveying the ring of tents that edged the pool of firelight, 'we should see about a meal.'

'Is anyone even hungry?' muttered Imoen, the girl curled about her pack, such a sentiment practically unheard of from her.

No one answered anyway. Anomen was staring to the desert at the silhouette of a lone acacia tree, thin branches weaving a pattern in black against the sky, a complex canopy of old lace.

'I would have the shovel,' he said, at last, to the silence, offers of help instantly forestalled as he added, 'I will dig the grave alone.'

Fritha watched him labour there, adding his own dark outline to the tree's, and the stew was bubbling merrily by the time he'd stopped, the man's silhouette upright once more and leant upon the spade. She rose, dusting off her legs just to break the awkward tension that had suddenly suffused every limb.

'I think it's time.'

Jaheira and Minsc brought the body, carried in a cloak Fritha no longer wanted back, and the woman was laid out next to her freshly dug grave, the tilled earth a rich red in the lamplight. Anomen stooped down to take something from her belt pouch, though Fritha could not see what before he'd thrust it into his pocket and straightened again.

'Someone should say something,' ventured Imoen. She was staring at Anomen, but the man did not notice, gazing instead at the woman laid serenely by the waiting grave. Fritha cast about the fidgeting bodies, the silence billowing to a well of voiceless anxieties. She didn't think Torm would be listening, and, in that moment, she promised herself that if she became Bhaal, the woman would sit at His right hand in all honour.

A twist of guilt shoved Fritha forward a step. Around the grave, shoulders relaxed.

'I- ah, we return this body to the earth, its spirit long departed past the veil. As Elund, this woman was our enemy. But in Brieanna, we found a friend and it is as this we will miss her, in her strength and loyalty and laughter, and I pray that any gods listening look kindly upon her and see her as we did.'

Murmured oaths and the group disbanded, Minsc and Jaheira stepping forward once more to lower the body into the pit. The druid leaned in, gently wrapping the cloak edges over her before she straightened to let Minsc take over, the Rashemi taking up a lilting ode to the warrior dead as, shovel by shovel, he slowly covered the body. Fritha pulled her robe about her, retreating from the sudden chill. Solaufein remained at her side as they halted together a few yards from the grave, the girl unwilling to leave, but having no reason to stay.

'Another dead – another step closer – another victim left in the wake.'

'You feel guilty.'

'Yes. She came here for me, to help me, and I killed her. That's all my heritage ever does, destroys lives.' Anomen was watching Minsc work, stiff and unreadable as he turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. 'Someone should speak to him.'

'I will go.'

She nodded, pressing her forehead into the drow's shoulder and hoping she willed into the man that overwhelming gratitude she held for his presence there. A soft pat on her back showed her he'd understood, before they parted, Solaufein disappearing after the knight.

'You two are as thick as ever, I see.'

Fritha sent the druid a wan smile. 'At least one of my siblings will still speak to me.'

A shared glance to the girl who was back and seated beside the fire, glowering into her knees.

'Imoen will come round,' reasoned Jaheira. 'It can be hard to bear, that knowledge we are not as invincible as we feel. And what about you? It cannot have been easy to kill Brieanna.'

'No,' Fritha corrected, 'it was all too easy. I just saw the dagger rise and then she was dead.'

'She would have murdered Anomen,' Jaheira reminded quickly. But Fritha shook her head, the guilt not so easily assuaged.

'Would she? I interrupted something… She and Anomen…' She trailed off, unable to say more, the revelation lost in an incoherent mess of regret and anger –why did the world always do this to her? Jaheira, at least, had an answer of sorts.

'Come. Dinner.'

Imoen did not glance up to their approach, mulishly staring at the scuffed toes of her old brown boots. Jaheira pretended not to notice, instead lifting the lid from the pot in a cloud of steam to drip condensation hissing into the fire.

'Now, let us see what we have here. Oh, yes,' the druid gasped through her scalding sip, spoon dropped back in to the pot to stir it round, 'it will be ready soon. Imoen, is Valygar joining up for dinner?'

'No,' she answered shortly, 'he's gone to our tent. The draft you gave him made him sleepy.'

'Yes, it can have that effect. Though perhaps after the day, it would be for the best that he gets some rest.'

'I'll take his watch,' murmured Fritha. Imoen snorted.

'Well, _that's_ big of you.'

'Right, well,' continued Jaheira briskly, 'I will just add the dried chives to this and it will be about ready to serve. Pass me your bowl and the herbs, Imoen.'

'I just _said_ I don't want any, and I don't have the chives.'

'_Fine then_, you do not have to _have_ any, but I _want_ the dried chives. I am sure they are in your-' Jaheira reached for her bag, Imoen snatching it from reach.

'I said, I don't have them! I'm going to bed,' she snapped, on her feet and swinging the bag up onto her shoulder with momentum enough to send her staggering forward. Her knees wobbled beneath her as she forced that first stubborn step and stalked from the circle, leave the two women to stare after her. Fritha lay down, closing her eyes to watch the fire dance through dark red lids.

'Do you ever wish you'd just stayed in the Grove –never left?'

'Sometimes,' Jaheira conceded without shame, 'But then I recall the people aided by my presence in the world and I know my place is out here.'

'Yes… I think I've probably hurt as many as I've helped by now. And I can't see how I can redress the balance in the coming days. Abazigal is dead and Sendai still must fall before she can do the same as he.'

A contemplative pause from the druid. 'You still plan to take battle to Sendai, even now, knowing we are playing in to Melissan's hand?'

'What choice have we? Sendai raises and army just as Abazigal did.'

'And if that gives Melissan enough power to ascend?'

'For now, it's a risk we must take.'

'Just as you risked throwing yourself onto _Draconis?_' questioned the woman sharply. Fritha snorted – she should have known her scolding for that had been postponed rather than abandoned.

'Well, he wasn't a dragon when I went for him.'

Her reasoning failed to appease the druid, the pot clanking as she stirred vigorously. 'Really, Fritha, the injuries you sustained –_could_ have sustained! Do you know how lucky you are? And _then_ to go and confront _Abazigal!_'

'Yes,' Fritha considered slowly, 'but that is the thing, isn't it… There is too much power in me now, and the sort unused to having the limitations of a mortal body. It screams for me to kick down doors and tear out hearts, without considering that such actions will merely lead me to an even weaker state. And if it does not care for me, it certainly does not care for anyone I'm with. I try to temper it. When Abazigal first arrived, I tried to press myself back. I knew we were too injured to battle him safely, but the Child within was screaming, demanding I take the chance to crush my enemy while I had it. It's becoming harder to resist, especially when a small part of me understands such sacrifices are needed.'

She could sense the woman watching her, searching for a way to pose her question.

'Fritha, what do you remember of your time in the temple?'

Fritha sighed, heaving herself up to meet the woman's gaze. 'My mother and the other sisters caring for us, playing with the other children. Just life there, really. It was simple and… home. I was never exposed to anything terrible, at least not until the day the Harpers stormed the place and interrupted the first of the sacrifices.'

'You recall that day -and Gorion's rescue?' Jaheira winced at the words as soon as they were spoken, perhaps expecting a sharp counter to _this_ version of events. Fritha had no more energy for such empty anger though; Gorion took the reasons for his later betrayals to his grave, but he had rescued her in the first and she could be grateful for that.

'Yes, I remember it.'

Her lack of rebuke seemed to emboldened the woman. 'Were you to have been sacrificed?'

A little girl in blood red robes kept that bubbling excitement well-hidden beneath the solemn frown, small hands passing up the long, bone knife. Her mother took it with an approving smile. On the altar, a baby squirmed. Fritha smoothed her lips together, mouth dry.

'I- I don't know. But I do know what Melissan needs to be able to take the Throne. She could kill every Bhaalspawn from here to the Gate, but it would never be enough, not when there is such a concentration elsewhere.' She tapped her chest, a smile blossoming with that feeling of pleasure at being so perversely special. 'She will need the essence in me and any other of the powerful Bhaalspawn still left. While I live, the Throne is safe, from her at least. Sendai is still a threat, of course, as will be any other Children strong enough to take it, but once they are dead…' Fritha trailed off with a shrug, adding simply. 'If Melissan desires Bhaal's legacy then she will have to kill me or wait until I kill her, and then…'

'And then?'

Fritha smiled into the fire.

'It's over.'

**…**

Solaufein paused, unwilling to return, yet reluctant to press on and disturb the figure knelt there in the pale circle of his werelight, the red dust about him scuffed in a short trough where he had fallen sharply to his knees. He could have been praying, but the drow could make out no murmur to the air, Anomen's head bowed as he stared unblinkingly at something in his hand. Solaufein closed a step, the light catching on something small and silver, but it was not the eye of his god, and he finally forced himself to break the silence.

'Anomen…'

A deep, terse sigh misted in the night. 'So, she sent you then. _I _was once the dog who trotted willingly on her errands; I am glad she has found another.'

Solaufein ignored the slight. 'She is concerned.'

Anomen whirled, a fist thrown to the dirt with his roar.

'_She_ is the root of this! Brieanna is _dead!_ What does Fritha think you can do? You of all people, the man who for months kept it from us, from _me!_ You knew what is coming! You knew she is going to become Bhaal!'

Solaufein faced unflinching the anger of a betrayal that was not meant for him.

'I did. And now so do you.' He sighed, tired and ready to be back at the fire, the man half turning to leave. 'I came as she asked, but I can see that it is better you are alone. May you find the solace you seek in the darkness.'

And with that Solaufein stalked off, retracing his dusty footsteps, the campfire but a point of light that it hurt to gaze upon. What had he expected to achieve there, offering words of consolation to a man he barely knew? But Solaufein already had his answer – he had not come to ease the knight's grief, he had come to ease hers. The drow snorted; Solaufein, the loyal _hound_.

Out of the shadow a shape was lumbering, shovel resting casually over one broad shoulder.

'Do not waste your efforts, Minsc, he wants no company.'

'Good Solaufein-'

But Solaufein kept moving; every man had their limit, and that day had wrung its last from him.

Minsc watched the drow pass him by –ah, such trouble crept into even the most wary of hearts. In his pocket, Boo trembled and the warrior returned to his path, the distant bead of light growing brighter with each step. The man did not turn at his approach – Minsc had not expected him to.

'She is covered and sleeping now, good Anomen.'

'Thank you, Minsc.'

'No, no thanks,' the Rashemi sighed, 'it is a warrior's honour to bury their brothers; not always do we have the chance.'

A bitter snort he had heard all too many times; some joke above the comprehension of the man who could not understand.

'She was not our _brother_, Minsc.'

The Rashemi shrugged evenly. 'She came here for Fritha, as much as of any of us.'

'Yes, she did…' the man admitted, at length, continuing more brusquely, 'Thank you, but I would be alone, Minsc.'

'As you will, good Anomen. Grieve as you need, but know it is not a burden you must bear alone.'

**…**

She lowered the bag into the corner, the straining leather creaking as it settled against the canvas walls. In the darkness, the large shape stirred under the blankets, Valygar sitting to catch her with a bleary smile. Imoen made her best attempt to return it.

'Sorry, I was trying not to wake you.'

'Do not worry,' he sighed, shifting on to his back. 'Is it late?'

She shook her head and moved further up the bedding to haul off her tunic, her boots removed before she had even crawled inside.

'No, barely a quarter hour after you left. You must have almost passed out.' She made a show of folding the tunic neatly over her pack and fussing at her trousers' laces, any excuse not to turn and see that ghostly white sling. 'Does it hurt?'

In the corner of her eye, the knot on his shoulder bobbed with a shrug.

'Not so much. Jaheira's draft has dulled it -and me, as well, it seems,' he added, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I do not envy the one tasked to wake me for my watch.'

The anger caught her so suddenly, she'd whirled before she could stop herself.

'_You're_ not taking one! Fritha's volunteered for yours, and she can take mine too!'

'Imoen-'

'_No!_ Look at you! This is all her fault! If she hadn't– If I had-'

'Imoen,' he sighed, closing his free arm about her as she fell against him to sob against his chest, 'do not do this to yourself. This is no one's fault, but the creature who struck me.'

'But your poor _hand!_'

'There now, shush… There is always a cost; I once lost almost my whole group. All we can do is decide whether the cost we pay is worth what we aim to accomplish. And it was, Imoen,' he pressed gently, lifting her chin and forcing her to acknowledge the mild smile, 'and it still is yet.'

'But, why?' she cried, drawing back to dash the tears aside, 'Why must it always be like this? I'm so tired of fighting! Over a year ago we left Candlekeep, every step hunted by those mercs -this was supposed to be over when we killed Sarevok, but it all just got worse! We _died_ in Suldanessellar – what was the point of coming back for _this!_ Oh, Vals, I just want some peace.'

'I know, but it is the way of life. Evil rises, the world suffers and someone must step in.'

'Well, I've _done_ my bit! We stopped the war and saved the elves; I've given all I should have to. Why must the world always demand more?'

Valygar shook his head, gaze falling to the arm that was bound up across his chest, as though contemplating what it had already claimed from him. 'It is not so much the world, as the people we are, Imoen. You think others around us do not see what needs to be done? They do. But it is those such as us who see it, who realise what it will mean, who feel that pressure to act against it.'

'Well, don't want to feel _anymore!_' she screamed back, not caring who heard her, 'I was so frightened down there- and now look at you, broken so even the clerics can't fix it! Damn her! Damn her and this stupid war! I wish we'd never come!'

She fell again to his chest, Valygar pulling her closer to settle her into the crook of his arm and keeping up a constant murmur as he rubbed her heaving back, the bandages of his other arm bright in the gloom.

xxx

Fritha leaned back, head pillowed upon the rim and eyes closed, her body weightless as the cool water lapped at her thighs and chest. The air was warm on her shoulders that peeked above the blanket she had draped across the long wooden tub to hide the rest of her from view. She had washed her hair before she had even stepped in, the damp weight of it now hanging from her head to pool upon the floor. She paid it little mind, the girl caught listening to the sounds of the camp about her: the flap of tent canvas, the faint rattle of pots as dinner was prepared drowned by the occasional burst of laughter from the women in the pavilion next door. Fritha breathed a sigh, the air rich with the scent of woodsmoke and one of her newly purchased treasures – jasmine oil all the way from Calimport.

It had been another two days before they had reached the Amma's camp and it had been hard going. Water had been rationed, and their travel was delayed by further storms, but even then, it had been the company that had weighed upon her. Imoen's outburst the night before they had left had been difficult to bare, Jaheira bustling uncomfortably over the cooking pot as though she could not hear the muffled shrieks, but if anything the next couple of days had been worse. Anomen would speak to no one, while Imoen was still angry with her but pretending she was not, their friendship cooled to a cruel civility. Fritha honestly did not know which felt worse.

At least the mood among the Amma was more cheerful, the camp light-hearted and merry after their return proved another peril of the desert dispatched and the tribe increased in wealth. An expedition of young warriors had left that afternoon, only hours after their arrival, to loot these promised treasures before another found them.

'Fritha?'

He always said her name so nicely, his slight accent making it softer, like a sigh. She opened her eyes again, first to take in the plain tent roof, the girl turning to the man himself, sat cross-legged at her side on the large striped rug that was under the tub. His own hair was damp from where it had been washed out in the oasis and tied back from that striking face. Solaufein smiled.

'I thought you might have fallen asleep.'

The light in there was mild, the fading sunlight softened by the shifting canvas walls to dance across his dark skin and reveal an undercast of blue which, in turn, brought out the silver to his eyes. The whole effect, though, was rather ruined by the ash green tunic he was wearing, and Fritha resolved to get him a more complementary colour when she next saw the local merchant, Mehul – violet or perhaps a warm jade green. He had visited the merchant that afternoon to purchase a new cloak, the swathe of thinly woven wool folded neatly next to him now, the faded, autumnal yellow of dried primroses– it suited him.

'No,' she sighed, sitting to retrieve the small cup that rested on the floor next to her for a long sip of wine, 'just resting my eyes.'

Solaufein snorted, taking up his own cup. 'Bhaskar caught me on the way back from fetching the wine – he seemed surprised I was joining you here. He asked if I had spoken to your father.'

Fritha almost spat wine into her bathwater. '_Really?_ Ah, let him fret – this isn't either of the pavilions, and there are no rules of separation involving the wash tent.'

'No,' Solaufein conceded, 'though I suspect that is because when young women are mortified at the thought of even _eating_ before their male counterparts, the elders here did not think they would need any rules regarding bathing.'

Fritha's giggle rippled the water, joined by another round of laughter and cries from the women's pavilion next door. She shot a frown to the canvas wall, as though it would surrender answers to her gaze.

'I wonder what they're up to – they've been like that for the last hour.'

A high laugh rang out above the others, the giggle familiar enough to send a cool throb of melancholy through her chest. Solaufein drew a contemplative sip.

'Imoen is with them.'

'Yes…'

He watched her sigh and turn away, her attention back on her cup, the girl taking another sip to rest it on her chest beneath the blanket. He had, of course, attended females as they had bathed before, the situation usually having little to do with washing and involved him pulled in as well at some point, though he was trying not the consider that. His mind slipped back to it at unguarded moments; the night before they had reached the stronghold and her uncertain attempts at seduction. He had known then why she had tried and, even less flatteringly, why it had been with _him_, but the thought had still kept him awake that night after she had slipped into restless sleep – and nights since if he were honest.

Another sigh, light and weary, the girl taking a long sip to contemplate her patterned shoulder, the stars there but freckles now to the unobservant eye. 'My henna will have gone completely by the time we get back to Amkethran.'

'Good,' he announced, fighting to rouse them both, 'I look forward to painting something new. I have been considering my latest masterpiece for a while now.'

'As long as it's nothing involving dragons.'

He chuckled faintly, still no idea of what he was going to draw even as he discounted it. 'No, I think we have had enough of dragons.'

She let the smile ebb with his laughter, back to her contemplation and he wondered absently if the cuts on her hands and knees would be faded by their return as well. Her leg certainly would not, the pale limb resting on the tub's wooden rim, the calf an angry mess of blues and pinks where taught skin met bruises. The large scab Fritha was trying to keep from the water encrusted the entire outer half, a rough brown continent upon a mottled sea, archipelagos speckling her knee and shin. Her shoulder and wrist were swollen too, likely from her dive to catch him in the elevator shaft – the thought twisted. If the Fates had always planned to set her such tasks, could they not, at least, have made her a little more durable?

'Well,' Fritha sighed, downing the last of her wine and setting the cup on the floor once more, 'I should likely get out before I shrivel to a dried fig.'

He turned his back to her, making to gather their few belongings, Fritha deftly wrapping the cloth that had covered the tub about her as she stood, rubbing herself down to pull on her white kurti and new deep orange trousers her own trip to the merchant had yielded. The hems were short enough to show her ankles and the thick silver bangle she had bought for one of them, her damp hair left to dry down her back – she would have hell trying to comb it out, but that was later.

Outside, the hint of evening was creeping in with the hum of the night insects, the sky molten above the camp as, about the fires, women in a rainbow of kurtas bustled over dinner, the air of serene industry shattered by the explosion of noise behind them. A half dozen young women had piled rather indecorously from the ladies' tent, the group cooing over the brunette in their midst.

'You look so different!'

'What will your husband think?'

Fritha went to turn, something about the group making her gaze linger, drawing her again to that freckled face and its wavy mop of chestnut hair. And then it struck.

'_Imoen?_'

All eyes darted to Fritha, the young women sensing enough to excuse themselves, tripping off to the preparations their sisters had been labouring in a while now, and Solaufein took a polite pace back from the hesitant meeting. Imoen seemed to be fighting back a grin, the dark red hair still damp and given to more of a wave than the drying formula of pink ever allowed it. Fritha could hardly form the words, the girl before her a stranger in more than just her look.

'You dyed your hair.'

'Yeah,' Imoen confirmed airily, a hand nervously flicking back the hennaed tresses, 'I fancied a change. Parvita and other girls helped.'

Fritha felt the betrayal stab; her voice, when it came, came small.

'You could have asked me.'

'You were busy with Solaufein. I didn't want to bother you.'

'Oh… It looks nice,' Fritha offered at length. Imoen sent her a careless smile.

'Yeah, well, I'm going to see if Vals thinks so, too.'

**…**

The task held a methodical familiarity that he had always found calming, and so much so, even the frustrations now presented by his injury could not rob him of the feeling. A sharp tap with the fine pointed driver took out the peg, another hit loosing the blade from the hilt, guard, spacers and ferrule laid out on the rug where he had settled before the tent he shared with Imoen on the edge of camp. He cleaned each piece in turn, the blade saved for last, a dash of water from his flask wetting the stone as he set to sharpening. It was hard to keep the strokes even with one hand, but an attempt to employ his other was rewarded with a flash of pain so great, it was all he could do not to yelp.

He glanced to it now, laid useless in his lap. The bindings had come off that afternoon after a taciturn Anomen had expended a great deal of effort to heal it through. The hand hardly looked like it belonged to him anymore, a swollen, misshapen thing, though the dull ache it was never without said otherwise. Any movement was agony, but he knew such would fade with time; it was another issue which was causing him his restless nights. He had managed the fight with Abazigal on nerves and will alone – the pain veiled by an urgent drive to survive. But the katana was a weapon for two hands, at least, the styles he knew were and he was torn between attempting to press on with the limitations of his injury or working to find a new style that took it from the issue completely. After all, however his hand healed, it would never regain the same dexterity. His fingers twitched unconsciously and the pain flared. It was a question he would have to face, but not for a while yet.

'Hey, Vals.'

He glanced up, a girl before him he knew he recognised despite the soft mess of chestnut waves that fell to her shoulders.

'Imoen? You changed your hair,' he exclaimed. She smiled, uncharacteristically nervous as she ran a hand through the damp tresses.

'Do you like it?'

'Yes,' he laughed, a part of him still astounded, 'you look very well, but what brought this about?'

She shrugged, sitting beside him with a smile. 'I just fancied a change.' That wicked grin for which he loved her. 'You know, a change is not all I fancy.'

Their lips met and, for a moment, all pain and worry fell away. It ended all too soon, but his task was easier with her there, settled in the crook of his arm, his crumpled hand lain gently in her lap as she watched him work.

'I can help with that, if you want.'

'Thank you, but it is best I get used to doing things with one hand, at least for a while. Everything is much easier now it is out of the sling.'

'It still hurts though, doesn't it?' she confirmed quietly.

'That is to be expected. But it will not hurt forever,' he assured her, the fact left unspoken that, though the pain would fade, the damage had already been done. 'So why the sudden desire to change your hair,' he continued, glad to change the subject, and sure there was more to Imoen than just a whim. 'I thought you liked it as it was.'

Sure enough, the girl heaved a sigh, the pressure between them increasing as she leaned in.

'I did, but you were right. With it pink, people are going see me in a certain way –perhaps that was what I liked most about it. But I can't be that girl forever. I came here; it was my choice and it still is. And this war has to be stopped; I know that. As one of the Children, I have as much responsibility as anyone to do my part, and maybe I can take some pride in the idea I can do what others won't. So that's what I'm going to do,' she vowed, dark hair bobbing with a firm nod. 'Grow up, study my magic and fight to end this nightmare and ensure not one more person ever has to suffer for this blood we carry.'

He had no words to offer her, though their kiss sufficed, passionate and full of a longing to make her feel that love that swelled so fiercely in his heart. They parted breathless, his good hand cupped tightly about that pale face.

'You always had such strength in you – enough even to heal the wounds of your heritage.'

She nodded. 'Yes, and perhaps one day I can even mend you.'

'Oh, Imoen,' he sighed. She could not let him finish, face pressed to that broad chest.

'I know, I know. Just let me do this, let me pretend. So,' she continued, at last drawing back from him, 'do you really like my hair?'

'Do you?' he countered. She smiled and shrugged the misgivings away.

'I'll get used to it.'

She waited while he reassembled his katana, the blade sheathed as they retired with their tent to enjoy some time coiled together in the twilight's cool, lost in the feeling of their joined bodies.

**...**

Imoen stretched next to him, still naked and curled about his form in the darkness, his skin smooth against hers and scented with the faint aroma of cloves from the oil he used on his blade. It was wonderful there, the heat of the days making such intimacy a torment rather than a pleasure, and she lay still for a while, just listening to sound of his breathing. Somewhere in the distance, dishes clattered.

'They will be serving dinner soon,' he offered eventually. Imoen straightened, propped up on a elbow to regard him.

'How about we eat in here, tucked away from world?'

His smile flashed in the gloom. 'As you would have it.'

Outside, the women were busy putting the last touches to the meal, the others of their company gathered, out of the way, about one of the smaller fires, a few of the young men sat with them. Minsc noticed her first, a meaty elbow catching the woman at his side gently in the ribs.

'Well, Imoen, look at you!' Jaheira chuckled, quite the proud hen, 'Fritha mentioned you had dyed your hair – she is right, it suits you.'

'As though any would say otherwise,' muttered Anomen. Imoen's smile dropped to an instant scowl.

'And what do you mean by that?'

The knight affected an innocent look that made Imoen want to slap him. 'I am merely observing, my lady, that whether your hair suited you or not, no one here would speak against it to save your feelings. What do they call them?' He turned pointedly to the girl opposite, 'White _lies?_'

Fritha was anything but white, a deep flush suffusing her face. Imoen moved an unconscious hand up to her hair, narrowed eyes flicking back and forth between the pair.

'Fritha would tell me if it didn't look right, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, definitely,' the girl hastened to assure her. 'Your hair looks lovely, Imoen, truly!'

Anomen's smile hardened. 'Yes… well, Fritha is well known for her _honesty_.'

Imoen was fast loosing patience with their game. 'Look, Fritha, if you don't think it suits me-'

'No, of course not! I'd say, really!'

'See, Anomen, stop stirring. Now, is dinner nearly ready? I came to get some-'

The knight did not let her finish. 'If you will excuse me.'

And five faces followed Anomen from the clearing. Imoen slumped into the place he'd left.

'What was _that_ all about?'

'I don't know,' snapped Fritha, 'but I'm going to find out.'

She caught him a few paces from the edge of camp. The canvas wall of the men's pavilion blocked the light from the cooking fires, the sky above burnt to a deep coffee in their glow, the pair still close enough to keep her reproach to a furious hiss.

'You bastard, Anomen! You spiteful_ bastard!_'

Fritha saw the sneer twist with his dismissal. 'Is there some problem, my lady?'

'Oho, _my lady_, is it? And since when did that title come to be banded about like an insult? If you want to call me names, Anomen at least be a man about it! Look at me!' she demanded, hand snapping upon his wrist to wrenching him about as he made to snub her anger, 'I know you are upset about Brieanna, but there is no need to behave like this!'

'Behave like what?'

'These comments! Your veiled threats to tell the others!'

'That's all you care for, isn't it?'

'You _promised!_'

'Your _damn_ secrets!'

He made to pull away; Fritha held firm. 'You promised me, Anomen! I won't have you holding this over me as some sort of- of punishment because you blame me for killing Brieanna! If you're going to tell them, then march over there and tell them, otherwise keep that gob of yours shut!'

His look of surprise finally saw him released.

'Is that what you think, Fritha? That I blame you for her death?'

Fritha drew back, a hand unconsciously raised to rub the opposing elbow; the oily guilt in her stomach gave a lazy squirm.

'Well, I killed her, didn't I? It was my fault.'

Anomen swelled, the anticipated explosion of noise no more than a hiss, the words spat at her with all the hatred he possessed.

'_Everything_ is your fault! Good or ill - it all comes back to _you!_ Is there any decision I have made since meeting you that has mattered? By your hand, the Order was given and gone! I fell to the vampires and was restored to life! Even Brieanna was here for _you!_ Everything she said, everything she felt, it was all for you! And what is there left for me - for any of us? The Fates play a game around you and I am just another pawn. And now, now you are _dying_…' He glared at her, desperate and angry, willing her to deny it. In her silence, he turned away. 'I wish I had never met you.'

'Right, well…' Fritha swallowed. The lump wedged there hurt enough to make the welling tears threaten to spill and she fought them back –she was no use to him weak. Perhaps it was undue, but he needed someone to hate just then, and she owed him that, at least. 'Well,' she continued, letting the steel creep in,' you've had your rant and mewled about how _unfair_ it all it, and now you can just grin and bear it, can't you? This land _needs_ you, and it will suck you dry and spit your husk upon the sand without so much as a nod of gratitude.'

She left him there, too astounded to make any retort, her stalk back to camp halted only for that instant she glanced back, ready with her parting shot.

'Oh, and yes, you're right: you're a pawn. Most people are. Get over it.'

Fritha did not return to camp. Oh, she made sure she walked in that direction until Anomen could no longer see her, before she changed her path to the closest thicket to sob into her sleeve for a good hour. By the time she felt ready to face the world again, the night was deep, the air cool and welcome against her sticky face as she pushed from the undergrowth, steel grass catching at her legs as though it would pull her back within. She appreciated the effort, but she could not hide in there forever and she wondered absently if Anomen was back yet. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Dinner was served and over by the feel of the place, the camp empty and thrumming with the low murmur of those returned to their tents, Solaufein stepping from the men's pavilion as she passed.

'Fritha, you are back. I was worried – Anomen returned without you a while ago.' A nod to the tent behind him, 'He is inside reading.'

Well, that was one thing.

'You went to talk to him?' she asked. The drow snorted, clearly deeming such a wasted effort.

'No, indeed, but to fetch my cloak. I was coming to look for you.'

Fritha affected an easy laugh. 'You fret like Jaheira. I had a lot on my mind, so I went for a walk.'

He was not fooled for an instant. 'You've been crying.'

'Damn, can you tell?' she sniffed, abandoning the lie there to dab her eyes, 'I hoped it was dark enough to hide it. Hells Teeth, it always takes an age to get my face right afterwards. There, better?'

'Your eyes are still a little smudged, here.'

He moved to take away some blot with the edge of his cuff, and she laughed wetly, swallowing another bout of tears to bat him away. 'Ah, bloody kohl.'

Solaufein's frown did not ease.

'What did he say?'

'Everything he needed to. It should help. Come on, I'll do.'

But upon stepping into the main clearing, it seemed Minsc and Jaheira were the only two of their company still about, the pair hunched and talking over one of the cooking fires, two cups of arrak resting on the sand before their rug. Fritha raised a cheery hand in return to the one with which the Rashemi greeted her. Solaufein shot her one last frown and seemingly decided he may as well join her in the pretence.

'Good Solaufein, I see you found young Fritha – Boo knew she had not come to any harm.'

'No, indeed,' agreed Jaheira, reaching down to the linen wrapped bundle at her side, 'Here, there is no stew left, but we saved you this.'

Fritha smiled, taking the large flatbread Jaheira handed to her, freckled in green by the coriander baked within, the 'I'm not hungry' swallowed to give just a nod of thanks, and she knew then she would eat it if only to show her gratitude that they had thought of her.

'So,' the woman continued, 'Where were you? Anomen returned a while back.'

Fritha shrugged, settling opposite the woman as Solaufein took the place next to her, the girl glad of the flatbread now resting upon her knee, a welcome distraction for her distrait fingers. The dough was springy, the chunk she tore scattering few crumbs to the fire and the flavour awakened an unexpected appetite in her -she absently wished she had some ghee.

'Just went for a walk- the evening is fine and I had things on my mind.'

'Ah yes,' sighed Minsc, 'how we understand this. Such trouble times, when brother must betray brother. Brieanna was our ally, of this I am sure, yet in her heart, an evil also found its home.'

'It was what she was raised to,' offered Solaufein, 'and all she knew. When your whole life is defined by the ideals of those who value such evils, the lines between what you feel and what you believe are blurred. You come to doubt your heart even as it screams against all you do.'

'I still have her pack,' said Jaheira, a quiet melancholy to her words. 'I was not sure what to do with it when we first quit camp, so I loaded it onto the horse with the others. Now it is in the women's pavilion with my own.'

'Perhaps we should give it to Anomen…' considered Fritha aloud, though in truth she did not think such would be a good idea -at least, not then. Jaheira caught the girl in that guarded stare.

'Did you find out what was wrong?'

'He is just taking her death hard,' she offered– half the truth was better than they usually got from her those days. The pair opposite were nodding sagely.

'It is hardly surprising, considering.'

'Indeed, even Boo suspected nothing of this betrayal.'

'That's because it wasn't one,' Fritha sighed, 'not in her eyes anyway. I don't think any of us could have seen this- for all her plans, Brieanna _was_ here to help. I don't even believe she wanted to kill Anomen, it was just the only way she could see to serve her god –to serve me.'

'But she made that choice, Fritha,' Solaufein reminded, 'In the temple there was no other way, but out here - she still moved to kill him.'

'But was she given enough of a chance?' Fritha pressed, the guilt so close as to almost smother her. 'If she had survived, could she have found a new way to live?'

Solaufein drew a breath to challenge this, but it was Minsc, this time, who took up her defence.

'Who can say, young Fritha? You must ask instead, would have giving her that chance been worth the risk to others here and our task in these lands? What is one woman's life next to the failure of our quest? In the end, she walked her path as we walk ours – and Boo says that is all we can do.'

Fritha let her face drop in a nod, the movement more to accommodate the sudden weight to her head than any agreement, Solaufein noting this tiredness to gather that yellow cloak about them both. Jaheira leaned forward, setting two cups before the pair and filling them with the stray bottle of arrak at her side before settling back to top up their own, the woman humming gently to herself.

'Here, something to warm us. Come, Fritha, remind me, how does that tune run?'

'_Come song thrush and sky lark and sweet nightingale, through meadows and groves we merrily go. For we're here and we're hearty, we're fair and we're hale, and life is too short for this sorrow and woe. Oh, sing the gay lark and let trouble far fly…_'

Jaheira had joined the tune, Minsc knowing enough to sing along with them, the pair covering the waver to her voice as the tears began to well and Fritha let them fall. For Valygar's crushed hand and Anomen's crushed heart, and for poor dead Brieanna and all that was to come.

**…**

How comforting, that green field of boiling sky. To know she could sit there beneath it for a few hours, away from conflicts and disappointments that surrounded her waking life. Above, clouds raced by, shaped and torn by ever-howling winds.

'Sister, it is your play.'

Fritha dropped her attention back to the man opposite, their legs curved out before them and almost touching at the feet to provide shelter for the cards between. She threw the hanged man onto the pile, and drew another card to join the six already in her hand; sanka had never been her game. Sarevok watched the move with piercing grey eyes.

'You are quiet today, sister – you have no questions for me?'

She shrugged, knowing the discussion would make her feel little better, though she asked anyway.

'Did any of your people tire of your fight – your plans to bring war to the Coast?'

'Tire, no, but some were foolish enough to acquire a conscience later on in my service. After he came to realise my plans to poison Duke Eltan, there was one who even dared to conspire to take evidence of my dealings to the Flaming Fist.'

'What happened?'

'I discover this without his knowledge, then invited him to an audience and threw him from the roof of the Iron Throne building.'

Fritha snorted. 'Very subtle; death, at least, has done wonders for your temper. How did you explain that to guards?'

'Rielter told them he'd had an _accident_, and piled gold upon them until they decided they believed him.'

'Well,' she sighed, 'not an option for me, sadly.'

'You face dissent among your followers?'

'Ah, you know, some of my friends sacrificed a lot to come here… they are beginning to resent it.'

Sarevok was frowning, tossing a card to land between them and take another. 'I see some things never alter with quest or leadership; followers are ever _selfish_. Tell them to channel this anger at the enemy! It is _their_ presence who tears them from home.'

'Yes,' conceded Fritha, 'though such speeches are easier to offer when you are their commander and not their friend. I suppose this comes to every Child eventually. The Blood demands to be sated, those the Essence fails to lead to their deaths becoming twisted by it and its desire to kill the others. Even Tamoko likely hated you in the end.'

'Yes,' he agreed gravely, and I would have deserved it.'

Anomen's sneering visage; another cool dismissal from Imoen. 'Yes… Still, not much longer now.'

'Then Abazigal, sister?' continued Sarevok with reined eagerness.

'Dead, as of a few days ago.'

The man drew back with a rare, appraising smile. 'You advance with a speed that impresses even I – perhaps you will attain the godhood for which you strive.'

Fritha heard the keenness he attributed to her goal, his past motives confused with her own, though she let it pass without comment, melding a small pile of three cards before her to offer curiously, 'Did you recall a girl from the temple – not one of the Children, an older girl who was an acolyte. Her name was Elund.'

'I cannot say I remember her, there were many sisters there and not all tasked with our care. Why do you ask?'

'She infiltrated our group in the guise of another, a knight of Torm. We discovered her recently – she was killed.'

'Surely a good thing, sister, if she planned to sacrifice you.'

'No, she was not here for that. She came to help me.' Fritha felt the smile emerge, a small thing that shied from that penetrating stare. 'I am the Chosen, Sarevok, I always was, even back at the temple. It's strange, isn't it? You were so powerful, and yet sealed your own doom the instant you set yourself against me.'

That weathered face wore an expression of slack-jawed, almost comical surprise.

'_You_ were the one they chose?'

'Yes… my mother was the High Priestess. It is cruel, isn't it? Knowing that nothing you did mattered, that however you strived it was always destined to end certain way. All men should be free to make their own fates.'

Sarevok considered this a moment, shoulders finally heaved in an impassive shrug. 'The future is written enough to allow for prophesy, sister, but a river's course may change over time. I regret many things from my mortal life, but fighting for what I desired is not one of them.'

Her smile broadened to a wistful grin.

'A good way to live… and die, it seems. Do you know of another woman, called Amelyssan?'

'The Deathstalker,' he provided promptly, 'Yes, she was not at the temple, but there are few who have not heard of her within Bhaal's order. She was utterly devoted to her Lord and His orders; ruthless, manipulative ,and tireless in her pursuit of the Bhaalspawn.'

'Yes, well, the rest appears to be the same, though the devotion has waned somewhat. She is working towards her own ends now, killing the Children and freeing the essence for her own ascension.'

Sarevok paused, eyes considering the card he had just drawn along with this revelation.

'Interesting… she plans to seize the Throne?'

'Yes… Can she?'

'Not as easily as one of the Blood, but yes, it is possible. When we speak of seizing the Throne it is not a metaphorical allusion to that grasp for power. The Throne of Bone does exist, much as this place does, nestled in some pocket of the Abyss, within Bhaal's realm in the Hells. If Melissan means to take the power, she will have to get there. Though it is not simply a case of whoever reaches the place first – none will be able to claim the Throne until enough of the essence has returned.'

'So she could just wait there until I kill Sendai, then face me at the Throne?'

'She could, though I doubt any could reach the place until enough of the essence is collected there – it is like a shadow at the moment, a place existing only in the void between the Planes. Just as your essence created this realm, so Bhaal's is restored and with each death gains more form.' He smiled at her over his cards, 'What do you plan, sister?'

She sighed, throwing her hand down before her, cards no longer holding her interest. 'We'll head for Sendai and then, I suppose, hunt down Melissan.'

'She was clever, manipulating you into killing all others in her path.

Fritha shrugged. 'We'd have had to do it anyway eventually. What do you think she is doing now?'

'I could not say, but if I were her, I would be killing my weaker rivals.'

Fritha considered Jaheira and the grove she had never seen. She hoped they were all right. A deep sigh, legs that never ached there heaving her up and Sarevok instinctively scooped the cards from the tiles before the wind could catch them.

'Right then, I'm off – you can keep the deck.'

The man nodded once, perhaps wondering whether she meant it as a joke considering the conditions there – he could hardly lay them out for a game of Patience. Fritha left him guessing.


	38. On the Mend

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: Apologies for the wait. The writing wasn't coming and then Dragon Age and Portal got released and found it was far easier to play them, rather than wrestle with chapter 38. But they are now completed (about five times over in one case, _;-D_) and I am back. Many thanks to those who reviewed/PM'ed and, as ever, thanks go to my wonderful betas, Maje and Kenzie. Please read and review._

**On the Mend**

Amkethran was just as they had left it, parched and desolate under the late Flamerule sun, a barren blot of pale buildings in the sepia landscape. Teeming clouds of desert crows were picking over the piles of refuse that had been left to mount in the streets, the sour tang of rotting food carried to them on the warm air. The Bhaalspawn camp was much expanded since they'd departed, while more abandoned homes within the village showed signs of occupation, fences pulled down and doors of neighbouring houses taken for firewood, blankets nailed over the yawning doorways by the subsequent occupants. More mercenaries had heeded Balthazar's call, just as more Children had heeded Melissan's. Fritha did not find either thought a comfort.

First things first though. Fritha turned to make for the Bhaalspawn encampment that now sprawled outwards into the sands themselves. The camp held a sense of permanency it had not had before, a paling of thick wooden stakes likely taken from the abandoned village's fences providing a secure ring about the perimeter. Many of the tents had been merged and dug in to make larger dwellings, lines of laundry strung between and rippling in the slight breeze.

'Seems there've been some changes since we left,' muttered Imoen behind her. 'Still, at least within a paling we won't have to take a watch.'

Fritha did not bother to turn to see the scowl that would follow.

'We're not camping here; just follow my lead.'

The men at the barricade let them through the eastern opening without question and the group travelled the winding path between the tents. Fritha was heading for the large clearing that had been left in the centre and the blond figure who was there making a count of some recently purchased supplies, the man and woman with him straightening at their approach. He was still in the same pale brown robes, though his sunburn had faded to a deep tan that made his hair seem all the whiter. There was something more about him too, a firmness that had taken over from the fidgeting of their last meeting as he turned to meet her address, pale eyebrows arched in surprise.

'Greetings, Lukyle.'

'Fritha! And…' The headman paused, clearly trying to recall Imoen's rattled introductions. 'Your companions,' he finished, moving quickly on, 'my greetings. When you departed, I did not expect to see you here again.'

Fritha inclined her head, allowing the smile to flicker at the edge of her mouth, tempered by graver matters. 'It was ever our hope to return, though perhaps not a surety. Did Melissan tell you of our mission in the desert?'

'No, only that I was to help you as I could. Is there some problem?'

Fritha did not answer; the pair behind him shifted. Lukyle needed no further prompt.

'Come, perhaps we should speak in my tent -though it is not large enough for you all.'

A glance behind confirmed six stony faces and no immediate offers to be left out of the proceedings – they were never ones to make matters simple.

'I will remain here with the men,' offered Solaufein eventually, volunteering his fellow males much to their silent displeasure. Fritha sent him a firm nod; he was ever her second.

Lukyle's tent was not far, set in the southern edge of the clearing they were stood in, the space beneath the draped rugs and canvases cramped, but pleasantly dim after the glare of the desert, what little bedding he owned folded away for the day. A chipped pot of what proved to be cold tea was resting upon an unturned bucket and the man served out four cups -well, two cups, a small bowl and a pickling jar- as the women removed their boots and settled on the rugs beside him. Fritha eyed the dark liquid; unlike wine, tea did not tend to improve with age, but her worries proved unfounded after that first watery mouthful. The blend was all stalks and dust - she doubted there were more than four leaves in the whole pot.

'Saemon's best, I am afraid,' he apologised at Imoen's grimace to that first insipid sip, 'There is more demand for the alcohol he imports than tea. I am surprised some days he manages to bring in enough to keep everyone fed.'

'Yeah, we'd noticed you've expanded,' said Imoen, braving another sip to add, 'when'd the rest of these Bhaalspawn arrive?'

'They have been coming in dribs and drabs since you left. Some mentioned a camp to the north which fell, others have been hiding since Saradush, making their way here carefully to avoid patrols.' Lukyle sighed over his own cup, eyes distant as he gazed past the sloping patterned walls. 'And the news they bring is disturbing: towns all but closing their gates and brother turned against brother in a hunt for Bhaalspawn. Much longer and I fear this land will tear itself apart. But I try to hold such thoughts to myself and keep hope alive here as Melissan charged me.'

'Keeping a camp of this size supplied must be difficult,' offered Jaheira, a certain respect to her tone at what he had managed. The man merely nodded, too wearied by the task to take any pride in the achievement.

'It is, but Saemon trades fairly with us - I sometimes wonder if he even makes a profit. Some of those here hunt in the desert, trading hare skins for goods while others here have made arrangements with the mercenaries, taking in laundry, sewing and other tasks in exchange for the seemingly limitless coin Balthazar is willing to expend to keep them here.'

'Yes,' agreed Fritha slowly, 'I had noticed _ours_ is not only the group to have expanded.'

Lukyle's young face was marred by a sudden frown. 'Indeed, and I must say here, I am glad you have returned. A few of the newer merc groups brought trouble to us a while back – tried to force their company on some of the women; the results were… unpleasant. A tenday back, a group of _ladies_ arrived with one of the merc groups and set up shop in the inn. There has been no trouble to speak of since, but the truce between our two groups is a tense one, hence the need for our fortifications. But I am sure many here will rest much easier with you returned.'

Fritha nodded, making a show of setting down her cup to give him her full attention, as one _leader_ to another.

'You have done well here, Lukyle, and I know Melissan is proud – it is always the way of us Children to endure. The lady herself sent us on a quest. She knows who the Five are and has tasked us with killing them – we left Amkethran to destroy the Dragon Lord who made its home in the deep desert.'

Lukyle gave this declaration the required awe. 'Ilmater's Mercy! A couple mentioned they had seen dragons flying over the edge of the desert, but to have faced one…'

'But our fight is not over yet,' continued Fritha, 'Melissan met us afterwards and with grave news. Tell me, has she returned here at all since we left? I'd like to know if her orders have changed.'

But the man was shaking his head, body leaned forward and eager at any mention of his saviour. 'No, no, I'm afraid not. Why? What has Melissan told you?'

Fritha ignored the questions. 'And you have no way to contact her?'

The slightest hesitation and the man was firm once more. 'No, none.'

Fritha eased herself back, gravely assessing his earnest frown. Her suspicions were faint enough to keep her on course.

'Well, fair enough then. We all must continue as she first planned. Lukyle, I will be blunt, Melissan has learnt of an attack that is planned by the Tethyran army. Even now they gather on the other side of the Marching Mountains, the crossing to be aided by Balthazar's monks. They plan to strike here without warning; you would be slaughtered to the last man.'

'True Gods! Are- are you sure?'

Behind her, Imoen nodded on cue, Jaheira venturing to add, 'Indeed, now you see why we did not wish to have this discussion before the others here. If this news is not handled with care, there could be panic– the last thing any of us would want.'

Poor Lukyle was still reeling, the man leaning back from them, too dazed to speak – Fritha waited for her moment, poised for that final blow.

'I know it seems grim, brother, but all is not over yet. Melissan has arranged a haven for you and the others here. You are to go to the high temple to Illmater in Calimport, the Church of St Bavna the Martyr, just on the edge of the docks. Travel under the guise of pilgrims; a red string about the hand will serve well enough as a holy mark to convince all but the faithful –though try to have your people act the part, if you can. The temple is well known to attract pilgrims and I doubt you could miss the place; the roof is a-shine with ten thousand polished blue tiles for the tears she wept at the fall of Arakhaa – a fitting place for our own saviour to meet you, yes?'

Fritha smiled, not awaiting an answer and pointing back up the bluffs she knew stretched north beyond the thin canvas walls, to where they had first arrived in Amkethran so long ago. 'Take the road west along the desert's northern border to the first oasis and travel across on the caravan routes. Go quickly and have care; Melissan needs you all there in one piece.'

Lukyle was still fixed upon where she had gestured, the old apprehension creeping in.

'I…'

'She trusts in you to guide them, Lukyle.'

The man straightened imperceptibly, some light that was not there before sparking within as he turned back to her. 'And I will not fail her. We will remain here tonight, and break camp before the dawn. Thank you for bringing this to us.'

He did not wait to see them finish their tea, the man suddenly on his feet and throwing back the tent flap, his voice ringing out as he stepped into his sandals and stalked back across the clearing.

'Ester, go up to the well and then comb the village, send any you find back here at once. Vellus- '

Fritha watched him with a smile, lingering before the tent for Imoen and Jaheira to pull on their boots.

'Good work, you two,' she muttered, raising her voice for the benefit of their waiting friends and the man currently sending orders across the encampment. 'Come, we can make our camp on the bluffs – they'll only disturb us in the morning when they leave.'

Fritha still had the lead as they left the camp and set out north up the slope to find some pitch above the village. Behind her, Imoen was quietly detailing their exchange to Valygar and anyone else who cared to listen. Jaheira left the girl to her tale, hurrying her pace to catch Fritha, her tone carefully neutral, though the wary cast to her eyes belied it anyway.

'That was a risk, Fritha, moving them on. If Melissan returns here or if she has a way to contact them…'

Fritha voiced what she would not. 'Then she'll know something's amiss, yes… A lot's at stake, I know, but we can't just leave them here as bait.'

Behind her, Imoen snorted audibly. Fritha sighed.

'I know I seem to risk our lives without a care, but at least we chose to come here. Whatever Melissan's plan for them, it will not be good. They deserve a chance to survive this as much as any.'

'Indeed,' agreed Jaheira – she could hardly argue with that, the woman continuing curiously, 'and where did you hear of the temple to St Bavna?'

Fritha felt the smile creep in. 'Khalid told me of when he used to go down to the docks to watch the sun rise over the harbour, and how the light would burst as it struck that great glass dome.' The girl sighed, suddenly wistful in memories of a man whom she would have been more than proud to call father. 'He helps us still.'

Jaheira merely nodded. 'That he does.'

They made camp in the scrubland overlooking the village, the sun sinking at their backs to plunge the gorge in deep shadow and bathing the bluff in a dull bloody light. Imoen watched Fritha finish her own tent, the girl's offer to help Anomen with his being expectedly ignored. Imoen turned away as the guilt squirmed. She hated feeling like this, stubbornly clinging to an anger she knew she should have long since let go.

'Missing your friend?'

Imoen turned to the man behind, trying to harden her heart to those knowing brown eyes.

'No.'

Valygar shook his head. 'When are you going to forgive her?'

'When you can shoot straight.'

'Imoen-'

'I know, I know,' she sighed, even a glance to that shattered hand doing nothing to fuel her _righteous_ anger, 'it's just easier with someone to blame.'

Not even Jaheira could be bothered to cook that evening, their meal consisting of the last dried rations they had brought from the Amma and shared about the fire. Imoen watched the larger camp far below, tents looking small and huddled against the red desert. It held a more nervous look than the encampment they had approached that afternoon and its cheerful air of industry, and she wondered if the people within were the same. If Lukyle held the sway he seemed to attribute to himself, they would be setting out tomorrow, a final trek across the desert. It would not be easy in their greater numbers… they should split into smaller groups, but too small and they would face other risks. Bandits prowled the desert for those with coin, and slavers waited for those without. Imoen turned away before she could finish counting the tents -not all of them would likely survive, but a chance was better than nothing.

'So,' opened Jaheira to the dusty floor, 'have we any plans for the evening?'

'All I desire is sleep,' chuckled a heat-weary Minsc. Across the fire, Solaufein leaned in, his whispers stirring the curls at Fritha's ear. A look between them, brief, but full of weight and the girl returned to the circle.

'I was thinking about heading over to the tavern.' Dark eyes caught Imoen's above the flames, 'Fancy showing off your new hair?'

The girl both did and didn't, anger at the tentative offer wrestling with the desire to put this distance behind them, Imoen's internal struggle cut short by discreet poke in the ribs. A glower to the man next to her; Valygar maintained an innocent air. Imoen threw a scowl to her boots.

'Yeah, all right.'

Both girls heaved themselves to their feet and those about them seemed to know enough not to offer any additional company, an awkward silence holding them as they fell into step and set off down into the village. It seemed to take an age to reach the place, or perhaps it was just the idea she should have been saying something that was pressing on Fritha. Fitful gusts of wind scattered dried peelings and other refuse along the dusty streets, the once neat village gradually falling to decay as the mercenary forces there expanded. Every other house was occupied, men gathered in the doorways playing dice and drinking, games that frozen as they watched them pass with eyes that appraised all they saw in terms of predator or prey.

At the inn, the courtyard was not so busy for the hour and there were a couple of vacant tables left, the lingering heat keeping most inside the building. After almost two tenday in the desert, Fritha was not feeling the heat as she once had and they took a table by the low wall at the southern end of the square. A moment or two sat there in silence showed them that whatever servers the place had were being kept busy inside.

'No waitress, then,' offered Imoen bluntly. Fritha was already halfway from her chair.

'I'll go to the bar for them. What do you want?'

Imoen wasn't listening, the girl suddenly on her feet and waving madly to the small group of monks walking along the street next to them, a petite, dark-skinned girl with a crop of black hair at their head.

'Oh, it's Yemi. Hey Yemi!'

The girl turned at her name, the three hooded figures gestured to wait where they were while she and another woman of a slightly paler colouring and angled hazel eyes made their approach, Yemi's mild smile of recognition belying the curtness to her words.

'Imoen and-'

'Fritha,' the girl herself supplied. Yemi acknowledged it with a nod.

'Yes, greetings both.'

'So, you've been out of the monastery?' continued Imoen, all enthusiasm for this distraction. 'Were you doing something in the desert?'

'We were training. Gwara and I are instructing the younger acolytes in the ways of the sands.'

And their presence there at the tavern had not gone unnoticed, one of the men from a nearby table finally glancing up from his drink to mark them.

'Ooo, sounds mysterious,' giggled Imoen. 'Have you been out all-'

'Heh, what you doing here? Your lot don't approve of the drink.'

'Or any other _earthly_ pleasures,' sneered his friend, fist smacked against palm in a crude intimation of the thing.

Imoen frowned. 'Here, I've a spell for you, lads: Bigby's Oscillating Hand. Give your wrists a rest, eh?'

The girl ignored the sudden explosion of noise, shouts and further insults drowned by the laughter from other tables, Imoen turning politely back to her impassive visitor.

'_Pigs_ –ignore them, Yemi.'

'We do. You were away from the village for a time.'

'Yeah, we had something to sort out, but we're back for the moment. Here,' Imoen continued, patting the low wall between them, 'why not sit and have a drink with us – you don't have to have ale.'

Yemi seemed torn. 'I- no, we should go. Thank you, though, for the offer.'

A brief smile in return to the one sent to her and they continued their path north. Imoen watched them go with great interest; Fritha knew she just didn't want to turn back to her.

'I'll go fetch our drinks.'

The tavern was packed, the rickety staircase that led to the upper rooms now occupied by a row of heavily painted women, Fritha assumed were the enterprising young ladies of whom Lukyle had spoken. She hardly had time to appraise them for long though. The girl had well perfected the art of getting served by now, however busy the bar, and it was not long before she was crossing the courtyard again, ale jug heavy in one hand, two clay cups stacked in the other. Imoen was picking at some loose splinter on the worn table and did not look up as the cups were set down.

'Here we are,' Fritha trilled, fighting to keep the sigh from it and serving their drinks to settle opposite once more. And… silence.

Imoen was bent over her cup, apparently mesmerised by the contents, the girl's scalp still stained in patches from the henna. It could not hold Fritha's interest for long; the girl leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. There was so much to regret she sometimes didn't know where to begin to fix it. Perhaps she should not bother – it would likely only break again once Imoen found out about the next lot of lies. Or should that be the _last_ lot? Fritha couldn't see there being much time or need left for falsehoods after she told them she was going to be exploding into Bhaal. How much easier to forget…

The warm air stirred her hair, bringing with it the arid, beeked smell of the desert and she tried to imagine that place as it had been with people walking home from a hard day working the land or trading, a few stopping to take an ale with friends before they returned home to their families for a meal about the hearth. The din from the tavern was hardly helping her reverie, though she had to admit, it was better to listen to than the noisy retching of some poor sot in the ally next to them.

'_So…_' Imoen began at length, eyes still trained on her cup as she lifted it for a drink, 'we're out then.'

'So it would seem,' Fritha answered, deciding they may as well air their troubles now they were speaking again. 'How's Valygar's hand?'

'_How d'you think?_' came the predictable snap, the girl's voice softening to add, 'But, it's healing.'

Another pause between them and when Imoen spoke again held the air of a question long in the pondering. 'Fritha, do you think we would have been friends if not for Candlekeep?'

Fritha just held back the sigh. 'And where's this come from?'

Imoen shrugged. 'When we died, after Suldanessellar, I saw you in the planes, well, a spirit that looked like you anyway. That's what it said, that we wouldn't have been friends had we not been forced together.'

Fritha really didn't know what to say to that; Imoen did not appreciate the pause.

'_So?_'

'Well, I don't know, Imoen. But we never would have had a chance to be friends if we had _not_ met. You cannot pick apart the past so neatly. We were raised together and we are friends. We _are_ still friends, Imoen?'

The girl sighed, settling down her cup finally to meet her gaze. 'Yeah… but not like we were. You've changed.'

'So have you.'

'Yeah, but-'

'But _what?_' snapped Fritha, sick of this cool blame, 'I suppose you preferred it in Candlekeep when I was chasing about after you – ever jumping to your whims. '

'You never- We were just kids!'

'Oh really? Because I recall a time much later when I spent a tenday in the Gate playing second fiddle to some back-stabbing thief!'

Imoen swelled. 'I can't believe you're bringing _that_ up!'

'Why not? You're not the only one who can hold a petty grudge.'

'Petty grudge?_ Valygar could have lost his hand!_''

'Yes, and why are blaming _me?_'

Imoen drew breath to shout her next, holding it for an instant of pink-faced bluster before it was released in a deep, begrudging sigh, eyes dropping back to her cup. 'You're right -what happened to Vals, it wasn't your fault. I needed someone to lay it on and you led us there…' Imoen shrugged, 'it was easiest to blame you.'

Fritha snorted and drew a sip. 'It's all right, I have broad shoulders.'

For a while silence held them. Fritha gazed into her cup, wishing she'd never bothered inviting her. Across the table, Imoen's voice broke the stillness, the girl catching her friend with a slight frown.

'You know it wasn't the easiest growing up with you in the Keep. The sages liked you better, you were more suited to life there.'

'Well, it wasn't exactly a picnic living with you either. You'd never been alone like I had – any disagreement between us and all you had to do was threaten not to talk to me and I'd follow you in anything.'

'And now it's the other way round.'

'You don't have to follow me.'

'Don't I?' Imoen snorted, shaking her head almost bitterly. 'The things you do… I might be a Bhaalspawn, but I'm not like you.'

'No, no-'

'No, my arse!' Imoen scoffed, 'Fritha, you wrestled a dragon! But not even that… Brie came all this way to help you – admittedly to resurrect Bhaal, but why you? Why did you choose _you?_ We all killed Sarevok.'

'I-' Fritha faltered. She could tell her then, _should_ tell her then, about the prophesy and her place within it, but they were only just speaking again. Fritha sighed inwardly. Dragon-wrestling or no, she was a coward.

'I suppose I just made a name for myself around Amn. Plus everyone already knew I was a Bhaalspawn. We only found out about you after the Asylum.'

'Maybe,' the girl considered grudgingly, 'but it's not just that. It's like there's this aura about you. People want to follow, and me, I'm just another follower.'

Fritha reached out to tug a pink sleeve that no longer matched her hair. 'Imoen, you'll never be _just_ anything.'

A wary pause brought silence over the table once more as words were considered, weighed and dismissed, Imoen the one to venture, 'Are you really still mad about that stuff in the Gate?'

'No,' Fritha admitted wearily, 'it just showed me something I hadn't been ready to face yet: that being friends did not mean it would always just be us two against the world. It hurt at the time, but now –it's just a normal part of growing up, I suppose. But just because our relationship is different now…'

'Doesn't mean we're not friends,' finished Imoen at length. 'It was nice though, when it was just us two.'

'When the world was just a library full of sages and trouble just an afternoon's entertainment?'

'Yeah… Remember when Hull told us he'd heard Gorion and Winthrop talking about it, and they'd decided to let us go to the Beregost Fair?'

Fritha felt the old indignation spark anew. 'That bastard, that was horrible of him – we were so excited! We even made dresses –admittedly from the fine green linen Master Janfry had imported for his new robes.'

Imoen snorted. 'Honestly, all that fuss -would it have killed them to let us out to a fair or something, just the once? It was all right Beth teaching us how to dance, but we didn't know anything about how to act at those things.'

'Well,' Fritha considered, 'it likely wouldn't have much mattered at Beregost Fair anyway, though we certainly raised a few eyebrows at the Ducal Palace. Who knew ladies weren't supposed to laugh aloud, or introduce themselves to strangers?'

'Or belch?'

'I could have probably made a guess at that one,' said Fritha dryly over the girl's laughter. 'To be fair, even if we'd known the rules, would you have followed them?'

'No,' said Imoen, 'but it's nice to know which rules you're breaking. That gathering at Suldanessellar was much more fun – for centuries old stick-in-the-muds, the elves know how to throw a party. Do you remember Jaheira dancing with Haer'Dalis?'

'True to his word, he did let her lead.'

'Then I got Solaufein on the floor.'

'You know, Anomen found him still hiding on the terrace hours later.'

Imoen was giggling, 'And Minsc introducing Boo to Ellesime.'

'Aerie and Haer'Dalis snogging behind the statue of Corellon.'

'Vals getting all embarrassed when I offered to do the same with him.'

'You drinking too much wine, having to be taken into the gardens and being sick in the azaleas.'

Imoen breathed a wistful sigh, 'Good times.'

Fritha smiled; _she_ had found it a long and agonising evening, but it was much easier losing herself to the lie. 'Yes… You know, I think we'll deserve another party when all this is over.'

Imoen was instantly onboard. 'Yeah, we could have a massive one at Vals's estate – in the gardens, with fire-breathers and acrobats and dancing. And we can invite everyone, Athic and Eruna and Enric and everyone.'

'I'm going to wear green,' Fritha continued absently, drawing the image of it in her mind, 'no violet, or maybe… Well, I can decide close to the time. And then, I'm going to travel north, go on a real grand tour with Solaufein and you and people who can come and go. I'll travel to the High Forest and beyond until we reach the land where there is snow even in the summer and then… I'll decide the next bit when I come to it.'

'You've got it all planned then?' Imoen laughed. Fritha smiled.

'Mostly - you?'

'I… I want to learn more magic – _much_ more. I don't know- I feel there's this potential in me and I'm just wasting it.'

'Is that why you wanted those books?' asked Fritha. Imoen started.

'Books? What books?'

'Back at Abazigal's library, the ones you wanted to take, when you were going on about _harnessing the power of the blood_.'

'Oh, that,' she exclaimed airily. 'Well, it's true, I want to be able to use my blood like you do.'

'Trust me, Imoen, you _don't_.'

'Yeah, yeah, don't get all patronising, I know that avatar stuff was bad,' the girl conceded, as though turning in the physical embodiment of Murder had been mere triviality, 'but you'd lost your soul. You've had that back for an age -we should be equal now, like we used to be, but I'm always in your shadow.'

'You are more powerful than me in your nature. Most of the time I just wave my sword about and hope for the best.'

'Yes, but it's not that, is it?' Imoen pressed, 'Look at the insane things you've done –it's like the Fates really _do_ have a plan for you. I say it drives me mad and it does, but I know you aren't just saying it – you really feel something, don't you?'

'A bit,' Fritha conceded reluctantly, 'I mean mostly it's just to wind you up.'

Imoen snorted, their talk fading as they caught up their cups once more.

'So,' continued Fritha, 'are you still having the dreams?'

A cool shrug. 'They come and go – I sometimes sleep right through now, and when I don't… You were right,' the girl admitted frankly, 'you do get used to them. You still chatting to Sarevok?'

'On occasion.'

'Anything useful to say?'

Fritha imagined his indignant look with a smile. 'No.'

Imoen laughed, exclaiming to the indigo sky, 'Oh, aren't we a pair.'

'I was just saying the same myself.'

And the girls both turned as one to see three men of a similar age to them stood before the tavern doorway, all bearing the arms of mercenaries and identical grins. They were well-built by their profession, with an insouciant vitality that smoothed over the few day's worth of stubble, scars and long healed broken noses. Two were of the local colouring, one tall and lean of rather aquiline features, his stockier friend sporting a neat beard below his fleshy nose, while their fairer companion was striking in his disparity. His features were regular, plain even, if he were to be judged on that alone, broad face set with a straight nose and unremarkable hazel eyes, but with his sandy hair and tanned skin he was cast wholly in the same a warm shade of golden brown. They were handsome, at least for men of that vocation, and they knew it –and from the appraising look Imoen was raking over them, at least one person was in agreement.

'Well, here is a sight,' continued the tallest of them, thin lips parted in a smile beneath a rather beaky nose. 'A pair of pretty maids out for an ale, and we three here: good, honest men who've been deprived of any fairer company for the last two tenday.'

Imoen's brow lowered to a critical frown. 'I hear there's plenty of _company_ inside.'

'Indeed,' reasoned his paler friend, 'but we find they have little care for talk –unless you are willing to pay for it.'

'Besides,' grinned the third, dark eyes shining, 'none are a patch on you two.'

Imoen snorted. 'Don't let them catch you saying that –they'll charge you extra.'

The men laughed, the stocky one adding, 'I can see you'd be a handful.'

'Only if you're _very_ lucky.'

More laughter and she could see Imoen was warming to the role, the fairer man taking a step closer to crouch at the table and turn his smile to Fritha.

'Well, we already know who's the firebrand here, but what of your quiet friend? I swear, the last time I saw a maid so pale, she was cast in alabaster. And a half elf, too,' he added curiously, noting the ear tips that peeked through her curls, 'How exotic. We have a few men of your kin here among the mercenaries, but no ladies. Tell me, are your ears as sensitive to touch as they say?'

Fritha really didn't know how to answer that. Imoen was not so dumbstruck.

'Really!' came the theatrical cry, her mimed 'fan' batted at him for his impudence, 'A lady's ears are her own private business.'

'Come now, Hazel, you'll make the maid blush,' warned his stouter friend -perhaps he worried his boldness would see them all alone for the evening.

No such luck; Imoen snorted gleefully. 'Ha! It's been a while since a bloke's been able to make me blush –though you're welcome to try.'

'So, we can join you?' pressed the first man.

'Aye,' Imoen laughed, 'why not?'

Fritha smiled and dutifully hopped her chair closer to make room, ignoring the twinge of disappointment – she would have preferred to spend the evening cementing their tenuous reconciliation. The men added another ale pitcher to the table, chairs taken from the surrounding settings, while the stouter man found a place on the low wall next to them.

'Right then, I'm Garruld,' introduced the first, nodding to his companions, 'and this is Iveck and Hazel.'

'Imogen,' offered Imoen by reply, thumb thrown carelessly next to her, 'and this is Freya.'

'Well met!' Garruld laughed, raising his cup and they all joined the salute, ale drained and refilled in that formality which always seemed to break the ice.

'So,' continued Hazel, 'what brings you to the _charming_ village of Amkethran?'

'We're Bhaalspawn,' said Imoen. Garruld was nodding wisely.

'I figured as much –the merc women have a certain look to them.'

Fritha snorted; how little they knew.

'And you?' continued Imoen.

'Coin, said Iveck.

'You're not doing a lot to discredit the view outsiders have of your lot.'

'No,' Iveck laughed, 'I don't suppose we are. So why'd you Bhaalspawn all come here anyway?'

'Our leader, Melissan, brought us from Saradush,' offered Fritha quickly –if there was a back-story here to be fabricated then she wanted control of authorship, 'she's working to find a way to save us, and keep Bhaal from being resurrected.

Imoen nodded and helped herself to more ale, 'I guess this was the most remote place she could find to hide us in the meantime.'

Garruld whistled through his chipped teeth. 'Sounds like she's got her work cut out for her. Half of the Tethyran army is out for your lot – though you've no worries here,' he added quickly. 'Balthazar made it clear he doesn't want any conflict brought to the village and he pays well enough to keep my tongue.'

'Why _has_ he gathered you all here?' asked Imoen.

'I don't know. I doubt any merc here does. But each tenth day Balthazar opens his coffers and here we stay, awaiting his orders.'

'To tell the truth,' said Iveck, 'it's making some of us a mite restless, not knowing. A few groups left last week, heading west for an army that supposed to be amassing, though I imagine we'll remain awhile yet.'

'You're all from same company?' confirmed Imoen

'Aye,' said Garruld, 'there's us three and another twenty or so all out of Darromar.' he pointed to the dull red hawk's foot that had been stencilled on to the pauldron of his beaten leather armour, 'the Red Talons. We're mostly of those who left the city guards, who found the work too dull, or the coin too meagre, though some, like our Hazel, came from further afield. Our company is still based there, but we left two months back now to join the conflict at Saradush.'

'For the Silver Chalice, you understand,' interrupted Iveck, 'not that giant's lot.' 'Aye, but the knights weren't hiring, and the whole thing had blown over in under a tenday. We were hired as guards by caravan train back to Darromar, when we heard rumours that an army was being raised to fight a force of dragons and djinn some Calimshite Bhaalspawn was amassing in the desert and here we came to find one, if not the other.'

'Balthazar certainly wants an army,' continued Iveck, 'though what he intends to fight is still a mystery. Whatever it is, the wait is making me uneasy - another tenday and I'm quitting whatever the captain says.'

The man downed his drink with a decisive gulp, Garruld shrugging his own thoughts on the matter as Hazel turned a mild smile upon Fritha.

'As you can see, easy coin to some is tedium to another. Besides this, much of the mercenaries wealth comes from spoils taken from the battlefield, and some here feel, though the work is without risk, Balthazar's pay does not cover the fine armours, swords other potential lootings of a fallen army. As for myself, the challenge promised by such enemies rumoured has proved lacking so far –though some of your kin who live on the desert's edge spoke of seeing dragons on the horizon – perhaps we will face them yet.'

Fritha took a long drink and avoided Imoen's eye, her friend just as quiet as she took a deep and sudden interest in her own cup, lips pressed tight against the smirk.

'But, we likely bore you with tales of the soldier's life,' Hazel conceded at their silence, 'Tell me, where are you from?'

The question had been addressed to Fritha, though they both answered him, 'Beregost,' chorused in the tired lie.

'It's a town in Western Heartlands –not far from Baldur's Gate,' Imoen added to give a point of reference for those who may not know the land. Garruld nodded, taking a long draft of ale.

'Ah, I think everyone heard of the trouble you had up there recently – the iron going rotten and the threatened war with Amn. Shame nothing came of it. Tethyr could have used the opportunity to make a landgrab to the north – kings always pay well.'

'I guess you can't win them all,' said Fritha dryly. She knocked back her cup and reached for the pitcher. Hazel beat her to it.

'Please, let me.'

'So you're both from the same town, then,' continued Iveck brightly, 'what are the odds?'

'What d'you expect?' laughed Imoen, 'We _are_ sisters.'

'Well, half-sisters,' added Fritha as the pair fell to snickering. Garruld barked a loud laugh.

'A classic Bhaalspawn joke, was that?'

'Well, you've got to laugh, haven't you?' sighed Imoen, reaching for more ale. Hazel took up the pitcher without a thought, it seemed, a smile flashed to Fritha as he topped up both their cups.

'So what brought two girls so far from home?' asked Iveck.

'Our mother was originally from Amn,' offered Fritha, ready with her tale, 'well, Imogen's mother anyway – I found a home with the family much later. But Mother was from Amn, a fact widely known by the town and, as war brewed, she worried what would become of us. We travelled back to Athkatla with her, and stayed a time with our grandparents. It was there we heard of Melissan and her work to find a way to save the Children.'

'We followed her to Saradush,' explained Imoen, 'and after the city fell we came here with the survivors. We hardly see the woman now, though, and Lukyle usually sends us on errands into the desert, trading with the tribes there for supplies we need.'

Garruld snorted. 'It's seems we're both stuck here waiting for Fate to gets its arse moving, though I imagine we're having an easier time here than you lot. Not many ways for you, Bhaalspawn, to make your way here unless you like washing and sewing for dogs like us. Did you have trades back in Amn?'

'I was a scribe,' offered Fritha promptly.

'And I was a member of a local troupe at the Five Flagons theatre.'

Fritha rolled her eyes; _this_ was why Imoen was not allowed to make up her own lies.

'_Oho_, men, we're sharing ale with a famed lady of the stage.'

'Nothing like that,' the girl hastened, 'just small speaking roles or parts in the chorus -and I helped mother in the shop when she was busy.'

'A shop?' asked Hazel. 'What did you sell?'

'Our grandparents owned a pottery in the Promenade,' answered Fritha quickly. Imoen took a consoling swig, seemingly disappointed by the ordinariness of it.

'A sound trade,' offered Hazel politely. Iveck laughed.

'And you'd know, Sembian.'

'You are from Sembia?' confirmed Fritha.

'Not really. My family came south when I was four. We had been wealthy merchants, so I am told, though my father was forced to escape some trouble he will not speak of even now. We had distant family in Darromar, so there we settled and rebuilt what had been lost. My father wished for me to take over our trade, importing rare woods for the city's craftsmen, but I had no aptitude for it.'

'Don't listen to him, girls,' laughed Iveck, 'there's not a man in our company with such a silver tongue.'

'Aye,' agreed Garruld, 'remember the time he saved Jasim's hide. Another merc from our lot and one foolish enough to enter a game of cards with guards from the Assism's Hawks trading coster -and try to cheat them! They were out to take recompense in blood and it seemed nothing else would suffice when Hazel, here, managed to convince them, _and_ the watchmen they'd bribed to take their side of it, to just let him go!'

Iveck was chuckling. 'Aye, the ungrateful lout didn't much appreciate your argument though – so useless at cards that even cheating only saw him breaking even – not even worth their efforts to kill.'

Fritha felt impressed despite herself. 'Really?'

Hazel shrugged, surprised by her interest. 'Though I trust my skill with a blade, I prefer to talk my way out of trouble if I can. My father brought my sister into the business in the end and as for me, _I _had been spoilt by my elder cousin's tales of battle and glory, but the guards in Darromar were too dull and the Silver Chalice too regimented – eventually I found the Talons.'

'And right glad we were, too,' grinned Iveck, with a hearty slap to the man's shoulder. 'Garruld and I are both of the guards, though he's not native to the city.'

'I'm from Sarsid, a few leagues to the north, though I'd doubt you'd have heard of the place.'

'No,' said Fritha, 'we kept to the main road to Zassepur for most of our journey.'

'Ah, Zassepur,' Garruld sighed, 'I know it well – used to have a lady there. We were to marry and all that.'

'What happened?' asked Imoen

'Well, after she moved to Darromar, she found she liked me a lot better when there was over a hundred leagues between us.'

'Poor love,' teased Imoen, 'at the risk of breaking your heart again, I'm afraid _I'm_ taken. But Freya here is free as a bird –though you may have some trouble from our company.'

'No offense, my flower, but I don't fancy pressing my suit to a girl with as many angry brothers as you.'

Fritha laughed along with the table; unwelcome though they had been to begin with, she was warming to their company.

'Here, lets have a game of cards, shall we?' offered Iveck, pulling a battered wallet from his pocket, 'Sanka or ruin the guild?'

'I don't think we can match you, if we're playing for coin,' ventured Fritha – well, they were supposed to be impoverished Bhaalspawn.

'It is hardly the same thrill, if we are not going to play for something,' gripped Hazel.

'Why?' snorted Garruld, 'We get more gold every tenday and nothing more here to spend it on.'

Behind Imoen's eyes, something sparked.

'I know, why don't we play for dares?'

'Imogen, I _really_ don't think-'

'Dares?' cut in Garruld.

'Freya and me used to play for dares when we were younger. Like I'll open with a stake of I have to blow the next boy you see a kiss.'

Iveck was laughing.

'Kissing, eh? I like the sound of this.'

'And then the next to play would be all 'I'll see your kiss and raise it to- to dancing on a table!'

'Let's just play for drinks,' offered Fritha vainly, 'any losers have to down their drinks,'

'Or both!' cried Iveck, 'Any who bow out early have to down their cups, the last loser has to do the dare!'

'Yeah!' enthused Imoen. Fritha kept her mouth shut this time -she was just giving them ideas. Next to her, Hazel looked just as pleased as she was.

'Truly, can we not just play for coin? It can be copper, if you wish– I'll even cover these ladies' losses.'

His offers were ignored – Fritha sent him a commiserating smile as Iveck shuffled the Talis deck.

'Right, my friends, seven card sanka, the Fool is high.'

**…**

Fritha rolled her jaw, her face stiff from too much smiling, Hazel still laughing as he topped up their cups with the heavy wine they had ordered a while back. Imoen was holding court on the table opposite with their much expanded company -a half dozen Red Talons had arrived to join their brothers an hour or so back.

'So Garruld sends a wink to me, whips behind him and sets to running again, pretending he's caught sight of the guards who are still in pursuit. Iveck and our brothers immediately hare off in the opposite direction and half of them end up throwing themselves into the nearest midden to hide. The men didn't speak to us for the next tenday.'

Fritha smiled, as amused by his laughter as she was by the tale. 'You have a good camaraderie – better than most mercenary bands I would imagine.'

'Yes, the Red Talons are known in the city for their loyalty – for many of us it is the only family we have. Much like yourselves, I suppose. And I have many such tales as these, though none quite compare as to watching you dance earlier.'

Fritha laughed along with him. 'I told you all I was useless at sanka – at least I didn't have to smell the table's armpits. Though after a few days without any means to wash, I think we got the more embarrassing end of that dare.'

Hazel was almost choked with laughter. 'And- and your Imogen desperately splashing wine under her arms.'

More laughter, the pair finally calming to leave them breathless and beaming at each other. Hazel seemed a lot more handsome than she first remembered – Fritha was blaming the wine – the man keen to make a similar observance of his own.

'You were so quiet when we first arrived, though I thought I saw some spark in you. I am glad to see I was right even if my first attempts to tempt it out ended in a _scolding_.'

'Well, I give you full credit, impudent or not,' she giggled, 'I swear, I've not laughed so much in a long while.'

She raised her cup to toast him, taking a sip and managing to slop half the mouthful down her chin, coughing and spluttering as the sharp wine hit the back of her throat. Hazel sent her a concerned look.

'Freya?'

'Nothing, I just missed my mouth,' she croaked hoarsely. The man grinned.

'A feat in itself.'

They laughed together, Fritha taking another longer draft of wine to calm her throat and a warm silence descended between them. Imoen was still playing cards with Garruld, Iveck and the other men, her loud laughter rippling across the courtyard, and Fritha leaned back, letting her drifting gaze find patterns in the stars above. Hazel rattled his chair closer, reclining as she had.

'Do you know anything of the stars?'

Fritha shrugged. 'A little.'

An arm clothed in fine Calimshite linen raised to the fat diamond that glittered directly overhead. 'In Sembia, they called that bright one the Dragon's Eye.'

'Have you ever been back to Sembia?'

'No, though perhaps one day I will.'

'With tales of vanquished dragons and the sword of a djinn,' she teased.

'And many more scars no doubt,' he added wryly. 'Will you return north after all this?'

'I don't know,' she lied, 'perhaps.'

He must have noticed something change in her tone though, the man turning to her with a frown she had seen many times on a very different face. 'The future worries you, does it not? What it holds for you and the other of your kind. Perhaps here is not the safest place for those who would escape such a fate.'

Fritha smiled, eyes back on the table. 'You are not the first to tell me so, but there is work here to be done and I must have a hand in it – could you return to Sembia and let another fight your battles?'

He did not need to answer. Fritha shifted her weight to catch up her cup again, downing the last of the wine within and bypassing the half empty bottle to cup her cold hands about the lukewarm pot of tea they had ordered a while back.

'Ah, I'll be feeling this tomorrow,' she sighed, a glance thrown to where Imoen was laughing in her triumph, 'We should make a move soon.'

Hazel smiled, noting her hands and edging closer to throw his cloak about them both. 'Tarry awhile yet. Tomorrow is a whole night away and besides, I enjoy your company more than any I have met in a long while.'

Her back stiffened, the feel of him so close familiar and yet different enough to unease her. 'You are kind to say so.'

His smile softened, the man reaching forward to let light fingers trace along the back of her hands. 'And yet I would share more than words with you, if I may. I have a room in one of the abandoned homes nearby, and I would like to spend the rest of the night there with you.'

Fritha shrugged off his cloak and drew her hands back, rubbing the palms together firmly against the sudden chill.

'Thank you, but I don't really think that would be a good idea.'

'There is someone else?' he pressed. Fritha snorted.

'Does there need to be?'

'Ah, you are saving yourself then.'

'Certainly not!'

Hazel laughed gently at her vehemence. 'I understand. You probably think me poor suitor for asking, but in this life I have found when Fortune brings such rare joys to me, it is best to seize them with both hands. But do not mistake me; the suddenness of my offer does not mean I am careless in the act, and there is no pleasure that is not a shared one. If your kin and mine are to remain here a while, then perhaps many a dawn could find us thus entwined. I am not ashamed to say I have had my share of intimacies.'

He leaned forward, putting that golden fringe to good use as it fell casually over penetrating amber eyes. 'I will draw such sighs from you, they will be stifled only by the kisses of our passion.'

Fritha dropped her burning face to her hands; perhaps it was the wine, but she was almost tempted. _Oh, bloody hell…_

'Thank you, Hazel, but no, really, just- you're lovely, but, no.' The chair rattled back over the uneven flags as she rose. 'Come on, Imogen, it's time we got back.'

'What? _Nooooo!_'

Fritha took the wine bottle from the table before her; Imoen knew where her loyalties lay.

'Oh, all right then, see you later, lads!'

The chorus of goodbyes echoed away from them, swallowed by the general clamour as they stepped from the terrace and strolled back through the empty streets. Fritha held the bottle tightly, glad for something real in her reeling senses. A yearning she could not quite place throbbed all through her chest, tinged with a melancholy realisation that she and Imoen had swapped a true reconciliation for enough ale that neither of them cared to be cross anymore – perhaps she should have taken Hazel up on his offer. Next to her, Imoen was weaving along the street, the girl almost ending up on her back as she threw her head skyward for a deep sigh.

'Here, let's have some of that wine then. Ah, that's better. Did we have to leave then, I was just starting a winning streak?'

'It's best we get back now –while we can still walk,' Fritha added as she snatched the girl's arm to prevent another stumble. Imoen was grinning.

'Oh, aye? So it had nothing to do with what you and _Hazel_ were talking about?'

In her face, Fritha felt the heat rising; Imoen had her answer.

'Ah, I knew it!' the girl squealed, 'All evening it was all, "oh, let me pour that for you, Freya", "what fine hands, face, nosehair you have, Freya".' Imoen took another swig, really settling in for her gossip, 'So, what did he say then?'

Fritha shook her head. 'He offered to draw from my mouth lingering sighs of pleasure with passions that would take us to the dawn.'

'And you said _no?_' Imoen cried, throwing a glance behind as though tempted to go over there and offer herself. 'He's _lovely_. Honestly, Fritha,' she continued, a disturbing matronly tone sneaking in, 'you _must_ be curious by now. You're over twenty-four summers and still a virgin – it's getting a bit creepy.'

Fritha laughed tiredly, surprised she didn't exhale steam with the heat in her face. 'So I should just lie with the first bloke who asks me, should I? Besides, he can't take my virginity – no one can, because I've already _given_ it.'

'What?' the girl cried, instantly realising this was not the most pressing question. '_Who?_'

Fritha drew a deep breath and-

'Solaufein.'

Imoen's face was a picture of astounded delight. _'No!_ When did _that_ happen?'

'In the Underdark.'

A smile quirked the girl's lips, Imoen chuckling away to herself as she took another drink.

'You almost had me then.'

'I'm not joking.'

'Fritha, you _can't_ expect me- He was an _evil_ drow, possibly our enemy, and you barely knew him.'

'Actually,' Fritha corrected briskly, 'we'd been working together for a tenday, which, as I recall, was longer that you knew Niklos-'

'No, no, no, we are _not_ bringing that up and, anyway, that was completely different.'

Fritha snorted. 'As you say.'

A silence fell between them, comfortable and much warmer than the air that stirred along the dark street, the light of their campfire just a newly risen star upon the distant hillside. At her side, Imoen shivered and slipped an arm through her elbow, sharp chin dipped to rest on her shoulder.

'So, what was it like?'

'I didn't think you'd need it explained to you.'

'Very funny. I mean how many-'

'Once,' Fritha cut in; the heat was rising again and not merely in her face, 'Just the once. Never since.'

'Did it hurt? I know sometimes the first time…'

'Not so I noticed. Come the moment, I was very,' the heat in her face burst to leave her throat hoarse, '_aroused_.'

Imoen gave a snort somewhere between amusement and jubilation. '_So?_' she pressed, bright and eager. Despite her embarrassment, Fritha felt the smile curl, back in that room and lost in the feelings of another girl.

'Well, it was nice. I mean, physically, it was _incredibly_ nice, urgent and primal –and intuitive, too, like my body knew what to do. It was the first time I'd felt alive in a long while. Solaufein, well, he didn't know I wasn't a drow, of course, but…'

'But?'

But at the same time, it had not, still did not, feel like it had been her. She had been Veldrin, in another body with another mind and no one's soul. The act not for affection or desire or even curiosity, but just to prove a point. Fritha shook herself and reached for the bottle.

'Here, let's not talk of this anymore, Imoen, it's making my stomach twitchy and I've got to share a tent with the man.'

'Ah, you and Solaufein…' her friend giggled fondly, 'I mean I always suspected. The way you two- and those looks he sends you when you are turned away.'

'I don't know _what_ you're babbling about; it was just a one time thing.'

Imoen scoffed. 'Yeah, whatever you say. I tell you, the way he looks at you sometimes- if I caught Vals looking at me like that I'd go squiffy in my lady bits.'

'Oh, _Gods_, Imoen, just _shut up!_ I'm not listening!'

'If I've had had to put money on who before you'd said, it would have been on Anomen,' the girl continued matter-of-factly, 'I suppose that's not likely to ever happen now though.'

Fritha sighed, all at once sobered. 'No… He said he wished he'd never met me. Awful thing is, I do too. Poor man; Brieanna played upon his past regrets.'

'Hah, you could play Anomen like snakes and ladders.' Imoen turned to eye her curiously. 'Did you love him?'

'Yes,' Fritha admitted without hesitation, 'how could I not? At the time, he was safety and warmth in a cold, dangerous world. But now… I still love him in a way, for how he sees me, _forgives_ me, just accepts me as I am –or at least he used to… But I never liked him for him.' Fritha shook her head. 'It isn't good enough and he deserves some happiness. You know, for all Brieanna's lies, I think her regard was more genuine than mine.'

Imoen just nodded, raising the bottle for another long swig. Fritha caught the end before she managed to drain it. 'Hey, go steady with that stuff, it's stronger than it looks.'

'Ah, I'll worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, it's just me and you and all the wine in Calimshan! Come on! _There were three drunken maidens come from the Straits of Gright. They drunk from First-day morning, nor stopped 'til Ninth-day night.'_

**…**

Jaheira let the book rest in her lap. It was one of Fritha's better romance novels, though it still did little to hold her attention and she had only brought it from her pack to help her ignore the awkward silence over camp. Anomen was opposite and brooding in to the fire; she had definitely plucked the short straw taking the first watch with him.

Poor man. Two loves both lost within the space of a year and neither through any fault of his. Jaheira considered herself very blessed to have even met Khalid. The slap of canvas behind her, Valygar's braided head emerging from one of the tents, his clothing lacking the crumpled look that came with sleep.

'You are still awake?'

'I could not sleep,' he sighed, throwing down the cloak he had dragged out with him, bared feet leaving neat footprints on the dusty ground. His hand had been without its bindings for a day or so now, the fingers swollen and gnarled, hatched with pale scars Anomen's prayers could not fade. Jaheira watched him flex them stiffly.

'Is your hand troubling you?'

'No, no…' he dismissed, more sheepish as he added, 'it is more that I find I am missing something.'

Jaheira shared his smile. She had been the same when some mission would call Khalid away, the woman unable to settle at night until he was returned.

'Well, I hope they are not much longer; we have an early start.'

'So, we still plan to set out for Sendai on the morrow?' confirmed Valygar.

Jaheira shrugged. 'As it stands.'

'This army will have to be stopped whether it aids Melissan in the long term or not,' added Anomen quietly.

Jaheira sighed, keeping to herself her wonders about whether or not some truce could be called while Melissan was dealt with. Unlikely, but something to keep in mind nevertheless. The sound caught her sharper ears before the two men could note it. Jaheira inhaled a deep, comforting breath of woodsmoke-scented air and smiled.

'I think they are back.'

Valygar and Anomen glanced up, the distant strains that had first alerted her finally reaching them.

'_So where are your feathered hats, your mantles rich and fine?  
They've all been swallowed up, my friends, in tankards of good wine.  
And where are your maidenheads, you maidens__, brisk and gaaaaaaay?  
We left them in the alehouse, we drank them clean away!'_

And there they were, the pair leaning into each other and weaving from the darkness, faces pink from ale and the climb both.

'Hello, you two, did you have pleasant evening?'

Imoen broke from her friend, skipping over to bat playfully at the woman's shoulder-length hair. 'Jaheira, Jaheira, Jaheira, guess, guess how many boys. Guess, guess… Boys!'

Fritha was snickering, the noise drawing Imoen's attention back to her.

'And _Fritha!_ Fritha danced on a _table!_'

The girl's laughter ended there. 'Imoen, you promised you wouldn't tell them!'

'Oh, it was so brilliant and all the mercs were going mad and singing and Fritha was throwing her clothes off.'

'Imoen! I took my scarf off –just my scarf.'

'Yeah, calm down, Anomen, don't go getting any ideas.'

Fritha winced; the man himself said nothing. Imoen did not notice either of them.

'Vals! You waited up for me!'

The man smiled, almost swamped by the enthusiastic embrace.

'Yes, indeed, though I am more than ready to bed down.'

'You don't have to ask me twice! Night, you lot.'

Valygar's frown was audible as the pair moved off. 'Imoen, Perhaps you should take some water before you sleep?'

'So, how was your evening here?' asked Fritha of the two left, though she likely only expected an answer of one, the girl settling on the blanket next to Jaheira.

'Fine enough. Everyone is prepared to leave tomorrow and, on that note, you should likely follow Imoen's example.'

'I'm all right for a bit yet. I can finish off your watch for you, if you like.'

The woman seemed about to refuse, but thought better of it, ruffling her hair with a gentle hand as she left the circle.

Anomen heard rather than saw the woman leave, eyes fixed upon the fire, that anger he had been feeling for days now smouldering like the embers there, the pulse of it matching every beat of his battered heart.

The past few days had crept by with a brutal slowness that nothing could distract from. He could not read or take any distraction in talk or plans. Even sleep held no release, nights spent lying awake staring at the plain canvas roof of his tent mulling over the hate that coursed through him. Why? Why had this happened to him? Everything he had suffered with his father, within the Order and then at Fritha's hand had been for nothing and the world cared not one jot. Brieanna, a friend who had listened and shared his burdens -his only true comrade since the Order cast him out- was not only dead, but had been using him all along. And if he ever needed final proof that life was an unfair, cruel joke it was sitting across from him there, leafing carelessly through the book Jaheira had left. He had lost everything, and for what? So he could come to some distant land and watch Fritha die. His hiss started her.

'How can you just _sit_ there?'

'Sorry?'

'How can you go out and drink and sing and sit there, knowing what you know -knowing what will happen to you?'

The girl shrugged, tapping the book absently against her knee. 'I don't know. I suppose there isn't much else I can do.'

Her casual acceptance of the thing made him all the more furious.

'Gods, Fritha! I mean, how do you feel-' he cut himself dead, appalled at the idiocy of the question. How did he expect her to feel? Something like he did probably: dull and old and so very hollow whenever he looked her way. 'I am sorry, that was…'

It was strange to hear her laugh.

'It's all right, Anomen, don't be embarrassed. As for how I feel, it's fine, I don't mind. Well, no, I do mind. I actually mind a bucket load, but it's as fine as it's going to be…' She dipped her face, her voice small but firm as she continued, 'That was the reason, you know, that I ended things between us… I mean, ever since I knew I was chosen, I knew it couldn't be good. I didn't want to bring you into something so uncertain and then, well, you know what's going to happen now.'

'Do I?' he sighed, rubbing a throbbing temple; he felt as though he'd had a headache for days. 'What does any of this mean?'

'Pretty much what Elund said,' she murmured, clearly wary of the tents about them, 'I'll die, more or less. I'll take the throne and become Bhaal or I'll take it and become a god. I'm not sure how much of me will remain even if I manage to take the power for myself, but my life as I know it will end. The best I can hope for is that I ascend as the new God of Murder and there is still enough of me left that I can be considered Fritha. Otherwise, perhaps the essence will drag me into someone new, or Bhaal will have enough power to resurrect himself in me. Of course,' she added with forced cheer, 'I could still die beforehand and then all this will fall on someone else. But Elund had enough faith to follow me down here, so perhaps I am assured of survival – one way or another.'

_Elund…_ Anomen noted everyone had begun to call her that, as though they could pretend she was a different woman to the one who had duped them all with such ease. He sighed deeply.

'I was so taken in.'

'We were all taken in, Anomen. She was believable because for the most part she was telling the truth… I know she came here for me, but I think she really did feel for you-'

'Don't,' he cut in sharply. 'You can say nothing to make this better.' Brieanna was dead and considering the many ways in which things could have been different just made it worse. A gust of wind stirred the embers to send a cloud of fireflies skyward. Fritha pulled her knees to her chest.

'Ah, I always knew I would break something I couldn't fix eventually. I'm sorry I pushed you away before, Anomen – I should have been honest. But I just couldn't tell you, not about all this.'

'You thought you were acting for the best,' he intoned in the expected platitude. Fritha took no comfort from it anyway.

'I should have done better. I let you down.'

Tears were beginning to well, the girl dipping her face to hide them behind a hand. Within Anomen, the emptiness swelled.

'Fritha, crying will change little.'

'Ah, I'm not crying, not really,' she dismissed, already dashing the tears away. 'I just get so frustrated with myself. I always seem to realise just what I wanted after everything's changed and it's no longer the case. I didn't even want you to leave Suldanessellar! But, I let you go; I thought it would be better.'

Anomen shrugged. 'Perhaps we were never meant to be.'

Fritha clearly didn't know what to say to that, a wet laugh bubbling up to fill the silence as she mopped at her face.

'Ah, by the time I work it out this time, it really will be too late, won't it? Life was always such a slow thing. Back in Candlekeep I didn't realise how much faster the world moves. Lives and people rattle on so quickly; I blink and they're gone, different. Was it being raised in Candlekeep or the elf in me that is so slow to change… I don't know, and now…'

She glanced to him, eyelashes still beaded with tears. 'And now I don't have time left to work it out.'


	39. Strange Bedfellows

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Strange Bedfellows**

Next to her, something hissed and crackled. Fritha focused on the noise, at length identifying its source as the fire and she suddenly awakened to countless other sensations - the cool morning air against her eyelids, the ground hard beneath her and the dull throb that lingered in her temples from the night's wine. There was something heavy over her, too, trapping in the heat of her curled body, the scent that clung to it somehow familiar, of woodsmoke and metal polish, and she realised with reluctant tremor it was Anomen's cloak.

For a time, she just lay there, letting the moments drift by while hidden within that cocoon, breathing in the scent of a man who had once been hers and revelling in the memory of the warm security that came with knowing there was one person who held you above all else. But it could not last.

_Come on, just three more breaths. One… two… three… _

Fritha heaved it off and sat in a single movement, brisk air rushing to set the skin of her whole body bristling, the sky above a glorious palette of fiery pinks. The camp about her was all but deserted, their five tents pitched in an uneven ring, the eastern pane of each cast white in the sunrise, while the shaded sides still glistened with the night's dew. Anomen was stooped over the pot, the tea leaves he was stirring left to drift for but a moment as he glanced briefly to her. Fritha felt her stomach flip – it was not a pleasant sensation.

'Morning, Anomen.'

'Yes, good morning.'

'Thanks for, well,' she folded his cloak demonstratively over her arm and set it neatly on the blanket next to her. Anomen did not look up; the silence pressed her on. 'Did you take everyone's watch?'

'Solaufein and Valygar relieved me in the early hours.'

Fritha threw a glance to the tents behind her. 'They are back in bed?'

'Training,' came the grunt. Fritha watched him stir the steeping tea with a ponderous hand. She'd hoped the cloak might have meant a reconciliation of sorts – it seemed she was mistaken.

'Anomen, last night-'

'Ah, and the first of our revellers is awake.'

Jaheira stepped from her tent, the woman more cheerful than Fritha was used to seeing her, even considering the hour, a warm smile beaming as she joined them at the fire. 'And suffering for her indulgence?'

'No, not really.' Though it seemed Fritha may have spoken too soon. She stifled a hiss, sharp pain shooting through her back as she stretched . Anomen did not comment; he did not even look at her. Jaheira was not so dismissive.

'Fritha?'

'I'm all right –just a twinge.'

'You likely slept awkwardly.'

'Yes, must have. I imagine I feel better than some though,' Fritha laughed at the tousled head that had emerged from the tent behind them. Imoen was pale, the contrast with her darkened hair making it all the more noticeable, clothes thrown on with the air of someone who tried to dress whilst still under the blankets.

'Oh, Jaheira,' she croaked dramatically, 'I think I'm dying.'

**…**

Valygar lunged, his sword thrust in from the side in a curving stab in a move he had seen few times and practised even fewer. The kata to which he were accustomed were more flowing, continual styles, broad sweeps melding into a smooth dance. Using the blade with mainly one hand required a change of technique, shorter movements concentrated on sharp lunges and stabs, his injured hand used more to steady and pivot. He was fortunate his blade was so light- a sword like Minsc's and he would have been forced to find himself a whole new weapon.

The thrust was not fast enough to catch his opponent though. Solaufein dodged the strike, sword poised to sweep at his extended arm. The ranger snatched it back, returning to a close guard and fighting the temptation to grip with both hands as he prepared to parry the coming blow. The drow redirected his attack, whipping around, the momentum carrying his blade up to press the blow to the ranger's shoulder. Valygar moved to parry, the angle of his body twisting his sword-arm, free hand brought to the hilt in his instinct to save it and pain flared through his injured arm as the blade clattered to the ground.

Solaufein did not even bother to follow through on the strike; the duel was over, the man stepping back and for a moment they just stood there, a few paces apart, heaving chests misting in the cold air. Valygar threw a scowl to the blade at his feet, feeling somehow betrayed by it. Opposite him, the drow sheathed his own sword, the awkward shift to his feet not reflected in his even tone.

'Your skills are improving.'

Valygar snorted, aching fingers flexed with a grimace. 'I would still be dead were this a true duel.'

Solaufein was frowning. 'Perhaps we should cease now.'

'_After_ I master this.'

'Pain and fatigue are no teacher.'

The coiled anger within finally snapped. 'Do not coddle me! I am not a… child,' Valygar finished lamely; he certainly sounded like one. Solaufein was friend enough not to make the obvious comparison, the man impassive before him, grey eyes holding no pity or judgement. Valygar could not bear to meet them, gaze dropped to the useless claw that no longer felt a part of him. However many times he told himself it could have been so much worse, it did nothing to ease that sense of loss.

'It was one thing of which I could be proud. I was born to so many of the advantages others craved – money, status, even that curse of magic in my blood. But the strength of my being, my skill with blade and bow – I _earned_ that. And now it is gone.'

'One hand does not make a whole man,' offered Solaufein quietly.

'No,' Valygar sighed, dropping to a crouch to take up his dropped blade, the fine metal dulled by the dust that clung to its film of oil. 'And many times I have heard Minsc rattle off a list of the woodman's skills which do not require either hand. But it still does not return what I have lost.'

'It is early yet-'

'Yes, and once the pain fades and the swelling reduces, there will be time to train my hand anew –Jaheira reminds me almost daily! But it will never be as it was and until then,' he cleaned the blade upon his knee and straightened in one decisive movement, 'I am useless to this group.'

Solaufein snorted. 'I would say it is your attitude that is your greatest impairment at the moment.'

'Is that so?' snapped Valygar, 'And how do the drow treat those who are crippled?'

A mere twitch of nostrils on that impassive face was enough to betray his displeasure, though Solaufein answered all the same. 'There are exceptions, of course, but those who become thus in battle are killed by their allies as a _mercy_. Those born with any imperfection are killed then. It is seen as a sign of disfavour from Lolth, and such children would be considered a burden to their houses.'

'A burden.' Valygar snorted bitterly. 'To think that was once how I considered you.'

If Solaufein was offended by the admission, he did not show it. 'This group tolerates no burdens. It did not then; it does not now.'

Valygar drew a deep breath, the faint scent of cooking carried to him on the bracing air. 'Come, we should return to camp.'

**…**

Fritha took the gnarled twist of pale root from the cup, waiting as the last few drops of tea sent ripples across the surface, before the soggy length was discarded to the fire with a hiss. Jaheira glanced up with a smile, the pot of tea now set aside to make room for the group's heavy skillet as she fried slices of dried sausage over the licking flames. The druid had walked into the village with Minsc after Fritha and Imoen had left for the tavern last night, heading to Saemon to replenish their supplies. Fritha imagined she was not only one who was glad they had – that morning's breakfast a welcome plate of sausage, cheese and warmed flat bread. The smell was delicious, but it was not to everyone's tastes, it seemed. Behind her, Imoen was sitting on the blankets that were still laid out from the night before, head resting in her bent knees as she tried to accustom her eyes to the light.

'Here,' Fritha smiled, carefully passing her the cup, 'I let one of those roots Jaheira has steep in it a while, it should help your head.'

'Ah, thanks,' the girl sighed, inhaling a rousing lungful of fragrant steam. The scalding heat curbed her attempts to drink it quickly though, and Imoen settled on a long, slurping sip. 'Gods, Fritha, why'd you let me drink all that wine.'

'I told you to go easy on it.'

'And bloody Vals, making me drink that entire flask of water; all night I was up and down like a fiddler's elbow.'

Fritha snorted; though the girl was feeling bad now, at least the evening seemed to have found them friends again. Across the camp, Anomen was brooding into his cup, Minsc's attempts to engage him ignored. Well, one out of two wasn't bad going.

'Ah, name a devil,' continued Imoen, the girl perking up considerably as Solaufein and Valygar appeared over the bluffs, the man raising a hand to her before following the drow over to his tent as they finished their discussion. Imoen watched greedily as Solaufein stooped to his pack and hauled his tunic over his head to reveal the tightly muscled body beneath.

'You can say what you like, Fritha, but you can't deny the man's fine.'

Fritha laughed. 'You're such a lecher. Sola, put your tunic back on before Imoen passes out.'

'Oh, fetch me my smelling salts,' the girl cried, setting down her cup to skip over to the pair; the drow hastily pulled on a clean tunic.

'Don't worry, Sola, I only have eyes for one man here,' she giggled, turning a beaming smile on the man next to him. 'How was training?'

'Fine,' muttered Valygar. Imoen seemed to know not to press him further.

'Good then. Breakfast?'

Valygar and Solaufein were the last to join the circle, Jaheira putting a wedge of cheese, a few slices of sausage and hunk of flatbread on to each plate. Fritha poured two last cups of tea for the latecomers to settle again and, as they ate, talk turned inevitably from Fritha and Imoen's evening to their plans for that day.

'Well, I bought enough for a few days from Saemon last night,' offered Jaheira to the question on their supplies.

'We'll need to visit the well and fill the flasks before we leave, too,' said Fritha, 'I can go after breakfast.'

Next to her, Minsc laughed 'No, no, young Fritha, Boo says such work is not for maids – I will go.'

A nod from Solaufein. 'I will join you, Minsc.'

'So we set out for Sendai then,' confirmed Valygar, 'And what of Melissan?'

'What would you have us do instead?' asked Anomen sharply, 'How can we fight that which we cannot find?'

'Perhaps _seek_ her?' Valygar retorted, 'She set much in motion, gathering the Children at Saradush for the giant, bringing them here, sending us out to kill her rivals. She has a plan that will likely succeed and it seems we playing right into it.'

Minsc was nodding, his mellow voice a welcome step back from the escalating tempers. 'And yet Anomen is right, good Valygar. An army is raised and we must act against it and trust to the Fates that we will have Melissan in time.'

'Sendai and Melissan,' Imoen considered aloud, 'the last two members of the Five.'

'We assume,' reminded Solaufein. 'There could be others, outside of their group.'

Fritha speared a piece of sausage with her knife. 'Yes, well, I'd like to think if there were any more players in this they'd have made themselves known by now.'

'Are we so sure?' countered Valygar, 'They may not even be gathering within Tethyr.'

'Well, then they are definitely someone else's problem!' said Imoen. Fritha was shaking her head.

'No, they will not be anywhere else. Bhaal's main temples were here. Tethyr was the seat of His power; Tethyr will be the cradle of His resurrection.'

'Lucky old Tethyr,' laughed Imoen grimly.

'Boo says at least _we_ are here to stop it.'

'Lucky old us,' muttered Fritha. 'Melissan and Sendai, the two final pieces of this game to be taken…' She leaned forward, using the handle of her knife to trace two symbols into the dirt: a dagger for the drow, a skull for the priestess. 'We know where one is and we know where the other is going.'

'We do?' asked Imoen.

'Watcher's Keep,' provided Anomen gruffly, 'Melissan said so before she left.'

'Well, I was meaning the Throne of Bhaal,' conceded Fritha, 'but good point. Now, according to Melissan, Sendai raises an army in the west.' She circled the dagger at her feet.

'Could she have been lying?' poised Valygar.

Fritha pondered it with a frown. 'Doubtful –what would she gain by it?'

'Perhaps we should see if we cannot call a truce with this Sendai,' offered Jaheira, 'Melissan is enemy to us both.'

'And allow the drow even more time to raise an army?' snapped Anomen. The druid was ready to stand her ground.

'Melissan seeks the Throne – how many more will suffer if she ascends as Murder's new goddess?'

'She could even have her own army stashed somewhere,' offer Imoen practically, 'Tethyr's big enough.'

Fritha nodded. 'We don't yet know enough about Melissan's plans, though no doubt she has them. I wonder what she wanted at Watcher's Keep, if she went there at all. In the end though, she will have to face us.'

'Will she?' countered Jaheira, 'She could bring about our end through other means.'

'She was manipulative enough to work within the Five, while plotting their ends,' reminded Valygar.

Fritha puffed her frustrations at the ground, dust stirring across the symbols. 'Too many uncertainties…'

Across the camp, Solaufein's head darted back. 'We have visitors.'

And over the bluff they came, two monks she did not recognise whose easy stride belied the climb they had just had. Their cowls were back, both men wearing the customary knee-length robes and bound-in trousers of their order, their shaved heads shining in the early light.

'Greetings,' began the elder of the two as he stepped into the ring of tents. He was a dark-skinned man of middling years; his young companion halted on the edge of their camp in respectful silence. 'I bring word from High Master Balthazar.' Dark eyes found Fritha in the circle. 'He wishes to speak with you, godchild.'

'What, _now?_' came Imoen, her breakfast half-finished in her lap.

The man merely nodded. Fritha heaved herself up with a sigh.

'Fair enough –I'll bring one other. Sola- Oh, Imoen,' she exclaimed as the girl opposite stood along with the drow. Imoen arched an eyebrow at her, hand moved to hip in unconscious challenge.

'Well, _I'm_ a Bhaalspawn, too.'

An instant of embarrassed silence as the three just stared at each other. Jaheira broke the tension with a sigh, reluctantly setting down her plate to turn to the waiting monk.

'We shall _all_ attend.'

**…**

They took the most direct route to the monastery, bypassing the village completely to skirt the western edge of the bluffs, one monk before their group and the other following behind as they reached the northern cliffs. Frome that high, Fritha had a view down into the gorge and the now empty desert. Lukyle had the camp's faith it seemed; the Bhaalspawn were gone, down to the last tent, the refuse they had left being slowly swallowed by the sands.

Before them, the walls of the monastery towered - they had arrived. The plain wooden gates opened upon a large courtyard that curved back into a natural shelf in the cliffs. To the left, a barn and wells, while beyond them two low, clay brick buildings stood, likely dormitories from the number of windows. But the largest structure by far stretched to their right, running the remaining length of the cliffs, crenulations about its flat roof and a circular turret at either end reaching up past the walls to mirror the mountain peaks far above them. In the space before it, robed men and women were grouped by age and being led in various fighting stances, while dotted across the yard others fetched scrolls, laundry and supplies back and forth between the scattered buildings, all moving with same steady gait and Fritha was stuck by the silent industry – like hive of untiring, mindless ants.

'Oh, it's Yemi,' cried Imoen, spotting the dark-haired girl instructing a group of younger children in their drills. 'Hey, Yemi!'

The girl glanced to them and nodded once, half- turning back to her young charges.

'What's wrong with her?'

The elder monk had Imoen's answer.

'None are allowed to speak within these walls unless addressed by a superior.'

Imoen took this revelation in her stride, some of the younger acolytes hiding laughter behind their long cuffs as she sent the girl an enthusiastic wave. 'I'll talk to you later, Yemi!'

Yemi dipped her face against the emerging smile; their guide seemed less amused.

'This way, if you please.'

He led them onward, through the main door of the dormitory just before them, and Fritha was soon lost in a maze of cool corridors all covered floor to ceiling in the same terracotta tiles. The air echoed with their footsteps and she felt very conscious of the racket they were making; the monks had removed their sandals at the entrance. Up a flight of similarly tiled steps, and they reached the end of a long corridor to pause before a wooden door that was conspicuous only by its plainness. The monk knocked twice, opened the door and smartly turned on his heel to leave, Fritha the first to take a tentative step over the threshold.

The room beyond was large enough, and made to seem all the larger by the lack of furniture. A chest, pallet and wash basin had been pushed to the walls to leave a large space before the only window, and before it, upon a thin reed mat, he sat in the same plain robes of his brothers: Balthazar. He was a short, wiry man of the local colouring, closer to the age Sarevok would have been now, with thin dark eyebrows and sharp brown eyes. His head was shaved as the other men there, his skull adorned with an intricate pattern of tattoos. Before the mat, two low benches had been placed, presumably for their benefit, the man gesturing politely to them as they entered. He moved slow and precisely, as though no movement was to be wasted, the man waiting for them to settle before he spoke.

'I am Balthazar,' he began, his voice mellow, quiet even, as though he was very accustomed to people listening to him. 'You are Fritha and you,' he turned to the girl perched at the end next to Valygar, 'are Imoen. I am glad you have come. Much has changed since you left to kill Abazigal.'

'Your attitude for one,' said Fritha, 'you did not seem too keen to speak to us before.'

'I am not now. The Children are a blight on, not just this land, but all Toril.' He paused, a quiver twitching his upper lip as though he found their mere presence there distasteful. 'But, despite your heritage, recent actions mark you as an ally. I note you moved the Children's camp on – I assume you, too, are now suspicious of Melissan's intentions.'

'What makes you think we had anything to do with it?' asked Imoen, bluntly folding her arms.

'I have my sources. But, even had I not, it is a startling coincidence that they depart the day after your return. Where have they gone?'

Fritha watched the man watch her, strong hands laid mildly in his lap. She could lie here, feign ignorance and reason that some message from Melissan must have moved them on. But he was not the woman's ally – perhaps he could be theirs.

'Supposing we did encourage them to leave, I would have suggested they travel north, back to Saradush and Marmont, to hide in the more populated areas there.'

Balthazar's face was a mask. 'A wise course.'

'You spoke of an alliance,' prompted Jaheira, clearly tired of this wary dance.

'Yes, I did. Did you know that it is your former ally Melissan who is the final member of the Five you seek?'

Fritha shrugged. 'We suspected as much. Did you know she is, in fact, the Deathstalker, Amelyssan the Blackhearted?'

The slightest quirk to his eyebrow told her he had not.

'Interesting, but ultimately of little consequence,' he conceded at last. 'Melissan has been manipulating you into killing her rivals that she may ascend in Bhaal's stead. This cannot happen.'

'Well, we're all in agreement there, mate,' snorted Imoen. At her side, Valygar was frowning deeply.

'And what concern is it of yours?'

'It is the concern of every man and women within these walls –as well I thought you would know. This order was created long ago, before the Time of Troubles. A monk by the name of Uljit was blessed with a vision of a future time, and the coming of the Cursed Ones. He saw what would happen should the curse remain within the land. In his wisdom, he came here to Tethyr where he knew this evil would arise, and founded this monastery. For centuries we have waited, watching events unfold, awaiting the day when we would have our chance to end this curse. That time is now upon us.'

'You have a way to end the curse?' cried Imoen. Fritha felt her heart sink, the man sealing her torment with a stoic nod.

'We do.'

Imoen was gaping, trying to find the words in her shock. 'And you can end it? Just like that?'

Fritha could not look at her, gaze fixed on the impassive figure before them. 'How?'

'I will not reveal such knowledge to outsiders,' he dismissed, 'but we do have an end for this curse and I will see it carried out. We work towards it even now, but the Five could still ruin this long-laid plan. If they can resurrect Bhaal before I can finish the preparations here, all will be lost. Melissan knows this and has manipulated Sendai in to attacking us here. That is why our aid to the village was sacrificed in order to hire these mercenaries. There are enough forces here in the Order and those sell-swords who have gathered to hold her back for a tenday, perhaps longer, though Amkethran will undoubtedly suffer should war come here.'

Fritha snorted – if _that_ was all he had to bargain with.

'In case you haven't noticed, there is not much of this village left for you to be concerned about.'

'You believe her army will just march here peaceably?' he countered, 'Sendai will cut a swathe through this land to reach us.'

'And how did you come to know all this?' came Anomen sceptically.

'Bhaal's taint is abomination on Toril. When five of the Children so steeped in it surfaced, I took great interest in them. Those of this order were sent out as spies to learn of their plans.' A scowl to break that serene façade. 'I learnt too late that Melissan was behind it all.'

'So you want us to kill Sendai for you,' supplied Fritha. Balthazar bobbed his head in what could have been a shrug.

'What you decide to do will be your own choice, but know this: eventually Sendai will come here and there will be war. The only way to avoid this will be to assassinate the women before she can finalise her plans. No one here could manage this task, but my brothers brought rumours from the local desert tribes that the Dragon Lord who once stalked the _Agasahra_ now lies dead – it was you, was it not?'

Fritha merely inclined her head in admission.

'If we kill Sendai there may be enough Essence gathered for Melissan to ascend.'

'If you kill Sendai there will be enough for us to complete our task,' the man countered. 'The woman is mortal and no threat, of this I am sure, but if her part in this still worries you, I will devote my resources to searching for her while you are away. You will return here and the curse will be ended. I have told you what I know and what will happen, what you do with this knowledge is up to you.'

**…**

'Kill Sendai and I'll tell you of Melissan.' Fritha threw the apple core into the now smouldering embers of their fire and stabbed up the cheese from her plate. 'Since when did I become the Fates' hatchetman?'

With little other option, their breakfast had just been placed in their tents when they had left, their return an hour or so later finding the sausage cooled but perfectly edible. Jaheira had produced some apples and pot of honey and they had all settled down once more to take very early lunch.

Yeah,' considered Imoen, hunk of flatbread paused halfway to her mouth, 'but that stuff about him being able to end the curse sounded promising.'

Fritha said nothing; she was too busy smothering that vain flicker of hope.

'Indeed,' huffed Valygar, a monumental effort going into tearing the flatbread he held, one clawed hand trembling with the effort. Imoen pretended not to notice – he only snapped at offers to help. 'But Balthazar is definitely hiding something. He has a greater interest in this than he is admitting.'

'Something more than an interest, I would imagine,' said Jaheira. 'What was it that monk you discovered at Abazigal's said, Fritha? That his mission there had failed.'

'There was a monk there?' cried Imoen. 'You never said!'

'We forgot,' said Fritha, chewing the smoky cheese and trying not to think again on that murky room, the way the torches had glinted upon all those knives.

'Forgot?' repeated Anomen crossly. 'Too much is forgotten in this group. Half of us left in the dark, while others hoard their _secrets_.'

'We meant to tell you,' Fritha sighed, ignoring the subtle dig at her, 'it was just lost in what came after.'

That silenced him, the man going back to his food with a scowl.

'I wonder what the mission was?' pondered Imoen.

Solaufein shrugged. 'Perhaps he was one of the spies of which Balthazar spoke.'

'Or there to warn against Melissan's treachery,' offered Jaheira.

Fritha let their talk drift over her, raising a hand to her eyes to gaze at the monastery that loomed dark and sombre upon the cliffs opposite. 'I almost wish we could leave someone here to keep an eye on things…'

'We could ask Saemon,' offered Imoen. Fritha nodded.

'_That's_ a good idea.'

Anomen snorted. 'That snake - he will afford us no aid.'

'He will…' pressed Fritha, feeling the certainty of it within, 'I'll talk to him. And as for the plan,' she thrust her knife into the outline of a dagger in the dirt at her feet, 'Sendai has always been marked.'

**...**

They left the others packing up the camp. Anomen had wanted to make his prayers at the village shrine, Fritha offering to join him on her way down to see Saemon -to the priest's overwhelming indifference.

She had hoped the walk would allow them a chance to talk and fix what was still clearly broken between them. After her tears the night before, Anomen had fallen back into silence and, with little else to do, she had returned to her book. As for that afternoon, after her first few questions had been dismissed with one word answers, she had given up to walk meekly at his side in the oppressive, restless silence that had carried them all the way through the village.

They were almost there now. The main square was empty, dusty ground littered with broken bottles and cups. It was debris from the gatherings that happened there after dark, the space kept clear in the day by the beating sun. Well, mostly, Fritha conceded. Above the steps to the village hall, someone had hung a blanket, men gathered in the shade beneath drinking and Fritha felt the blush behind to rise as she recognised more than a few members of the Red Talons, a _very_ familiar blond head among them.

'Freya?' came the surprised call.

'Oh hello, Hazel,' she greeted awkwardly, Anomen coming to a halt at her side as she stopped before the steps. Hazel was smiling broadly from his seat upon the low railing.

'Freya, I did not think I would see you again. I had heard that all your kin had left with the dawn.'

'We, ah, stayed behind to wait for some stragglers still hunting in the desert. We'll be off this afternoon though.'

'Where are you all going?' asked one of his friends, a swarthy man with a thick, bushy beard. Fritha shrugged.

'North, I think – our headman says it's too hard to survive here.'

'We manage, don't we, lads?' laughed another, prompting a chorus of bawdy cheers.

'Well, that is a shame,' continued Hazel, 'Can you stay for a drink with us?' Next to her, Anomen snorted impatiently. Fritha sent the mercenary an apologetic smile.

'Sorry, I don't think so.'

Hazel bore the disappointment well, eyes narrowed by the mild smile. 'Well, safe journeys to you – until we meet again.'

'Friends of yours?' asked Anomen coolly, when they were a few paces away.

'Just some people Imoen and I met last night.'

More silence. Fritha truly didn't know what to say anymore. She had never felt so uncomfortable around the man, even back in Amn when every other exchange between them had been an argument. They would be at the edge of the square soon and any chance for reconciliation would be gone. Fritha screwed up her courage.

'Anomen, we didn't really get a good chance to talk last-'

'And we are here,' he announced sharply, coming to a halt but halfway along the courtyard, 'or near enough. I think you waste your efforts with Saemon, but you know your own mind. I will see you back at camp.'

And there he left her forlornly watching his retreating form cross the dusty square, the shadows swallowing him as he disappeared to the narrow alley beside the disused temple. She really didn't know what else to do to make things right between them. Melancholy flared to anger at the utter injustice of it all, her hand raised before she'd realised to throw a rude gesture to his back. Appreciative chuckling from the steps. Fritha whirled to find more than just Hazel grinning, the fair man raising his cup to her in friendly salute. She allowed herself a tired smile and set out once more – and to think, Brieanna had come down there to _help_ her.

**…**

They left Amkethran early that afternoon, walking well into the dusk before they stopped to make camp. Two days' travel had taken them west along the desert's edge and back to the main road on which they had first journeyed south, and they had been on that path and travelling north through the plains ever since.

The roads were quiet that close to the border –perhaps too quiet for the season with no rumble of caravans to break the monotonous tramp of footsteps. That night had found them camped there on the edge of the road, tired and wayworn under a field of glittering stars.

The evening meal was eaten and cleared away by now, and all but Anomen sat about the small fire –the man had disappeared to make his prayers over an hour ago. He was still avoiding Fritha's attempts to reconcile them and after the first couple of days, the girl had stopped trying, discouraged by the worry she was just making matters worse.

Fritha peeled her tongue from her palate; the salted pork had left her thirsty but she resisted the urge to drain the last mouthful from her flask just yet. The arid plains grew more lush with each passing day, but water would still be rationed for a time yet, and she had long ago resigned herself to the grimy feel of her body in the same stale tunic, her hair lank with the grease and sweat. Those about her looked little better, and she spared a glance to the man next to her.

The drow looked just as filthy, his lank, white hair scraped back into its tie, clothes grey with dust from the road. Solaufein was apparently reading, though the pages did not turn with any regularity and she suspected he was merely using the book as excuse to avoid conversation. He had been withdrawn since they'd left Amkethran, though he was hardly alone in that – many times Fritha found herself starting from a dream at some address, more often than not awakening to a frustrated Imoen. _There _was another among them who was behaving oddly. So restless one moment and apathetic the next, Imoen snapped at anyone who questioned it and complained near constantly of being tired, though she retired early each evening. She was practically asleep now, the girl stretched out and flopped sideways across Valygar's lap like a lethargic cat.

'Gods, this country is too hot.'

'Boo and I are in agreement with you, young Imoen,' Minsc rumbled, removing the glistening sheen of sweat from his bald head with a grubby handkerchief, his hamster having a wash of his own on the flatten grass at his feet.

'Well, we are heading north,' offered Jaheira practically, 'and it will be cooler once we are in the forests.'

'And how many days until then?' sighed Imoen.

'About a fortnight – we'll head north to the river then travel west on the Memni Way. Melissan's guide placed Sendai in the Apagis, but the forest covers many leagues on both sides of the river –it could take a while to find her.'

'We could have reached the Agis again by Midsummer,' Fritha offered to no one in particular. Imoen bolted upright, suddenly all energy.

'Well, the sooner we get there the better! _Ah!_' the girl squealed, arms thrown about Valygar in her sudden excitement, 'We're nearly there – we kill this Sendai, the monks can end the curse and it's all finally over!'

'Don't get your hopes up,' warned Fritha quickly.

'And why the Hells _not?_' Imoen demanded, 'It's not like _we've_ any great plan to end it.'

'And what is his?' countered Fritha. 'I'm not saying you can't get excited, but be careful. We don't know enough of Balthazar to trust him yet.'

'We know he's leader of an Order who are devoted to ending this curse –even Melissan told us that much! And despite _your_ lies to Lukyle, he never did anything to the Children camped in Amkethran -and why would he?' Imoen reasoned, 'He must know that to kill all the Bhaalspawn will only allow Bhaal to come back. Or is that you just don't like any plan where you're not the big hero?'

'Imoen, that was unfair,' scolded Jaheira.

'Sorry, I'm just too hot.' Imoen sighed, raking expressive hands up through her dark chestnut hair. 'Can't you be a bit excited, Fritha? I _need_ this. I need something hold on to that isn't just our best guess.'

'I am excited,' Fritha lied; well, the constant nausea since she had learnt of it almost made that a half-truth. 'But there are lots of different prophecies and not all of them can be right. I don't want to see you disappointed. Why don't we do some studying?' she continued more brightly, reaching for her bag and the tome she knew was within, 'I can test you on your runes.'

'No,' groaned Imoen, 'I'm bored of runes.'

'We could read over the last of the tome you brought from the Amma, if you wish,' offered Valygar. Imoen gave his knee a friendly squeeze and made to her feet.

'Nah, I'm feeling a bit tired actually. I might turn in – you on first watch?'

Valygar was, the girl leaving him there with a kiss as she headed for their tent, dragging her pack with her.

'I believe we would all benefit from retiring early tonight,' announced Jaheira, 'Who is on first watch with you, Valygar?'

'Anomen,' said the man gruffly. A moment of camp-wide silence reflected their sympathy- Valygar was in for a long night. Jaheira cast into the plains about them with a frown.

'I would have thought he would be returned by now.'

Fritha's legs throbbed in protest to the movement. 'I'll go tell him.'

Solaufein had offered to join her, his eyes better suited to their task and it was not long before he had determined their direction, the Helmite apparently a speck of distant heat upon the plains. The drow glanced to her in the darkness, the starlight enough to highlight his brow and cheeks, silver eyes bright within the dark mask of his face.

'You have been very quiet these last few days.'

'So have you.'

'I,' he faltered, seemingly caught out, 'I did not want to press you. I know this talk of an end to the curse has been playing on your mind- how do you feel about it?'

Fritha just sighed, sure it was not the whole of it, but too tired to question him further.

'How do I feel?' she repeated, the weary smile creeping in, 'Scared, to be honest.'

'That Balthazar is lying?'

'That he's telling the truth. I was set, Solaufein, I was ready, and now someone else has a plan that could save us all, and Imoen is on a cloud, and all _I_ know is that I can't do this again, I can't allow myself to dream of a future only to have it snatched away from me!'

'If any have an instinct for this, it is you,' he reasoned. 'What do you feel?'

'That's just it!' she cried, frustrated that after everything she was still so unsure, 'I feel the Throne is mine, that I need to reach for the power to take it, but how much of that is really me?'

'The Fates are with you,' he reminded.

'Is it the Fates? There are many other forces in this world, and not all benevolent or even neutral. Maybe Imoen's right. Maybe I'm just desperate to believe I'm special, so at least then all this- this _misery_ is for some greater cause, not just my appalling bad luck!'

'Even with what it would mean for you in the end?' scoffed Solaufein; he clearly didn't think she was faking it.

'Ah, I don't know! Gods, I can't keep second guessing myself like this! I was saved by dragons when mere moments from death! Coincidences like this don't happen without help!'

Firm hands gripped her shoulders, pressing that peace into her. 'Calm yourself, Fritha. Now, close your eyes.' She did as instructed, drawing a deep breath in along with it, that resolved, mellow voice almost hypnotic, 'Now, what do you feel?'

'I-' A woman swathed in bright red hair, the sun-warmed stone of the courtyard where children gathered, taking the honeyed milk that would be their supper, the older women laughing with the temple guards, and all through her that feeling of utter wholeness. 'I am chosen,' someone intoned firmly, and she realised with surprised it had been she. Solaufein nodded once.

'Then that is how we will proceed.' A glance to the darkness next to them where a blurry outline moved above the grass. 'And here is the man we seek.'

'Anomen?'

He emerged from the shadows at her call to greet them with a stern frown. 'You are looking for something?'

'You actually,' said Fritha quietly, 'everyone is retiring and you are on first watch –we came to find you.'

'Well, here I am.'

And Anomen fell into step behind them, trying not to let it rile him as the pair shared furtive glances. He knew it was not their fault. Fritha had done little outside telling the lies for which she was known and, for his part, Solaufein had merely kept her silence as he himself was doing now. But it was as though the anger Anomen felt for the world and his lot within it was slowly poisoning him.

Even his prayers were just words now, intoned without the comforting swells of pride and humility he used to feel when knelt before his God. All that remained was emptiness and betrayal, reciting words to a deity who did not seem to care. He recalled his worship at the shrine before they had left Amkethran, if it could be called that, knelt before the carved stone eye feeling nothing but a burgeoning hatred for the way it watched him, silently judging, never acting, the old priest's smiling face a mockery of everything he had suffered as the man had pressed into his hand more of the scented leaves 'for his lady'.

He did not know why he had even brought them with him. He should have just discarded the dusky green spears back in that dying village. But he had not, and that night had found him out in the plains, sat under a heaven of cold stars, fingers wet with the juices as he crushed them for the peppermint scent he had not been allowed long enough to associate with anyone; he missed Brieanna and he hated himself for it. She had come there to betray him, to see Fritha killed for her god's sake and yet as much as he disparaged the others doing, it was hard to separate her in his mind, demonising Elund as the evil that lurked within an innocent Brieanna. He snorted inwardly. It was likely more accurately described the other way around, Elund's act awakening in her some spark of goodness she never before realised she possessed. Anomen dipped his head, turning from the dot of firelight they were heading towards. He had felt a change in her, seen the indecision in her eyes, the tremor of doubt to her hands as she'd raised the knife. Could it have been enough to save her? He would never know now.

They arrived back to an all but empty camp, Valygar sat at the fire a long stick of wood wedged between his legs as he whittled it down to the practise sword Anomen had heard him tell one of the others it was to become. The man sent him nod as he sat down, seemingly happy to continue their watch in silence, Fritha's voice small as she stooped to follow Solaufein into their tent.

'Goodnight Anomen.'


	40. Midsummer's Dawn

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: Just a quick 'thanks' to everyone who left feedback and to my lovely betas, Maje and Kenzie. Please read and review _^_^

**Midsummer's Dawn**

The way was busier now. Gone were the days when all they would meet upon the road were lone farmers and the occasional caravan, a blot of colour in the sea of green about them to mark some shepherd. Dust hung in the air, stirred up by the constant tramp of feet along that gravel path, the cloud stretching to the horizon above the road's meandering course through the grassy plains. Fritha kept her head down, no longer bothering to send a polite nod to the scores of people who passed them. Many were bent double under all they could carry, men and women leading their families to what they hoped was a safer future, children trailing behind, small arms clasped about some treasure they refused to part with, the more fortunate groups leading wagons or beasts to carry the burdens in their stead.

Fritha spared a thought to the last pony they had had to leave with the Amma and tried to ignore the dull ache in her lower back, her whole body longing for the moment it would be free of its weight. At least the plains there were cooler than the desert had been, and the journey could have almost been a pleasant one, if her pack had not been so heavy or the sun so bright.

After a day of walking, Thinegate was but a few leagues away. A large town, it sprawled over both sides of one of the Agis's main tributaries, the Eget, which found its source the mountains to the south. According to the locals, the river kept the town in the trade that was its lifeblood -something Jaheira believed would be enough for them not to have closed their gates even for this talk of war and it was there they planned to stay the night. Fritha took the sweat from her face with a sleeve and plodded on; if she had her way, they would be staying a day or so longer, too. Midsummer was but a dawn away, as were the festivities that came with it and the girl was determined to see them -and not only for her own pleasure. They all needed a chance to remember why they were doing this, to recall the life and the simple pleasures for which they struggled now.

Shouts on the road ahead, the rumble of distant hooves growing louder, and through the dust Fritha could make out two men on horse back parting the crowds at a smart trot.

'Make way! Come on, clear the road!'

Travellers were hastening back from the road, wagons dragged quickly aside. Fritha barely had time to stumble onto the grassy verge as the horses thundered past, a carriage and two heavily laden wagons rattling after them - some nobles ensuring their precious belongings were not a casualty. Across the road, a group of men were brushing the dust from the clothes, weapons glinting dully beneath the grime – mercenaries. And as Fritha could pick their kind from that road of refugees, it seemed their own group had not gone without notice either, a tall Tethyran with a thick black moustache sending a polite nod to Valygar and Minsc. Fritha forgave them the mistake– she hardly looked like the average mercenary captain.

'All right there? I tell you now, mate, you're heading the wrong way. There's nothing back there.'

Imoen gestured to the people about them, slowly gathering their belongings to set out once more. 'These lot wouldn't seem to agree.'

'No,' the man chuckled, 'that they wouldn't. There's an army on the move, true enough. Word has it, it's struck a few places clear off the plains, but we couldn't find a trace of it – like the whole things just shadows and rumour.'

Next to him, his bearded friend was nodding. 'We haven't time to waste searching for an army that might not even be hiring –It was in Urdine we heard it: someone back east is calling for swords for his own purpose.'

'Some town has raised the coin for its defence?' posed Jaheira. The first man shrugged.

'Couldn't say, but from what I heard there is plenty of gold in the offering for skilled swords. You should join us. We'll likely get a better lot if we pitch up as a larger group.'

All eyes turned to Fritha. They knew the answer, but she felt grateful they respect her enough to allow her to be the one to make it, the two men realising belatedly just who was in charge.

'We will press on, but thank you for the offer.'

The man nodded, gesturing for the others to follow as he resumed their journey. 'Aye, well, don't say you weren't warned.'

Fritha watched them go, those about her making no move to continue in the wake of this revelation.

'Another army,' considered Valygar, 'But being raised by whom?'

'A collection of towns, or possibly an alliance of those powerful within one?' offered Jaheira. Anomen was less optimistic.

'Or perhaps some warlord looking to take advantage of the chaos this war to the west will seed.'

'Oh, great,' snorted Imoen, 'another army, just what we need.'

Fritha dipped her face as the smile quirked, something amusing about the idea of Bhaal being resurrected only to find the people of Tethyr had taken his vengeance for him, the land decimated by war and wasted to the point where even he could ravage it no more. In her mind, He kicked over a mountain and sulked off to tease Cyric.

'Well,' pressed Jaheira setting out again with a purposeful stride, 'either way should get moving. Thinegate may yet have more answers on this and we must make the town by sunset.'

Fritha fell in behind her, Solaufein at her side and seemingly lost in a world far from that dusty road.

'Sola?'

He started to her, surprised to find her there. Fritha sent him a smile. 'And where are you today?'

'Here –mostly. Something amuses you?'

'I'll tell you later.'

**…**

The sun was a fierce, fat wedge upon the horizon by time they reached the town. The gates were still open, at least nominally, and a small group of town guards loitered just inside, watching their approach with surly frowns. Fritha considered throwing on a smile and thought better of it – perhaps it was best not to provoke them. About her, the others were preparing similarly. Jaheira set her shoulders, just daring any to halt her, while Minsc stared straight ahead, the blank gaze of a foreigner, and Solaufein drew in his faded yellow cloak to flick his hat an inch lower. The guards watched in silence. Fritha wondered if they would speak at all and she was a step past the threshold, when-

'We were just about to close them for the night.'

The guard who had spoken was not smiling, no inflection of welcome to his tone, the man impassive as he and his brothers waited on their answer. Fritha flashed him a tentative smile.

'I guess Tymora is with us.'

His craggy face remained a mask. 'I reckon so.'

They trooped past without further comment, the air somehow colder in the shadow of those high stone walls and Fritha just suppressed a flinch as the shriek of hinges and rattle of locks closed them in.

Thinegate was not large, somewhere between Marmont and Sirra in size and affluence, stone and wooden houses set along neat streets that sloped down to the river, and a little over the other side. Most houses had been decorated in preparation for Midsummer; people hanging bright flags from their windows, the more wealthy draping their sills with festoons of flowers, while coloured streamers fluttered from every door handle. Some people had even put the patterns of coloured sand on their doorsteps ready for the morrow. But it felt like a façade, an adorned debutant who had no heart for the party she was attending. There were few people in the streets, those that were still about hurrying past, heads down and focused on their errand, three young children playing hopscotch in front of their house ushered inside by an older sister as the group passed.

'Friendly here, isn't it?' muttered Imoen. Valygar shrugged.

'At least, they allowed us in.'

'Here,' said Fritha, gesturing to the tavern at the end of the street, 'this one looks all right.'

In truth, she had heard the place long before she had seen it, the clamour of loud voices and laughter that echoed along the street seeming incongruent in that silent town.

'Wait here,' Fritha muttered to the rest of them, Imoen and Jaheira chosen as the least threatening of their group –at least in look- to accompany her as she stepped up to the door. The din hit her like a wall and then… silence, every face in that light, airy room turned to them.

Behind the bar, the hoary innkeep had stopped halfway through cleaning the counter before him, the stout man settling back slowly to push the cloth into his apron and fold one fleshy arm over the other. Fritha stepped up to the counter – _now_ was the time for winning smiles.

'Well met, sir – we'd like-.'

He did not let her finished. 'We've no rooms free.'

'Not even _one?_' exclaimed Imoen. The impassive frown did not waver.

'That's what I said, isn't it? And we don't need any sellswords bringing trouble here either.''

Fritha dipped her face meekly, letting the role infuse her – he would not likely back down, but it was worth a shot.

'I understand everyone is worried, but the guards let us pass – please, we just-'

The scrape of a chair cut her off, a large man sat at the table behind standing to tower over her, eyes dark above the bushy black beard.

'He said, they're _full_.'

Fritha felt her hand twitch, blood screaming for her to draw her blade. That this- this _man_ would try to intimidate her! For an instant, the urge to skewer him where he stood was electrifying.

'Fine,' she snapped with some difficultly. 'A fair Midsummer to you all.'

'_Bastards!_' swore Imoen as soon as they were in the street, '_Gutless, miserable bastards!_'

'No room, I take it?' concluded Anomen.

'No,' Fritha sighed, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose – she suddenly had most intense headache. 'So where now?'

Imoen seemed to feel better for her curses, the girl casting further along the street. 'Perhaps they'll know of somewhere –Hey,' she called, the boys whose game she had interrupted whipping back to them, 'do you want to earn a copper?'

A muttered conference between the pair, and one was even brave enough to cock a snook before they hared off down the street. Imoen shouted something very rude after them.

'_Imoen!_' Jaheira scolded tiredly, straightening her long frame from where she was leant against the hitching post. 'Come, there will likely be another inn nearer the market square.'

There was, and after they had established that it, too, was 'full', they tried the two over at the west gate and the one on the river, but it was the same story everywhere.

Fritha stared up at the derelict wooden shack before them. The building, according to a couple of sailors they had met, passed for what had to be the dingiest dosshouse she had ever seen, and, with a good few months living in the Athkatlan slums under her belt, she felt that was quite an achievement. Like many of the buildings around them down there on the riverside, it has clearly been a warehouse at one point, the wooden walls patched and repaired over the years, while tiles were missing from the high roof, shuttered windows a luxury enjoyed only by the two upper floors. Fritha gazed at the mismatched, mouldering doors, watching her dreams of a good wash and a hot meal melt before her eyes.

'_Here?_' cried Imoen, 'We're staying _here?_'

Fritha tried a smile. 'Well, look at it this way, somewhere this downmarket can't afford to be picky.'

'I'd rather sleep outside!'

'We cannot now,' said Valygar evenly, the man taking a step towards the doors, 'the gates are closed.'

Inside, a tavern had been built, the windowless room lit by oil lamps that smoked upon the scattering of grimy tables. A staircase ran up the back wall, disappearing above a low ceiling which had been added much later, a counter that was likely built about the same time, set at the end a few paces from the doors. It appeared that a good score of other, similar unwelcome mercenaries had found refuge there, too. The men were seated about the three largest tables on an assortment of chairs, stools and upturned crates, a group of Calimshites in one corner, while some Tethyrans had a table nearest the bar, a smaller group of mixed foreigners just before the stairs.

At the bar, a lone merchant was standing, the man complaining over his cup to the two men behind the counter. The elder of the pair was thickset and indifferent, shaved head and stubbly face giving his tanned skin a grey look. His younger server was of the local colouring and gangly with it, the youth showing an interest in the tale.

'Damned quaymaster! Refusing to let me unload because I wouldn't pay their tax. It is _industrial_ alcohol, not a _luxury good!_ You cannot drink it!'

'I dunno,' the youth laughed, 'I imagine some sots round here would give it a go.'

The merchant sighed, setting his empty cup down before him. 'Ah, another one, lad, then I'll have to head back.'

Fritha stepped up to the bar in the lull, the barman sending her a curt nod in the most welcoming greeting she'd had that evening.

'All right? You-'

'Sinno, we're out of ale,' cut in the youth. Sinno shot him a stern glower.

'Well, then run over to the Fajid's and _fetch_ some. You want a room?' he continued to her bluntly, 'Ten gold pieces for the lot of you.'

'Ten _gold?_' choked Imoen, 'I didn't realise this was Thinegate's most exclusive hotel!'

Sinno was utterly unfazed by her scorn. 'That's the price, take it or leave. And I want another twenty as deposit, seen as you're foreigners – too many people skipping out leaving the rooms a state. Here,' he thrust a stained scrap of parchment with the amount scrawled on it across the wood as Fritha counted the coin onto the bar, 'you sign for the deposit, just make a cross if you can't handle a quill.'

Fritha took great satisfaction in signing her name with a flourish. Sinno ran an eye over it and nodded once.

'Rooms are up stairs. You're on the top floor, left door as you get to the landing. There ain't no locks, so keep an eye on your stuff. Anything goes missing and it ain't my responsibility.'

The lodgings were little better than the tavern, though at least in their numbers they did not have to share with any strangers – Fritha would have felt safer sleeping on the street had it not been the case. They were on the second of the two floors that had been built above the tavern, the large room taking up half the upper floor and then further divided into another three rooms by wooden partitions so poor, Fritha could worm a finger through the gaps. The central room was the largest of the three, four greying pallets thrown haphazardly against the walls, similar arrangements found in the adjoining two rooms. At least there were windows up there, Jaheira's first action upon entering to throw them wide to the cool twilight, which helped somewhat with the fusty smell. Lamps had to be hired from bar at extra cost, the main room where they had gathered for a quick meal of rations cast multi-hued grotto in the group's many werelights.

'Gods,' huffed Imoen, setting down her empty plate with a less than satisfied sigh, 'I can't believe I was actually looking forward to staying in a town for the night. Why even let us through the gates if they didn't plan to let us anywhere to stay?'

'This talk of war had everyone wary,' offered Jaheira, 'you cannot blame them.'

'I think you'll find I _can!_ They might not even have to wait for the war if they treat every group of mercs so badly.'

Valygar eased an arm about the girl's shoulders. 'It is only for one night, at least.'

'Well…' ventured Fritha, stomach squirming as the druid levelled an even gaze upon her, 'I was wondering if we shouldn't stay tomorrow night, as well, for the celebrations.'

Imoen was agog. 'Celebrations? _Here?_ Are you sure they know it's Midsummer?'

Jaheira joined her in a frown. 'If we _are_ to celebrate, then I would rather we were out of the town anyway.'

'Well, we can't _all_ frolic with the trees,' snapped Imoen.

'Jaheira is right,' Valygar countered, in a weighty tone that was sure to needle the girl. 'At any festivities, the ale flows and judgement is put aside – we may not find our presence here welcome.'

'Sod them! Who are they to tell us where we can stay or drink or anything!'

'Young Imoen,' came Minsc's mellow rebuke, 'Boo knows it is unfair, but there is no honour in rousing a fight with those of less skill.'

Fritha wasn't sure she cared whether they stayed or not now, as long as she didn't have to spend Midsummer's Day putting up with this bickering – perhaps she and Solaufein could get lost in the crowds for a few hours and leave the others to their squabbles. She sent a glance to the man next to her, hoping for that look they would sometimes share, a reminder her she was not alone in this. But Solaufein was picking over his dish, the distance back to his eyes. Wherever he was, Fritha wished she were there too. Opposite her, Anomen drew himself up; the bickering, it seemed, was only just beginning.

'I am surprised _that_ is the only objection here. Have you forgotten that we seek a Bhaalspawn at least the equal of Yaga Shura and Abazigal? We have already delayed now over two tenday for our journey into the desert, and you would have us waste time here on trivial diversions.'

'That is a little harsh, Anomen,' rebuked Jaheira coolly. 'We have yet to hear any real evidence of an army on the march.'

Fritha decided to cut things off before they could escalate. 'I just thought-'

'So you would rather wait until we begin passing the razed farmsteads before we make any haste? It would certainly make it easier to locate this Sendai.'

'It was only-'

'Save your sarcasm, boy, we all know what is at stake here and I have lost just as much to it as you!'

'It was just an idea!' yelled Fritha over the clamour, voice dropping to a sigh as all heads whipped to her. 'I thought it might be nice to see what we're fighting for, is all. As it is, we'll likely stay and some local will cheek us and everyone will kick off and we'll all be reminded what a waste of effort this all is.'

'Gods, Fritha,' muttered Imoen, 'you could make Lliiran mope.'

Anomen was gaping at her with an incredulous frown. 'Do you truly believe, after all we have faced so far, we would need to be reminded what our struggles are for?'

'Well, then I was wrong,' Fritha intoned dully, 'and we can leave at first light.' She turned to the girl opposite, ready to distance herself from that whole mess. 'Did you want to catch up any study tonight, Imoen?'

The girl in question lolled indifferently against the man next to her. 'Nah, I'm too tired.'

'You said that the last time I offered.' Fritha spared a furtive glance to the ranger she was draped over. 'You were so excited when Master Omir sold you that book on summoning.'

'Do not think this is my doing,' countered Valygar to her look, 'she has refused my offers also.'

Imoen snapped upright and her tone was no milder.

'Don't start, you two, I said I'm tired! Here,' she continued, bending over her pack to root in the depths, 'we should see to your hand before we bed down –you know it must be massaged at least twice daily.'

Imoen had taken it upon herself to take charge of Valygar's recovery since their departure from Amkethran, the girl learning the techniques from Jaheira with a patience that had previously been reserved only for her magic studies. Fritha imagined they were far from as gratifying though, after that first evening watching the man grimace and whimper, Imoen thin-lipped and silent as she had slowly worked upon the stiff muscles. Valygar relinquished the girl his hand with barely a flicker of hesitation, the clawed fingers resting palm up on his knee as Imoen produced a pot of the druid's salve. Fritha turned away, the others rising with her to give the pair some privacy for the less than pleasant task.

'Minsc, Anomen and I can sleep through in the front room,' offered Jaheira, the woman standing to heft up her pack, 'Fritha, you and Solaufein can take the back.'

**…**

Through the shuttered window light from a swinging lantern danced across the wall opposite, the watchmen in the street below rounding the corner for it to vanish in a blink. Hours ago, a bright beam of silver had marked the slow creep of time, but the moon was long set now, Solaufein left to stare at the murky rafters and listen to the rats scurry in the loft above them. Fritha slept fitfully at his side, blankets knotted about her body and that wealth of amber hair still bound up as it had been in the day, kept from her shoulders and neck in the lingering heat.

Neither had wished to brave what passed for the bed there; the mattress was covered in suspect stains while the lower portion slowly was collapsing, losing its straw to some tenacious rodent, and they had just pushed it aside in the end to place their own bedding on the floor, side by side.

It had been a long night. The rabble of drunks had peaked as the taverns along the river closed one by one, their shouts ebbing away to leave the sleeping town still once more, broken now and then by the distant bark of dogs or clattering feet of some watch patrol. An hour or so ago, two men in the room below had had some strident disagreement that had ended in a visit from the innkeep. All had been silent since, but Solaufein was still no closer to sleep. He could have blamed it on the heat, on their less than friendly welcome to the town, but he knew what kept him staring at that cobwebbed ceiling.

The Underdark. Once it had been a place he had little time to think on, absorbed as he was in the new world in which he was striving to find a home. Then it was somewhere he considered only when he had to, brought to it by some recollection or a question from his companions. But ever since they had set out to take battle to this Sendai, it seemed he could dwell on nothing else.

Everything had been different there, not just his life and role, but his whole world. Even the darkness was unlike anything he had experienced on the surface, so total and oppressing, yet freeing too, the utter absence of light allowing other senses to reach out and find the glancing sounds and scents that could so easily be missed as they were carried past upon the trembling air.

Up there, everything was grand and beautiful, but so bold with it, trees and mountains stretching to the sky, rivers slicing through the rippling plains, the landscape painted in dazzling hues. That place was one of life, pervasive and unrestrained, a chaos of colours, scents and sounds merging into a vibrant, indefinable roar and the ache within him only grew as he considered the subtle, silent world he could never again call home.

He had prayed to Eilistraee that night, cheeks burning as he silently beseeched Her for guidance, the man embarrassed he was unable to master these troubles alone, yet feeling foolish at keeping them from Her when She would already know the secrets of his heart. He had been so _sure_ She had wanted him there, on the surface, the place he had spent his life longing for, so why did he feel like he had lost a part of himself? If the Lady had any answer though, She did not impart it to him, and he had shuttered the window against Her moon and bedded down just as burdened as when he had knelt before it.

Next to him, Fritha shifted under the blankets, turning one way only to flip sharply back again, snorting as she fought to straighten her twisted garments. His voice was hoarse after so long in silence.

'You are awake?'

A slight sigh that was almost lost to the rustle of bedding as she turned to face him, the girl rolling onto her stomach to scoop pale arms under her pillow. The blankets had long ago been tossed from her legs in the heat, two feet raised and kicking idly in the air. Her henna was completely faded by now and he had almost forgotten what she looked like without it, legs, shoulders and arms overly white in the gloom and almost a match to the slip she slept in.

'Can't settle either?' she confirmed quietly, 'I managed to drift off at first, but that fight woke me. I've just been dozing for the last hour. You?'

'I never slept.'

'Perhaps you could make your prayers again,' she offered, rolling onto her back to gaze up to the rafters as he had been, 'they always seem to bring you a certain peace. Or we could get up, take a walk about town. I would sometimes get up in Candlekeep, when I couldn't sleep. The library looked so different at night, those mundane rooms I had spent my whole life within instantly transformed into some mysterious land outlined in silver and black, and with it that trembling thrill of being the only person in the world. I would sneak down to the kitchens or up to the attics or sometimes go and wake Imoen.' A ripple of soft laughter, 'I would give her such a fright.'

He watched her pause, the smile fading in her eyes.

'You and Imoen…'

'We're friends, but it will never been as it was -and she doesn't even know the worst of it yet.'

'You agree then,' he continued hopefully, 'that not telling the others of your coming fate will only make matters worse?'

The girl just sighed. 'It was always a stupid idea, Solaufein; I just don't have a better one. Besides, stupid ideas are my forte at the moment. My offers to stay here for Midsummer were met with derision from all quarters.'

Solaufein swallowed a sigh on his own and let the matter die –for the time being- their talk returned to less prickly matters.

'Midsummer… I understand from the name what the day means to celebrate, but I would assume there is more to the festivities than merely the midpoint of your calendar.'

Fritha smiled in the darkness, seemingly glad to tell him. 'It is a day of lovers and promises. Many courtships will become betrothals tomorrow and likely many more courtships will begin – the abundant wine tends to help with that. Young and old take their revelry until the following dawn –Imoen and I certainly did when we saw the night celebrated in the Gate. I remember the feeling so clearly, stood in the street watching some flock of girls my own age trip past in their best dresses with flowers in their hair, and I was there in tunic and sword; even after everything, it was the first time it truly struck me how different I was from other girls.'

For a moment, Fritha was somewhere far away. 'Anyway,' she continued blithely, 'most places along the Sword Coast have street festivities arranged, with music, dancing and many stalls selling food, love charms and other, ah, aids to intimacy. I'd hoped the day had enough importance to be celebrated here, even in the current troubles, though it doesn't look as though we will be welcome within the walls. I suppose Jaheira will have her way after all, and we'll all spend the night prancing about the plains in our underclothes. It will likely fit the day better than anything we could have got up to here in the town; Phlydia once told me that in ancient times, the day was sacred to the Old Gods and how their stars aligned were seen as some great celestial mating. The priests would spend the night charting the pairings to predict events in the coming years –and doing some coupling of their own, of course, so at least Imoen and Valygar will be occupied.' She snorted at her own humour, glancing to him to continue, 'Do the drow celebrate anything similar –well, obviously not for the summer or lovers or, well, something not very similar at all now I consider it.'

'Not as such,' he conceded with a smile, trying and failing to ignore the pang, 'most festivities in Ust Natha are religious holidays marked by extra sacrifices and prayers to Lolth, the more influential Houses competing over how many slaves they can afford to send to the altar. There is one festival I know unique to our city though, which celebrates our role in the first descent millennia ago. It is closer to the festivities you hold here, with gatherings and feasting, though even then, Lolth is present in all things. She is a jealous goddess and does not take well to being forgotten in anything, great or small. They are celebrated each decade, on the day of our recorded descent. I recall one such event-'

Fritha closed the space between them, the pair settling shoulder to shoulder for his tale. 'I had been given duties in another part of the city, but Phaere had managed to secure me a place in her entourage. We were already lovers by then, though it was but the beginning of the…' he chose the word carefully, '_intimacy_ that was to grow between us. I spent most of the day walking the festivities with Phaere – there were street performances recreating the battles between the elves and drow, recitation of poems celebrating our glorious legacy of blood and expansion, and the customary run of prayers and sacrifices at the temple.

'The Matrons of all the greater houses would sponsor some entertainment for the masses, even these _gifts_ to the city usually some tortuous way they had schemed to slight a rival or garner an advantage. Ardulace had arranged a duelling pit, and when all the exotic creatures and slaves had been vanquished, she had the area opened to challenges among those watching. I learnt from Phaere later that Ardulace had heard the eldest daughter of House Pirach boasting about the skill of their warriors, one Illfain particularly. Not that such boasting bothered Ardulace in the slightest, but it had irked the Matron of House Deev, with whom Ardulace wished to strengthen their, at best, tenuous ties. Illfain was immediately volunteered by his house and as he slew the first two males unlucky enough to be put against him, Ardulace had approached Phaere. There were two males the Matron herself had requested accompany her daughter that day, both skilled warriors from other houses. She asked her daughter before all, who Phaere thought should be put forward as the next challenger. To her mother's well-concealed displeasure, Phaere suggested myself.'

'She picked _you_ to fight?'

'It may not have seemed a kindness, but in her decision her favour was clear. I was not the obvious choice; I was not head of the city's male warriors at that time, or even ranked highly among them. This was a chance to advance myself -as long as I survived it. Ardulace agreed and, after I won, seemed to accept Phaere's suggestion that she had chosen me with foreknowledge of my prowess, though I wonder if such favour did not raise the Matron's suspicions even then. Perhaps we were doomed from the start. As for Phaere, the credit of this victory was acknowledged in a few treasures from her House's vault, and from these she made a present to me -a reward for my service, or so she said. I received a fine mythril dagger, old and very rare, and, rarer, still a book, written in the time just after the descent that day was celebrating. Phaere knew I had more scholarly pursuits than my fellows, though she never realised the significance of her gift. There was a chapter devoted to the gods and Eilistraee's role in the banishment -all written with the particular slant of my people, of course- but, still, there it was in ink and vellum: an account of my Lady and her sacrifice for her children. I treasured it.'

And for an instant he felt it again, that swelling sense of pride and something else, so fine and hot he'd dared not consider it as Phaere had handed him that thin, hide-bound volume.

'What happened to them, the gifts, I mean?' came the soft voice next to him. It took him a moment to answer.

'I lost the dagger in a fight with a beholder in the lower tunnels. The book I destroyed along with the rest of my notes concerning Eilistraee. It was too dangerous to keep them after Phaere was taken.' He sighed deeply, feeling somehow empty now the tale was done. 'It seems like another life now – perhaps it is.'

'And one that haunts you enough to keep you from sleep,' came the girl beside him, Fritha merely smiling as he jerked to her. 'I have heard of you speak of your home many times, Solaufein, but never with such longing.'

Embarrassment choked him and for a moment they lay in a silence broken only by the scrabble of the rats above. Something in his chest felt very heavy, a weight he had not noticed before, but suddenly realised he had always carried with him.

'I confess I am thinking on the Underdark more and more since we set course to take battle to others of my brethren.'

'You mean Sendai and her army?'

'Yes, the more we hear of it, the more it seems my first assumption that she raised force of surfacers was incorrect. An army of shadows and secrets,' he felt the sneer curl his lip, 'it sounds _more_ than familiar.'

'I suppose, though I doubt they can all be drow. Who would tempt Lolth's anger just to follow the child of some human god? Sendai might even been half-blood, like me.'

'Perhaps, and I agree that it is unlikely her whole army will be drow. Duergar, though, will follow any with gold and such means will secure slaves and mercenaries both above and below ground. But if there are any drow with them… if they have turned their backs on Lolth for this, then perhaps…'

He trailed off, hesitating on the edge of the possibilities. Fritha's voice came a shade shriller than usual. 'You would convert them to Eilistraee?'

'I feel they must be made aware of it as an alternative,' he clarified. 'So much of being drow is merely not knowing anything different. If dissatisfaction led them to leave Lolth, then how many serve Phaere still unknowing of the choices they have?'

'Sendai,' said Fritha quietly. Solaufein turned to her.

'Sorry?'

'You said Phaere… She plays on your mind.'

That flash of heat, just as when he had knelt before Eilistraee and confessed his fears, his face burning. Always he had been in control, of actions, even emotions, but it was as though this longing for home had opened the lid upon something he could not now force close.

'Yes -well, just of late,' he added hastily. He did not want Fritha under the impression he had been thinking on his former lover since he had left the Underdark with her – it felt like a betrayal somehow. 'Thinking on the past inevitably leads back to her, to Ust Natha. I do not regret leaving, but this world is very different from the one I left, as is my place in it. I am frightened to consider it, lest I come to realise I have lost something I will pine after forever.'

'What's like there?'

'How can I describe it? How would you describe this world you have up here to one who has never seen it?'

'I don't know,' she answered simply, 'I suppose I'd start with the grass and work my way up.'

Solaufein could not help a smile – perhaps he did overcomplicate things.

'Well, there are the caverns and tunnels that you have seen and most surfacers would know of, but it is so much more than that… Ah, where do I even begin? You may not believe it, but there are seasons in the Underdark, though they are not as yours. All civilisations there are constrained by the need for fresh water and we drow are no exception. Ust Natha is closer to the surface than many cities, and we feel the changes in your world more keenly than most. In your spring, the snows thaw and below the earth, the rivers rise, the lower tunnels closed in the coming floods. The moisture hangs in the air and many of the fungi strains spoor, some caverns rendered impassable by great clouds that clog the eyes and lungs. As summer comes to your lands, the waters drop once more and the deeper tunnel open. The churning waters have often opened new passages or eroded old ones to reveal veins of minerals and precious stones.

'Above, the season changes again. The rains fall and below the rivers swell, this rise the sign we await to begin the annual harvest of the kelip weed beds. I would go to watch them sometimes, there was something calming in the way the flat bottomed boats were hauled slowly back and forth across the lakes, slaves pulling bushels of dark red leaves from the black surface. Most is pickled or dried, while any fresh water is stored in great reservoirs ready for the coming scarcity. As your world freezes, ours faces drought. Additional water is collected from the poisonous lakes to the south and distilled at great expense to the city. It is at this time of year, houses traditionally cull any old or unwanted slaves in order to preserve water. Listen to me,' he snorted, bitterly recalling the reason he had been forced from his home in the first, 'I cannot even tell you the lands without returning to the cruelty of my people – I swear, they are a plague!'

'That does not change the place, Sola,' the girl reminded gently.

'No, but the taint they leave is inextricable.'

Fritha drew a breath, perhaps to reproach or offer some consolation, her words lost in a furious thudding from the street below that seemed to quake the whole building. The shutters had been rattled open by the force, an ominous orange light slicing through the gap.

'Open up! We're here for Fritha!'

The girl silently mouthed the summons. '_Fritha?_'

She glanced to him and suddenly they were both up, the girl hissing curses as they scrabbled for their clothes.

'_Bastard_, _bastard, bastard! Fritha?_ And which _whoreson_s are looking for me under _that_ name?'

The Harpers? The Tethyran Army? The Silver Chalice? The choices seemed limitless, though Solaufein saw no need to voice as much. Beyond the partition, he could hear the others stirring, the groggy murmurs becoming quickly more urgent. Fritha was struggling with her second boot, the girl hopping over to the window as she stamped it on.

'Are they soldiers?' he pressed. She peered cautiously through the open shutters.

'Doesn't look like it.'

'This is your only warning! Send the girl out now, or we torch the place!'

'_Son of a-'_

**…**

In the main room, the others were already up and dressed, Imoen hurriedly shoving the last few things into her pack.

'What in Hells is going on, Fritha?'

'I don't bloody know!'

'They look to have the street outside closed off,' muttered Valygar from the shutters.

'Come on,' announced Jaheira, grabbing her pack to head for the door, 'we can't get trapped in here.'

Downstairs, the other guests were assembling, bleary-eyed and dragging their bag with them, a tall Calimshite going toe-to-toe with the thickset barman.

'What the fuck is happening, Sinno – you sold someone here out?'

'I ain't done nothing!'

His shorter friend was trying to get between them. 'Just calm down, Raj, they ain't calling for any of us.'

'What in Hells is he shouting about now?' exclaimed a wiry Northerner from the doors. 'You lot, quiet down!'

Outside, the men's demands echoed into the night

'Any others in there, leave now and we won't attack – we only want the girl!'

'Yeah, get out now before we torch place!'

'They wouldn't dare!' roared Sinno. His young server didn't look as sure, the lad eyeing the doors with a hesitant longing.

'And who's him to tell us?' snorted a well-built Tethyran.

'Just give him what he wants,' offered his older friend tiredly. 'Who is this Fritha lass anyway?'

It was as though the whole room seemed to turn at once to find her, stood with her friends and the only other two women there before the stairs.

'Her, that's her!' yelled Sinno, bristly arm thrown to her. Fritha drew herself up.

'Says who?'

'Says your chit! ' he sneered, waving that scrap of paper at her, her name upon it in a fine, scrolling hand. Fritha felt her heart sink, her moment of impulsive vanity there accusing her. 'Go on, get out!'

Solaufein gave pause to any who were considering forcing the issue, his blade but a flash in a blur of yellow as cloak was thrown back and sword drawn all in one agile sweep.

'Stay _back!_'

Raj took one look at the pair and shouldered his pack. 'This ain't worth my life, I'm off.'

His brothers were following suit, Sinno hastening around the counter to try and catch them.

'Oi, you lot still owe for your-' The slam of the door cut him off. '_Fuck!_'

At the door, the pale Northerner was still peering through the narrow gap. 'There's guards out there, too,' a pair of blue eyes narrowed upon Fritha, 'What have you _done?_'

Fritha shrugged. 'I don't know; we only arrived this afternoon.'

One of the Tethyran's joined him at the doors. 'That's Garant's lot – a local band with ties to the town. They'd only be here if the coin is good.'

'There gold on you, girl?' asked his friend.

'Here, why should we give her up?' one of the younger men appealed excitedly, 'If there's coin to be claimed, we can take her in ourselves.'

Imoen let magic pulse eloquently about the fingers of one raised hand. 'You can _try_.'

In the street, a gruff voice broke the standoff. 'You've to the count of ten!'

'Shit!' swore the Northerner, his companions grabbing up their packs, 'I'm out of here. Whatever's on her, it's not worth this.'

The Tethyrans followed them, Sinno roughly hauling his server back as the youth made to creep off as well. Fritha turned her attention to her own friends. Besieged in a warehouse was not the most tactical position – they needed more room to manoeuvre. Valygar had the same idea, familiar frown settled upon her.

'I believe it is time for our company ways to part.'

Fritha caught on fast 'You fickle whoreson! Go on then,_ go!_ Hells take you! All of you!'

The ranger turned, a firm hand ensuring Imoen left with him, Anomen, Jaheira and Minsc following without a glance. Solaufein adjusted the grip on his blade; a unanimous vote had left him as her ally, now all they could do was wait and be ready.

**…**

Valygar still had the lead as they crossed the street. Most of the men they'd lodged with had moved on while the mercenaries, he noted, were fanned about the building, much fewer in number than he had first surmised. Their leader, Garant, was standing further back from the rest at the crossroad to afford a good view of both sides of the building. He cut an impressive figure, a tall, dark-skinned man in black heavy leathers, his wiry hair kept short and braid back in neat cornrows. Nearby, the squad of town guards who had arrived with them were gathered, one of the Tethryan mercs talking earnestly to their captain, their voices becoming clearer as they made their approach.

'You are sure these here were her companions?'

'Aye, they arrived with her, though perhaps they've had a change of loyalties since then.'

'Good– report to the guard house tomorrow for a reward.'

'What is going on here?' demanded Jaheira. The guard captain was a lean man of middling years and local colouring, his hawk-like face casting the woman over with a slowly appraising look, as though he was trying to ascertain whether she was worth his time to answer.

'We are allowing the town's mercenary guild to apprehend a dangerous fugitive,' he replied at length. 'You will come with us – for your own protection.'

'We _need_ no protection,' rumbled Minsc, Imoen echoing him in vehement agreement.

'Yeah, you should be stopping these mercs, instead of standing here as they threaten to commit arson and murder!'

The guard captain let his gaze assess their company in grim silence.

'Captain Daviel?' ventured his sergeant. The man nodded.

'Sergeant, arrest them – they may know something of our fugitive or be party to her crimes.'

'Hey, what are you doing?' cried Imoen, the swords about the suddenly drawn and closing in. 'We haven't done anything!'

Behind her, Anomen had his mace in hand.

'You have no grounds for this!' he roared, 'This is outside the law!'

But his protests were lost as the crash of splintering wood shattered the night.

**…**

'And then there were two,' offered Fritha to the eerie stillness. Outside, tempers seemed to be escalating, Imoen's shrill shouts echoing off the surrounding warehouses.

'You,' snapped Solaufein, the young server shrinking from his blade, 'check the door. What is happening out there?'

The lad crept forward, clearly fighting the temptation to bolt outside as he cracked the doors. 'Your friends – well, them ones with you, they're being arrested by the guards.'

'Arrested?' repeated Fritha, 'They were only after me!'

A heavy thud from somewhere behind the bar forestalled any discussion, the noise rattling through the warehouse, and the building had barely stopped quaking when another dislodged yet from dust from the ceiling.

'The back door,' cried the youth, 'They're going to break it down!

'Are there any other ways out?' demanded Fritha. Sinno slowly shook his head.

'Nope, only the two.'

Solaufein knew of another. 'The roofs! Quickly!'

The drow had the lead as they raced up the stairs, Fritha pounding after him taking two steps at a time. Their room was as they'd left it; Solaufein hauled the mattress aside as she threw the shutters wide. A crash sounded somewhere beneath them, Sinno's shouts carrying up the stairs.

'You first,' the drow commanded, eyes fixed on the doorway opposite and sword ready.

The air was cold, her skin bristling as she climbed out onto the narrow sill, fingers gripped tightly about the frame above. The sky was a pale grey; she had not realised how late it was, only an hour before the dawn that came so early in that season. Glary clouds rolled overhead, the dark street reeling below. She turned her body and was suddenly back in Candlekeep at the highest window of the library tower, the wind from the sea whipping her hair about her face to leave her almost blind, hands feeling up to find the roof that began but a foot above it. Her fingers closed upon mouldy wooden tiles; it would require a jump. Her whole body recoiled with the fear as she edged the other hand up and leapt as high as she could, fingers screaming as arms took the momentum to haul the rest of her on to the roof.

'Here, your pack!'

Fritha leaned down to grab the two bags he passed out, hauling them onto the roof next her. Solaufein was already following them, two hands appearing on tiles and she leaned over the edge, closing fingers about his belt.

A shout somewhere below her. 'There, at the window!'

The bolt from a crossbow hummed beneath them to disappear through the open shutters, a second splitting the gable just below her head.

'Solaufein, hurry!'

One last heave. He rolled on to the roof and back on to his feet in one smooth movement, a hand about her wrist instantly pulling her after him. Fritha staggered to her feet. Down in the street next to them, her friends were struggling with the guards, magic exploding with Imoen's shriek to floor all but Valygar and herself.

'Imoen!'

The girl's face darted up to find her. 'Fritha!'

'Head for the walls!'

Another bolt streaked past her shoulder; Solaufein ended their exchange there, tiles scattered to the street below as he pulled Fritha after him and the pair fled into the night.

The swarthy guild leader, Garant, was already shouting his orders, his men regrouping to make their pursuit east after their fugitive. Imoen glanced to the man next her, Valygar still hunched over and hissing soft curses into his clawed hand. That wave of anger threatened to overwhelm her –if any touched him again! The guards were certainly in no state to try then, sprawled on their backs in an uneven ring about her, her friends thrown similarly to the cobbles by the explosion of indiscriminating fury. Next to them, Anomen was struggling to his feet, Minsc and Jaheira on the other side of the circle and attempting the same, Captain Daviel trying to untangle himself from his sergeant, the man red faced and bellowing.

'_You!_ Men, kill these dissidents! None are to survive!'

Imoen did not need to hear the rest, hand about the ranger's arm and pulling him after her. Minsc and Jaheira were up and fleeing south into the town, Imoen leading Valygar and Anomen west along the riverside, dodging crates and moorings, boats bobbing serenely next to them on the dark water. A look back confirmed most of the guards were following them, Imoen forcing her body faster, limbs screaming as she tried to increase the distance between them.

'It's too open,' she panted, swerving from the main quays into the next alleyway with barely a glance behind to confirm the men were still with her. She kept uphill, trying to head back towards the town proper and lose the guards in the maze of back alleys. But the winding rat runs were as much hindrance as help, some promising passage looping back on itself to find them back at quayside once more, and Imoen was fast losing sense of where they were.

Another crossroads saw her diving left, the group almost at the end of the narrow lane before they realised it was a dead-end. The sound of their pursuers had faded a while back, enough, at least, for them to pause a moment and get their bearings, and Anomen immediately whirled upon her, anger choking him as he fought to both shout and catch his breath.

'That spell! Why did you _attack_ them?'

'You were the first to draw your weapon!'

'We could have still talked them round!'

'Oh, yeah? Whilst they were manhandling us and shooting at Fritha!' Imoen turned gentler attentions to the man next to her. 'How is it?'

'Fine, I- Don't touch it!' he snapped as she made to check the hand he was still cradling to his chest. Anomen had set to pacing, seemingly the only outlet for his building frustrations.

'How in the Hells are we to get out of here?'

Imoen let her mind fly over the options. Valygar could never scale the walls like this and Anomen would have great trouble sneaking anyway in that armour. All the gates would be locked and guarded…

'The river!' cried Imoen. Anomen was livid.

'You expect us to _swim?_'

'No, we-'

Voices just about the corner; there was no time to hide. Anomen was running before the girl could even summon a spell, the two oblivious guards rounding the alley mouth to meet the knight's charge, his shield sending them both sprawling.

'Come on!' he yelled, and Imoen tore after him, Valygar fast on her heels as angry shouts echoed after them.

**…**

Jaheira ran on, keeping to the alleys as she and Minsc fled east. She had not had any sight of the guards for a while now, though it was no longer men they raced. In the chaos, Minsc had pulled her south, the pair running back towards the town, a breathless exchange confirming their plan along the way. The east gate was the smallest of Thinegate's three entrance and likely only guarded by a couple of watchmen at that hour. The druid was sure they could convince them to open it – as long as they could outrun news of this disturbance.

Jaheira paused at the alley mouth, catching her breath in the darkness, a glance along the empty street next to them easing her nerves. She was keeping her bearings by the temple to Waukeen that bordered the marketplace to their west, the gilt spire glinting softly against the curdled sky.

'We are still on course, Minsc. A few more streets south and then we can cut across-'

The hiss of tearing paper behind followed by her name, and Jaheira turned to find a sheet of parchment held before her in one large fist, Minsc's face frowning above it.

'Here, good Jaheira, Boo saw this upon the wall.'

'Let it be know to all those of martial intent, that the Sovereignty of Tethyr will reward the sum of three thousand gold pieces for the head of the infamous Bhaalspawn and leader of that group known as the Five, Fritha of Candlekeep, for acts of sedition, murder and abject brutality.' It was followed by a description that was decent enough to pick the girl out of a crowd – after all, how many young, female red-haired mercenaries were there?

'Boo says, how do they know young Fritha is called Fritha and of the Blood? She is Freya to all others.'

Jaheira snorted, resisting the urge to screw the parchment into a tight knot and hurl it to the gutter. 'Not all, Minsc. The Harpers knew –they could have told others. And leader of the Five? The Harpers certainly know of them as does the Silver Chalice – ah, I do not know.'

'Minsc!' came the cry, the pair whipping up to see a dark shape loom from the silhouette of the crumbling chimney stack high above them, Fritha's form emerging from the shadows. 'And Jaheira, too,' the girl breathed, guttering groaning as she leaned down into the street to see them better, Solaufein still standing to keep watch at her shoulder. 'Thanks be! Have you seen the others?'

Jaheira shook her head. 'No, they ran west along the river and we lost them.'

'Ilmater's Blood! Why does this always happen to us?'

The lament had likely been rhetorical, but the druid had her answer. 'There is a bounty on you.'

'_Another_ _one?_' the girl cried incredulously, 'What are they offering?'

'Three thousand gold.'

'_Three?_ Hells Teeth? Why do I only rile up rich people?'

'We need to get you out of here,' pressed Solaufein, 'and soon. I cannot see anyone giving up the chase with such a sum upon you.'

Minsc was nodding gravely. 'We had planned to outrun this trouble, but Boo doubts you will be able to do the same.'

'Here-' A thud as first Fritha's and then Solaufein's pack was dropped into the alley just behind them, 'can you take our packs out, too? Sorry to ask,' Fritha continued, 'but they _are_ lighter now – we left everything heavy on some roof back at the river.'

Minsc shouldered one and hefted up the other with barely a grunt. 'Do not fret, young Fritha, this will be no burden to us.'

Shouting from the street behind them; Solaufein ducked as a bolt whistled over the roof to clatter uselessly against unseen cobbles.

'They've caught us –Fritha, we must move.'

'Head for the walls,' added Jaheira, 'and try to find some way over -from your vantage you should have a better chance than most. We will meet you on the road, at the tree where we stopped for high sun.'

'And Imoen?' pressed Fritha urgently. Jaheira shrank back into the alley, one hand already shooing the girl onward with her hiss.

'Do not worry, they will escape the town. We can track them afterwards. Now, go!'

Shouts echoed along the street, three mercenaries skidding to a halt as they saw them in the alley. 'They've got friends on the ground! Take them out!'

Two crossbows raised – Jaheira had not even the time to run.

A scream split the air above and the men crumpled under a cascade of bricks. Jaheira glance up to find Fritha stood panting over the remains of the chimney stack. Minsc looked deeply impressed.

'Young Fritha!'

'Go on, run!' the girl cried, Solaufein trying to pull her away as another bolt whistled over the rooftop, 'Before more come!'

Jaheira did not need to be convinced, the pair tearing across the next street to disappear south into the lane opposite, their escape secured. A hand fastened about Fritha's wrist, Solaufein urging her onward to their own.

In the street, the mercs were shouting, cries to help their fallen lost to orders as their quarry broke cover again, the men giving chase along the street below. Solaufein had held the lead since they had fled, the girl amazed by the way he seemed to think a few roofs ahead, barely a pause to consider that jagged maze as he found them a route across the town. Ensuring each roof had a place where they could cross had made for a less direct path though; the pair wove southeast from the riverside to the houses of the merchants' quarter and that had slowed their pace considerably. The roofs there were much steeper than those of the warehouses, brittle tiles of clay replacing the cheaper wood, and the undulating surface offered little grip.

Another bolt sailed over the roof before them – more men waiting in the street ahead. Solaufein darted left, sliding down the roof to leap for the building alongside. The abrupt jump saw him land hard. His knee jolted under him with the high pitched shatter of breaking ceramics as his foot disappeared into the roof. Someone was shouting in the room below, Solaufein crouched and heaving at his foot. Fritha scattered yet more tiles with her own desperate leap to his side.

'Sola?'

'It's struck!'

Below, the mercenaries had noticed their targets were now fixed. A bolt whistled past them to smash into the tiles, Fritha still fighting free his foot.

'One of the straps is caught – I'll need to cut it.'

'_Fritha…_'

There was panic to his tone; a glance to the street behind confirmed the source. Two mercs, one with his crossbow levelled, slowly lining up the perfect shot. Solaufein was twisting violently, fighting to get past his tangled cloak to the daggers on the back of his belt.

'Fritha, go!'

'No, I won't-!'

He cursed in a tongue she did not know, a shard of tile snatched from the debris around them and hurled to the street. The merc pulled the trigger in his surprise, shot careening wildly off to the right as the tile caught him squarely in the face.

'There!' Fritha gasped, knife sheathed, the boot at last cut free. Solaufein straightened with her, ready to flee once more.

'Come, it cannot be far-'

The explosion shook the night. Fritha lost her footing, Solaufein teetering back in his haste to catch her and, for a moment, they clung to each, fighting to regain their balance. Down by the river, fires had igniting the sky, the blaze bringing an early dawn above the town.

'What has happened?' murmured Solaufein, the man mesmerised by the flames that licked and danced about the warehouses, caliginous smoke boiling over ahead. Fritha felt an inexplicable dread rise within her.

'I don't know. Come on.'

**…**

Valygar could see the river glimmering softly before them, the three hurtling from the darkness of the alley on to the open quays once more. Imoen whipped east to the pale grey walls that were still a good two hundred yards away.

'Bane's Arse! I was sure we'd come out right next to them! Come-'

The order died on her lips. From streets and alleyways both behind and before them, they trooped: two squads of the town guards, the group at their backs headed by an extremely satisfied Captain Daviel.

'You there, halt! We have you surrounded.'

Imoen looked fit to explode in her anger. 'You _idiots!_ You know _why_ we're running? To save _you_ – so you don't force us to wipe your miserable lives from this wretched town!'

Daviel snorted. 'You believe you can defeat us all, witch?'

A few of the men about it him hefted their crossbows expressively.

'Imoen-' warned Anomen. The captain could sense their uncertainty.

'I will take you in, if you surrender – the crown demands your arrest and my honour will be satisfied with no less.'

Imoen raised her chin, dark hair tossed back. 'It's come to this, has it? Decide now, then – your honour or your _town_.'

'Imoen!' barked Valygar, but it was too late. Daviel raised his hand for the order.

'Men-'

The girl's scream rose, soon lost to something far more primal, her arms thrown to the heaven and above them the night was rent in two, fire clawing from the torn sky like than hand of some furious god. Within the rend, Valygar caught a glimpse of the blazing land beyond, and it was not without its denizens, creatures of pure flame pouring through the tear.

The clatter of the dozen crossbows, bolts release into the sky in the panic, though the shots were ignored. The air was shrill with screaming as the creatures darted and swooped wildly over the quays setting ablaze all they touched, desperate to make another home before their lives faded. All about them, warehouses were aflame, fires on nearby boats illuminating the dark river. Valygar noticed the stamped barrels on the deck of a low barge just in time.

'_Run!_'

They were barely a few paces away when the explosion rocked the quays. He did not look back, the rattle of Anomen's armour placing the man just behind, while Imoen was already in the lead once more, limbs flailing as she skidded into to an alley and was gone. A glance behind before he followed her. Most of the guards were scrambling for anything that could hold water, fighting to stop the fires from spreading, only the sergeant and three guards order to pursue them for the captain's vanity.

Back into that maze of alleyways, Imoen was doing her best to lead them eastwards, a sharp turn into a narrow passage finding them before a high wooden fence, a view of the grey town walls glimmering teasingly on the other side.

'Another dead end!' she gasped. Anomen hardly cared in his anger.

'What in Helm's Name was that? You opened a portal to some hell-'

'It wasn't a _hell!_'

'-And released a horde of beasts upon this city, setting ablaze half the quays in the process!'

'It was a few poxy warehouses!'

'Imoen,' the gravity to his tone stopped their argument dead, dark eyes boring down at her, cutting through the shadows to meet her own, '_Why?_'

'I was just bluffing at first,' the girl reasoned, almost pleadingly, 'I never thought he's risk attacking us! Then when he did, well, what was I supposed to do? Stand there while he filled us with crossbow bolts? Or maybe you'd like to be sat in a cell right now and force the others to come rescue us?'

'Imoen, that spell-'

She cut him off impatiently. 'Look, we don't have time for your superstitions right now, Vals! Come on, we can climb this.'

The girl fetched out the rope, her pack lobbed easily over the high fence, Valygar left to throw his and Anomen's over while the knight gave Imoen a boost to the top.

'Come on, then!' she urged, tying the rope to some unseen anchor on the other side before disappearing into the gloom beyond. Anomen turned to him.

'Here, I will help you.'

'I can still climb a _rope_,' Valygar assured the man sharply, 'and likely better than you in that armour. Here.'

He gave the knight a leg up, iron cuirass scraping against the moulding wood as Anomen hauled his bulk over the top. Valygar took up the rope just as shouts rang from the alley mouth.

'There's one!'

Imoen's cry echoed against the tall buildings. '_Vals?_'

In a split decision between flee and fight he chose the latter, rope dropped to fall back against rotting slats, his clawed hand bracing the scabbard as he drew the long katana.

In the confines of the alley, he had not the space to manoeuvre. The two men were armed with blades and shields, a wall of painted metal advancing quickly down the passage, trying to confine him further for an easy kill.

The younger of them broke first, dropping to lunge from behind his cover. Valygar kicked the shield aside, the curving metal blocking his ally's attack and a quick thrust to the chest saw the guard choking on his own blood. The man collapsed with a gurgled cry, Valygar dancing back from the body as his friend pressed in, rage behind every blow and shield braced out to guard against the mistake that killed his ally.

The ranger was running out of room, sharp thrusts needling him back, his own attacks caught every time by that large shield. If only he could have put some power behind them! The weaker, one-handed blows were deflected effortlessly. Panic as his back suddenly met the wall behind. The guard seized his chance, leaping forward to smash his shield into Valygar's sword arm, the ranger's body open for the blade that was lunging towards him. His free hand drew back, and Valygar braced for the pain as instinct drove it forward in a last, thoughtless attempt to halt his end.

A man's scream; it took Valygar a moment to realise it was not his own, the two men suddenly frozen, neither able to pull away from the black tendrils that had whipped from his twisted hand. Valygar saw his horror mirrored in that withering face, the guard mouthing in agony as the life was drained from him. A jolt through them both and, at last, he could move again, Valygar jerking back to drop the guard dead at his feet. For an instant, it was all he could do to stand, the revulsion trembling through him. A scuffle on the fence above and over the top a familiar pale face emerged.

'Vals! Oh, thanks be. You're all right?'

'Yes,' he managed eventually; he did not mean it. Imoen smiled, gesturing to the rope.

'I knew they wouldn't be a match for you. Anomen's got the other end. Brace on the wall and we'll pull you over.'

**…**

The eastern gatehouse was slowly emerging from behind the final house. Their pace had slowed somewhat from the frantic dash of their initial escape, Minsc jogging along behind her and panting roughly, though he showed no signs of dwindling as they, at last, left the street to cross the small open plaza before the gates. The way was clear now – only one step left before freedom was theirs, and whatever that explosion had been, it had secured it.

The gates were shut and barred, the solid wooden surface set with a smaller wicket door where two guards were standing on watch, lamps help aloft for a better view of the two who were running towards them.

'You! Guard!' snapped Jaheira, coming to a halt before the nearest, 'Captain Daviel sent us – you are to report to the riverside immediately to bolster fire-fighting efforts there. We are to watch the gate in your absence.'

The pair shared a look. Jaheira gave no time for any doubts to find a voice.

'No stalling, man, the town burns! Which do you think holds importance here: this gate or your homes?'

That saw them moving, a brief order not to open the gate to anyone and the pair were haring off, armour rattling like an alms box. Jaheira waited until their footsteps had faded, a smile shared with Minsc as he lifted the narrow bar that held the wicket, pushing it open to stand back with mock chivalry, and they both stepped out into the silent plains.

**…**

The three skidded to a halt, Imoen whipping back and forth along the empty riverside. The town walls loomed to their left, the river before them, snaking its way through the archway to disappear into the plains, the choppy waters a molten course of black and gold in the light of distant fires. The walls had been built a few feet into the river on each bank to prevent any from crossing the opening on foot, a thick chain drawn across the gap to provide a similar measure for any boats.

'Now what?' huffed Anomen. Imoen grinned, letting her pack drop from her shoulder.

'Now we walk out.'

She raised her arms, though more from habit than any need to direct the magic, the energy seeping from her, a gradual thing after her previous explosions of power. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, the men shifting impatiently at her side, and then it came, beginning at the stone quay just before her to span across the water in delicate tendrils that froze everything they touched. The opaque fingers webbed out, crossing and re-crossing in the spiralled dance of dragonflies, until the whole surface of the river, from where she stood to a few feet past the walls was ice, river water still lapping at the edges.

'Imoen…' breathed the knight, Valygar too astonished to manage even her name as they goggled at the glistening black surface.

'Yeah, I know – I'm amazing. Come on,' she laughed, hefting up her pack and taking that first chary step, 'See- whoa! Mind out, it's slippery.'

'And where are we to head after this?' asked Anomen, still on the quays and eyeing her handiwork with a distrustful frown. Valygar shrugged, cautiously easing his weight on to that frozen shell.

'Back to the road. If I know Jaheira, that is where she will have gone.'

**…**

That instant of faith took her across another jump, Solaufein pausing only to ensure she was behind him before he was off once more and across the jumble of rooftops she could see it rising, a tonic to her flagging body: the walls.

Solaufein veered left, cresting the peak of the roof they were on and sliding down the other side to leap a narrow alley on to the large building next to it, its mismatched muddle of roofs reminding Fritha of the Starspires. A long terrace of eight or so homes, more added over the years until it had extended right up to the walls. Fritha crossed the apex, Solaufein pausing to wait for her on the lee. Inside, the roofs all met to leave a sheltered valley that ran the length of the block, a hidden world of sooty windows and chimney stacks where many birds had found a roost for the night. At the end, the roofs opened, the grey walls just visible behind the tall wooden scaffold that had been erected there, presumably to enable repairs to the rusted weather vane that was drooping from the rightmost roof and set to take half the gable with it.

And it was there upon the scaffold she saw them: the sharp silhouettes of men stood against the burnt sky.

For a moment no one moved. The fires at the river had lit the sky to both advantage and detriment. Three men with blades were standing upon the roofs about two houses along from them, while on the scaffold at the very end another three were waiting. Two held crossbows poised, a swarthy man towering between them with a distinct air of triumph. It was the mercenary captain, Garant.

They'd been headed off.

Fritha glanced to the man next to her. That silent spark of understanding and she darted right, diving for the cover of a chimney stack as a bolt whipped past, the birds there taking flight in a chaos of beating wings. Behind her, Solaufein had raced up the roof to their left, sword drawn and cloak thrown back, and he left the apex in a leap that saw one of the approaching mercenaries cut down where he stood, the two left pressing the attack.

'Get the girl!' yelled Garant. Another arrow just missed her shoulder to splinter against the tiles of a protruding window, Fritha already up again bolting for the next stack.

On the roofs behind, Solaufein was an easy match for his clumsy adversaries, the drow balanced upon the curved tiles of the apex with the advantage of both height and agility. The second man faltered, overbalancing with a swing to his feet. The drow did not give him chance for another, blade stabbed brutally into the back of his neck.

Fritha was crouched in the lee of the last chimney stack. There was still a length of two houses to cover before she reached the end, the men there ready with crossbows trained. For an instant, time seemed almost to stop, marked only by the steady pulse of her heart.

_One… two… three!_

Fritha sprang from behind the chimney, one shot just grazing her thigh, the other dodged as she dropped to a roll. The way was clear now, the scaffold just yards before her. She willed herself faster, the girl bringing her blade up to ready the blow.

'Reload!' Garant roared, his anger doing nothing to help that panicked scrabbling, '_Now!_'

Fritha hurtled into the scaffold with such force she was surprise it still stood. Above, Garant was bellowing his orders, neither bowman able to get a clear shot now the frame itself was her cover. Thick ropes had been knotted about the two corner poles, tying the scaffold to the roof. One good swing saw the first rope falling limply into the street below.

The frame lurched sideways. Garant drew his sword and dropped to his knees, suddenly wild as he scrambled to protect the last binding.

'_No!_'

Fritha raised her blade. Garant lunged for her an instant too late, sword lost as the scaffold toppled sideways, a last good kick from her sending it smashing into the street next to them.

On the roofs behind her, the final mercenary was bleeding at the knee, a desperate swing to the drow's head sealing his fate. Solaufein slid down the tiles, dodging the swipe to place himself under the man's guard. A sword thrust up caught him under his cuirass with force enough to overbalance him, his body toppling backwards over the apex to plummet into to the street beyond.

They seemed to turn at once to find each another, the pair alone once more in that hidden valley. A strange sense of calm filled Fritha as the drow rejoined her, and together they made the last few paces to the edge of the roofs. Across a narrow chasm of shadow, the grey stone walls shone white, the deep crenulations providing a handy step for some waiting foot. It was too wide a gap to jump, a spare plank from the scaffold thrown across to provide an unsteady bridge.

Solaufein went first, the man walking across to drop into the darkness beyond. Fritha followed him, pausing a moment at the wall, the whole town laid out before her. The fires along the river had sent a haze of embers up to replace the fading stars. People were leaving their houses in the commotion, men and women stood in the street, coats thrown over bedclothes as they shared worried exchanges with their neighbours. From what Fritha could see from her vantage, the guards had the blaze mostly contained by now, helped by the proximity of a large source of water.

Solaufein had stepped back to wait for her, the girl dropping down to join him in the shadow of the wall. Together they skirted the edge almost to the eastern gates before striking out, leaving its shelter to head southeast across the plains, back towards the road they had agreed to meet upon.

The air was fresh and bracing, Solaufein feeling strangely free without the ever-present burden of his pack. Fritha glanced back to the town, a smoking dot of grey on the plains.

'I hope the others got out all right.'

'They will have,' he assured her firmly. The girl sent him a smile that became a giggle, the emotion blossoming until the pair were sending laughter high into the milky sky in a moment that felt more relief than joy, their mirth fading without words to leave them breathless and wistful.

'Ah, we do get in to some trouble,' Fritha sighed, an absent hand held out to pluck a sky blue cornflower from the long grass. 'And look, the sun is rising.'

Solaufein shaded his eyes to take in the burning sliver that at was glorying distant meadows in a effulgent white. Fritha handed him the flower with a smile.

'Summer's Blessings upon you, Sola.'

And the memory of it burned there long after the breeze had stolen the moist heat where she had kissed him gently on the cheek.


	41. Alone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Many thanks to everyone who left feedback on the last couple of chapters - it really makes it easier to get back into the swing of writing after my short(ish) break. _

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Alone**

The low sun was hot on his back and Valygar was glad of his pack there, however heavy, shielding him from the worst, the bag emptied previously into his tent to make room for the supplies they had been dispatched to get. At his side, Imoen indulged in a wide yawn, one hand held ever before her and parting the long grass that almost reached her waist on those sun-dried plains.

Their snatched escape from Thinegate was a few days behind them now. As he had rightly predicted, the others had headed for the road. Valygar had tracked them back along the path to find the rest of their company waiting in the shade of the acacia tree where they had taken a meal the previous noon, and Midsummer's day began with neither celebrations nor ceremony, but a forced march west. All had been united in the desire to put as much distance between them and the town as was possible, but it seemed any worries of pursuit they had held were unfounded –Thinegate had learnt to its detriment the reason for the small fortune placed on Fritha's head.

'It didn't seem this far when we walked out,' Imoen sighed, shrugging her equally laden pack into a more comfortable position. She cocked a head to him to hear his comment on this, the simple arrangement of turquoise and gold trembling at her ears to catch, glinting, in the sunlight -a gift to herself when it had become clear that even the larger village they had just visited did not stock any books on the arcane.

'I suppose the way always seems further when you long for your destination,' he offered at length. 'You are eager to return with time enough to study before you retire?'

Imoen just snorted and returned to her own thoughts. Though contrary to all he hoped to feel, Valygar knew that, at one time, there would have been some glimmer of relief at her disinclination towards her studies. But since Thinegate… The power Imoen held, and seemingly without any study or practise, scared him more than he would ever admit to her. And it was not only the idea that she knew such spells, but that they did not even tire her. Even a master mage would have been exhausted by such a display, Imoen's blithe ignorance revealed as he had questioned her on this and she had laughingly reminded him that there was a whole lot of Weave for her to draw on.

But he could not lecture her, not when he had stood and drained the life from a man with magic vile enough that only Deril or Lavok would have dabbled in it. However, his reluctance had not stopped Jaheira and, surprisingly, Fritha from giving Imoen a stern talking-to, the druid's complaints stemming from the danger to the town's populous, Fritha's from the increased danger to them. He could see the girl's point – she needed no more excuses for people to hunt her, but it was a logic for which Imoen had still yet to forgive them, the girl in a mood with all but himself ever since.

'Remember Jaheira said she wants to look at your hand tonight,' offered Imoen suddenly, and giving an insight as to what was pressing upon her thoughts. 'We can see if you've done it any damage.'

'I told you, it is fine.'

'You've been training it too hard – don't think I don't notice you wincing every time I touch it.'

'It needs the training to make it stronger,' he countered mulishly, though he did so under his breath. She was right; he had been pushing it too hard, fuelled by the desire to find use again in the useless limb and never see a repeat of the fear that had brought from him powers he had never wanted to know he possessed. Solaufein had refused to train with him after the first couple of days, and he had been forced to resort to performing his katas alone whenever he had the chance, the pain almost cathartic, as though he was cleaning his hand of the taint magic had left within it. If only the memory could be so purged; each morning he awoke from dreams of the alley and that guard's withering face, eyes pleading as he had stolen the life from him.

Ahead, the golden plains stretched onward, Imoen focused on the deep blotted green of the small copes they were camped beside.

'I'm sure those trees are just getting further away,' she huffed, quickening her pace. 'Come on, we need to make it back in enough light to check your hand.'

Valygar said nothing.

**…**

The page swam before her eyes, words merging into incoherent nonsense. Fritha had read the last sentence over four times now, the huffing of the man opposite cutting through her every effort to concentrate. Another day had drawn to a close, the sunset finding them making camp deep within the plains on the edge of a small wood, the tall grass enough to conceal their tents from the road and nearby village both.

Over the fire, Jaheira was adding dried onion to that evening's hotchpotch, Minsc and Solaufein preparing the traps they planned to set, while Anomen was repairing his water flask. It had somehow sprung a leak over the course of the day, the tar lining inside the leather case failing near the bottom. The man had already unpicked the stitches that held together the two leather halves, and was trying with dwindling patience to use the heated blade of his knife to melt the tar enough to re-seal it. Fritha watched him struggle, flask clamped awkwardly between his knees, his hands trying to manoeuvre a blade and hold back the leather both.

'I can hold the flask, if you want?'

Anomen thrust his rapidly cooling knife back into the fire with a grunt, ignoring her offer.

'The others should be back soon,' said Jaheira over a contemplative sip, spoon returned to the pot and stirring vigorously as she added more pepper.

'Oh, good,' muttered Anomen, crossly raking through the glowing embers, 'and we can enjoy yet _another_ evening of Imoen's sulking.'

Fritha did not ask if he was worried about the competition, instead offering to help melt the tar while he held the leather aside. For his part, Anomen pretended he had not heard her and they both came out as winners as Fritha returned to her book.

But it could not hold her attention, even after Anomen had finished and settled across the fire from her, quiet once more. When those about her were not a distraction, her mind had a matter it seemed more than happy to dwell upon instead – three thousand of them, in fact, and all resting so neatly on her head. Jaheira had kept the bounty notice and it was folded now in the back of Fritha's diary with the other bounties, Gorion's letter, Nalia's last farewell, and all her other memories both good and ill.

Three thousand gold. She supposed she should feel insulted -for Leader of the Five it was not much at all. Oh, with what despairing laughter she had greet _that_ revelation! It seemed someone had been jumping to all the wrong conclusions and was willing to put money on it, too. Well, they were not so far off - she would have been leader of some similarly brutal campaign, if she had followed her mother's career plans.

But as worrying as it all was, there was little to be done, Fritha merely hiding her hair under the tall, straw hat she had once gifted to Brieanna and carrying on their journey west. She had no chain to wear now, her shirt discarded on some warehouse roof back in Thinegate, and Fritha wondered if she even looked the part anymore. The few refugees they had passed seemed to have graver concerns pressing on them, the roads sometimes choked with people, while at other times they could walk hours without meeting another soul.

Their visits to any area more populated than a hamlet were restricted now to groups of two and three that never included herself, those sent returning with supplies and the same story. Hostilities were running high, mercenaries clashing with guards in the streets, while the general populace cowered in fear of an assault that was coming from, well, a variety of unseen enemies, with anyone who did not 'fit' facing a lynch mob - though Fritha was not sure if _that_ was any more true than tales of dragons and djinn. In the over-wound heat of a bright, scorching Flamerule, careless words became rumours and rumours became truths. The whole of Tethyr was tensed, a cornered animal crouched in anticipation of attack.

Across the fire, Solaufein and Minsc rose, the drow stooping to gather up the snares they had arranged. His cloak had fallen forward to hinder his efforts, Fritha smiling as she leaned across to give him a hand.

'Here, let me help you with that.'

He wrenched the snare she'd reached for back with a haste that likely jarred his arm. 'Ah, there is no need, Fritha, I am fine.'

'Yes, of course,' she muttered to his retreating back, he and Minsc heading off into the plains. 'Fine -everybody's fine.'

Fritha slumped again to the blanket and returned to her book. If Solaufein was withdrawn before, he had been positively clingy compared to his behaviour towards her now. Ever since Midsummer he seemed to have been avoiding her. Unlike the sprig of leaves given to him at Greengrass and worn in his hat until they were but dust, her flower had disappeared by noon -not even kept for the day- and since then he had avoided any situation that found them alone together. Even at night, that haven within their tent where once they would have shared talk was no longer sacred, the man turning to feign sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Fritha would lie awake unsleeping, too, the hollowness at her back worse than if there had been no one there at all. She had not questioned him about it –she doubted he would tell her and a part of her did not want to ask and force him to place a lie between them.

Fritha turned the page just to keep up the pretence she was reading. At the rustle, Jaheira glanced from the pot with a smile.

'What are you reading there, Fritha?'

'A book.'

'I can see that. What is it _about?_'

'Stuff.'

'Fritha!'

The girl drew a deep breath and forced a grin – none of this was the druid's fault, and she could hardly afford to estrange another of the few people who were still speaking to her.

'It's the tragic tale of forbidden love between sworn enemies from the furthest North. Here, I'll read you some. _Gunthrak wiped goblin innards from his face with the back of one large, scarred hand, the other reaching forward to pluck a stray eyeball gently from her hair._

"_After this battle, I will head east to meet up with my old tribes."_

_A troll ran past them on fire, but Melanie could barely hear the screams over the beating of her own heart._

"_You- you're leaving? But I love you, Gunthrak!"_

"_And I you, but our love can never be. You are an adventure and I am a hench-orc; we are from different worlds._"

Jaheira was chuckling, leaning forward to bat her affectionately on the head with the spoon handle.

'Fritha, it does not say that!'

'It does. You can borrow it when I'm done, if you like, though I should warn you, it gets it a bit _saucy_ later on.'

The woman returned to her cooking still snickering and Fritha felt a bit better if only for the camaraderie of it. And true to the druid's prediction, Imoen and Valygar returned within the hour, Minsc and Solaufein fast on their heels, and the group sat down to share their meal of stew and freshly baked bread.

**…**

Warm dusk had yielded to a velvety twilight, the cool breeze sweeping silken over Fritha's face to sough through the grasses, stirring up the scent of baked earth and pollen. Somewhere nearby a lone cricket was trying to attract a mate, his quiet chirruping almost lost to the susurrus of the trees, the canopy of the copse swaying against an indigo sky. It was all so peaceful, like those warm summer evenings in the gardens back in Candlekeep sitting on the back step to the kitchens, the door flung wide to tempt the breeze and Beth's singing drifting from the pantry as the old woman prepared the Readers' suppers.

Fritha felt her eyes begin to close; the evening's meal had left her full and pleasantly drowsy. The pack she was leaning upon was comfortable enough to serve as a bed for one who was tired enough, and perhaps Jaheira noticed her lolling, for the druid's voice cut through the soporific haze.

'Come, Valygar, I must check over your hand before we retire.'

Fritha forced her eyes open, watching as Jaheira, Valygar and Imoen set out for the river, where the cold water could be used to reduce the swelling of the day and let the druid get a better look at how his hand was healing. Anomen obviously heard his cue, rising as well and heading west towards the copse for the night's firewood, Minsc and Solaufein moving off to check their traps.

Fritha was tasked with refilling their flasks for the coming days, though there was no rush, the memories of Candlekeep compelling her to remain. Something was jarring, though, tugging at the recollections of fading light and warm grass, and she realised suddenly she was missing the scent of the flowers that should be there. There had been a fragrant herb garden behind the kitchens, but even the more ornamental flowerbeds before the keep had had their purpose. Camomile to sooth, chrysanthemum to wake the mind, and lavender and tansy grown to make sachets for the wardrobes and, more importantly, bookcases, the pungent parchment envelops put behind the tomes to keep moths and silverfish at bay. In the summer, she and Imoen would often lie outside after their chores were done, soaking up the sunlight and bathing in the wafting scents until Ulraunt would send someone out to move them on -and usually with a telling-off for making the place look 'untidy'.

For a moment, the ache for home was heartbreaking.

Fritha shifted, no longer finding the same peace in the evening and easing herself up to fetch the two empty flasks Minsc had left out for her. The stream was a good walk north and much closer to the village than they would have dared camp, though Fritha doubted they would meet anyone at that hour. The long grass caught at her legs, blades tangling to a matted wall as she tried to stomp her way through with the two bulky flasks.

'Why do I always volunteer to get the water? These things are going to weigh a bloody ton on the way…'

She let her mutterings die there, disturbed by a rhythmic _crack, crack, crack_ she could not place echoing from the gloomy woodland. Fritha tramped over to the treeline, an airy hall of grey trunks stretching off into the gloaming. The whole wood was likely only a hundred yards across, slivers of indigo providing a glimpse of the plains just beyond. Fritha walked a path between the twisting roots, her passage stirring up clouds of lacewings which she puffed and shook away, her hands already occupied with her burden. Under her thin tunic, her skin was bristling; it was much cooler under the canopy, light and shadow dappling the ground in ever-changing patterns as the breeze danced through the leaves above. The noise was getting louder, echoing eerily off the trunks and it was not long until she found the source.

Though the local climes were dry, the trees about her were green and verdant, the scrubby undergrowth just as flourishing, perhaps fed by some underground spring, and what little dead wood that might have fallen had already been collected by the local village, Anomen forced to harvest a few branches from the trees with Minsc's small hand axe. He made for a striking silhouette, tall and broad, one hand bracing the thin branch while the other hacked at it with short, rhythmic strokes. Fritha paused at a stout trunk a few yards from him, unsure if her presence there was still unnoticed or merely being ignored.

'Don't let Jaheira see you taking it from the trees.'

Anomen glanced to her and said nothing, no pause to his work. Fritha set the two flasks in the hollow of roots before her and drew herself up– it had been a long time in the coming, but he needed to know.

'Actually I've been meaning to speak to you. How are you, Anomen? It's seems ages since we talked.'

'I am well enough, my lady.'

She had been expecting that, the question more for her than any concern she had for him, a build up to the task that had been pressing on her since they had left the desert. She could feel the shape of it in her pocket, its importance lending it a greater weight than it owed.

'Well, that is good. I, ah, I have something for you, Anomen. When we left the Amma, Jaheira and I, well, we went through Brieanna's pack. Jaheira brought it from the desert and we knew we couldn't carry it forever. There was little in it, just clothes and equipment, which we left with the tribe, but we did find this.' He stared at the small wooden doll she was holding up to him, the stout little figurine barely larger than her palm, faded paint depicting a dark-haired woman in cheerful yellow robes. 'It is a filial idol- they are used in Calimshan to represent ancestors in prayers of remembrance… an observance that can rest alongside worship of the high gods.'

'Such as _Bhaal?_' he sneered. Fritha pressed past the predictable anger.

'I only mention it because there was no reason for Brieanna to carry it as part of any deception. It was _hers_, Anomen, a real part of her.'

Anomen hefted the axe, returning his attention to the branch above. 'I don't want it.'

'Anomen-'

'I want nothing from either of you.'

The sudden stab closed her throat on any protest she would have made, hurt burnt away in that instant of rage as she resisted lobbing the thing at his head and shoved the doll brutally back into her pocket.

'Fine. I can do that.'

She stooped for her flasks, the crack of splintering wood following her out into the plains once more.

**…**

'And grip… a little tighter…'

Valygar squeezed Jaheira's stave as she had instructed, eyes cast over the river beside them in an effort to ignore the pain. The chattering water was almost completely obscured by reeds, dragonflies dancing just above the surface, their iridescent colours muted by the coming darkness. They had settled on the grassy bank a half hour ago, Jaheira laying out the blanket and some oils while Imoen filled the cooking pot, both massage and icy water going a long way to reducing the swelling in his hand.

'Good, and relax.' Jaheira leaned back, releasing his hand with a satisfied nod. 'Yes, the bones are healing straight as we'd hope – you are definitely making progress.'

Valygar said nothing at first. The examination had left his fingers more flexible than usual, but pained for it. He ignored the flare of angry joints, flexing the hand that not only no longer felt a part of him, but was now an enemy, too. The question faltered from his lips before he could stifle it.

'And you notice nothing else about it – no… changes?'

'No, nothing other than it is improving.' The woman smiled, gesturing for him to give her his hand once more, her own placed above and below it as she closed her eyes and began the murmured prayer. A warm tingle, almost a tremble, quivered through his flesh and, for a moment, the near constant ache faded away. It was over all too soon, though, the pain slowly returning as she drew back. 'There, that should help it along.'

The ranger let it rest in his lap, the woman stooped again and packing away the jars at her feet. Valygar felt the question pulling.

'What does it feel like when you cast?'

Jaheira straightened slowly, a frown quirking in mild reflection.

'It feels… like a gate opening, and through me flows a fraction of my Lord's will or energy, I do not know what you would call it, and for an instant I am connected to everything.' He followed her hand as Jaheira swept it across the bank. 'The grasses, the river, the darting dragonflies – we are all one in my god. Though I do not know if all clerics feel the same,' she continued practically, 'Silvanus is of Nature, after all. Perhaps Anomen feels Helm's strength, some vital burst of vigilance, or maybe what each priest feels is as personal as they are.'

'Have you ever cast without a prayer?'

'You mean with a thought or instinct?' she confirmed, seeming surprised he had asked. 'No, though I do not believe it is the prayers that summon the power. My being worships Silvanus in every breath I draw – He needs no veneration from me to know it. But the mantra helps to focus me, to ready my body and open it to the power. As far as I know, such instant power is the realm of sorcerers -and mages to a lesser extent. How does the Weave feel?'

Valygar spluttered past the sudden heat in his face. 'I -What makes you believe I would know?'

To his utmost bewilderment, Jaheira was chuckling.

'According to Imoen, you were educated in the Art until the age of fourteen – you must have been a very poor student not to have cast a single spell in all that time.'

The memory flashed. Standing in the study with Alergard; struggling to draw out enough of the Weave for a levitation cantrip had felt like putting a small hole in a dam, all the while fearful of the massive weight of water that loomed behind it just waiting to break through and engulf him. He had found the powers he held frightening back then – perhaps that was why it had been so easy for him to dismiss the whole as evil. Whatever the truth of it, the night in Thinegate had been very different; the magic then had felt controlled and, as such, far more terrifying.

'The Weave, it does not feel as you describe, at least it did not for me – it is an ocean of power waiting to swamp you, but resisting too, as though it would have drowned you before you could have ever hoped to drain it. It was not a feeling I found pleasant.'

'Imoen does not describe it so,' the woman observed, something calculating behind the mild tone. Valygar affected a shrug.

'No, but she is far more attuned than I.'

'That is what they say of sorcerers – that they are born with the Weave within them and magic at their will. Were there none of your family so endowed? With your lineage I would have expected at least a couple.'

Valygar swallowed dryly, eyes drawn unwillingly to the crumpled hand that rested now so innocuously within his lap. 'No… no one.'

He could hear her frown. 'Valygar, is something troubling you?'

The confession was pressing.

'I… In Thinegate- Fritha!' he cried, the girl suddenly emerging from the grass behind. She stopped at her name, looking rather hurt by his shout.

'Sorry, did I interrupt something?'

'No, of course not,' he dismissed quickly. Jaheira did not appear as certain, Fritha glancing between them with a frown.

'Imoen not with you?'

'No, she returned to camp a while ago,' answered Jaheira. Fritha nodded, seemingly waiting for something more; the unease over them was palpable.

'Well… I'll just get these filled then,' Fritha continued at length, setting down one of the flasks to pick her way down through the reeds.

Silence held them as she filled the flasks, Jaheira making a show packing her bag though Fritha could tell the pair would not be making any move to leave with her. Her feet were numb by the time she had finished, sandals squelching with that first step back onto the bank.

'Well, that's me done. I'll see you both back at camp then.'

A murmur of agreement followed her through the grasses, Fritha marching as quickly as she could manage with those two heavy flasks swinging from her arms. She did not know what she had interrupted between those two and she did not care; she was just heartily sick of being made to feel as though she wasn't welcome in her own group.

Perhaps Imoen knew what was going on – if they had been behaving like that with her, no wonder she had returned to camp. There was no sign of the girl, though, at the fire. Fritha set down the sloshing flasks - she must have retired.

The tent Imoen shared with Valygar was the last in the uneven half circle they had been pitched in, Fritha dropping to her knees before it and rapping playfully on the frame to push past the flap.

'Hey, Im-'

The shriek hit her the instant her head was inside, Imoen scrambling to shove something under the blankets of the bedding she was sitting up in.

'Gods, Fritha, don't you knock?'

'Sorry,' Fritha soothed, nervous laughter pulled back to a smile, 'I didn't think you'd mind. What's under the blankets?'

Imoen practically exploded. 'The _rest_ of me! Can't I have any privacy?'

Fritha drew back, not sure whether to be embarrassed or hurt.

'Sorry, I'll leave you to it.'

Outside, Minsc and Solaufein had returned, the men talking over the fire. Solaufein glanced up as she stalked past.

'Fritha, is something wrong?'

'Don't ask.'

Fritha was merely glad she had laid her bedding down earlier, the girl slapping aside the flap to her tent to collapse into the blankets within. Her sandals kicked furiously to the corner, she threw an arm across her eyes in a meagre effort to block out the world, tensions in her forehead little soothed by the smooth, cool skin. Everything was hard enough with worrying about the bounty and the prophesy and sodding Balthazar's sodding _cure_ without her friends adding to it!

A rustle at her feet; Fritha did not look up to see him enter on his knees, though the concern to his voice was unmistakable.

'Fritha?'

'How was the hunt?'

Solaufein sighed, disappointed by this coolness, but he answered her anyway. 'There is nothing in the traps yet, though I will check again during my watch.' Another sigh, the body edging closer and she could feel his presence above. 'Talk to me, Fritha.'

'Talk?' She snorted, '_Now_ you wish to talk.'

She felt him draw back, flustered.

'I… I do not know what you mean.'

'No? Well, I can hardly hold your silence against you – it seems no one wants my company of late.'

'Has Anomen upset you?'

'He certainly gave it a good try. But at least he has an excuse –Imoen's been snapping at me for days and Gods only know how I've offended the rest of you.'

'I am sorry.' Something about his voice, that weary defeat to his tone made her move her arm and her eyes were, at last, unveiled as she shifted it up to cradle her head. He was looking down at her, a sadness she more than recognised etched on his fine features. 'I am here now, Fritha.'

The knot within her chest was slowly loosening, resentment ebbing away to leave nothing but that enduring melancholy.

'Yes, you are… And now I find I have nothing to say.'

'Are you worried about the bounty?' he pressed. She affected what shrug she could in that position.

'No, not really. Not as much as I likely should be.'

'Then what is wrong?'

What was wrong? In truth, though the bounty and her other troubles lingered ever at the back of her thoughts, they were not the source of her sadness. But with Imoen still in a temper and Anomen's continuing resolve to make an enemy of her coupled with Solaufein's recent distance, it just felt like no one was on her side anymore. And she could tell him that, and he would sigh and say she was wrong, and that she should tell them all the truth of everything in the same tired argument they had had since Saradush.

'Nothing,' she muttered finally, wishing she had not drawn back her arm. 'It doesn't matter.'

The drow opened his mouth and stopped; perhaps the admonishment he had planned for her keeping secrets had reminded him she was not alone in that. He turned away, unable to meet her eye as uncertain fingers reached for the hand that lolled above her head to close about her own.

'Then perhaps we can just talk awhile.'

The heat rising in her chest somehow intensified the ache that had throbbed there for days now, that knot within tightening again as she was presented with a chance to forget it all, even for a short while. The sly smile was suddenly playing, unbidden, about her mouth, hesitation well hidden beneath.

'Now why would we waste our efforts on such mild pleasures, Sola?'

He met her eye then, his looked wary, as though caution and curiosity were at war. 'And on what would you have us waste our efforts?'

'Well, I believe there was a promise of henna – my canvas awaits your hand.'

She watched him watch her, her face colouring under that intense gaze as she lay beneath him in wanton vulnerability. Something had to give. Slowly she drew her leg up to press along his outer thigh. He shuddered, a frisson that travelled from spine to skull, and suddenly he was gone, Minsc's shout seemingly doing nothing to halt him. Fritha lay still, unwilling to move, trying not to think. Her mind was reeling with hot-faced confusion, nausea fighting tears as the tension finally broke.

What was she doing?

xxx

Fritha lay motionless, an arm across her eyes and sparing them from the glary, green sky. Winds were whipping across the tiled plain to pull at her thin trousers, while her body and head had found shelter in the bulk of the large man sat above her.

'Why do I _do_ these things? Why do I seem to feel the need to sabotage my life on a regular basis?'

'Care to elaborate, sister?'

Fritha just groaned, her refusal stemming more from the burning desire to forget all about it, than any reluctance to discuss her confused attempts at seduction with her dead brother. The silence stretched on, that coil inside her chest growing tighter, until -

'I am such a _fucking_ _idiot!_'

The curse went ringing up into the boiling sky and Fritha felt marginally better for it, at last sitting to face the man next to her, her hair instantly whipped up by the wind into a thrashing amber halo. Sarevok raised an eyebrow as she fought to gather it back.

'You seem frustrated; your plans do not progress as you would wish?'

'My plans, as they are, are going well enough -even with me attempting to thwart them at every turn.' She sighed, scrubbing a hand across her face, angered that sleep had been no release from the torment of going over and over her foolishness. 'Oh, _why_ did I tell him that?'

'Him…' repeated Sarevok gravely and seeming to draw all the conclusion he needed from the single syllable as he continued. 'Now, sister, is not the time to be allowing any… _relations_ to hinder with your purpose.'

'No,' she agreed tiredly, 'it is not.'

The warrior nodded, satisfied she was approaching matters sensibly. Fritha drew a deep breath and, at last, put her self-destructive silliness aside, neatly crossing her legs as though physically settling into their discussion.

'Right then, back to more pressing matters - do you know anything of a man named Balthazar?'

'I have never heard that name before.'

'What about the Order of…' Fritha realised to her consternation she had not bothered to inquire as to its full title. '_Uljit,'_ she ventured hopefully in the name of its founder, hastening to add, 'It's an order of monks in Amkethran apparently dead set on ending the Curse.'

Sarevok remained coolly impassive. 'And _how_ do they plan on that?'

Fritha shrugged. 'Balthazar would not say, though he seemed very sure he could and…' she paused, recalling the meeting again and the myriad of emotions it had stirred, 'I sensed no deception in him.'

'The Curse cannot be ended,' scoffed Sarevok impatiently. 'If this Balthazar believes it can be, he is deluding himself. As for the monastery, I have never heard of it, but I confess I did not journey as far south as Calimshan when I travelled in study of my heritage-' He stopped, the warrior eyeing her incredulously, 'Surely, sister, you did not believe he-'

'_Not_ for an instant,' Fritha cut in, 'But others in my group…'

Sarevok eased back where he sat, nodding wisely. 'Ah, they are trying to tempt you from your true path with these false hopes.'

'No,' she corrected with genuine surprise, as though she herself had only just realised the fact as she confessed, 'only two even know of what I plan.'

The warrior looked mildly impressed. 'A wise decision.'

Fritha shook her head, the wind taking the opportunity to try and free the hair she had bound back. 'I am beginning to doubt it is. I lead them onward, letting them risk their lives for a cause of which they do not even understand the full consequences.'

'And why should they know?'

'Because they are _supposed_ to be my friends!' she countered, feeling for the first time the sting of her betrayal. 'You know, _friends_ – I'm sure you had at least one while you still breathed.'

'I had a few, sister, as useful as they were. I gathered them about me over the years, men and women who I could trust to serve _me_, not merely Rieltar or their own interests within the Iron Throne.'

'Servants don't count,' Fritha goaded, her spite rewarded as temper drew out truths.

'They were not mere lackeys! They were loyal companions and I favoured their company! Especially in the early days, before my true path was laid before me and there was time for such diversions. I trained with them, drank and laughed even as we plotted Rieltar's downfall –these were the only people who saw me as I was, not that façade of the Sembian noble my father had made me wear. Though, even as close as we were, I never saw the need to tell any of them I was of the Children.'

'Why? I cannot imagine it would have put them off, not after what they were willing to follow you in.'

She watched as his eyes dropped to consider it.

'I… do not know. It was not that I did not trust them with the knowledge and yet… I told only Tamoko in the end, and she used it as an excuse for all I became.'

He spat the last few words with the bitter rancour she was used to whenever he mentioned the lover he had tossed aside on his quest for godhood. Fritha watched him for a long while, taking in the hunched shoulders, his hoary hair swirling fitfully about that pale, wizened face. Only his eyes held any spark of the old fire he had once been so alive with, yet even they were muted now, dulled by more than any man should see.

Had he once laughed with his friends in genuine, warm camaraderie? Could a heart that would have killed thousands for power, enslaved innocents and raised armies to bring a war to the Sword Coast with all the horrors that would have entailed, also held an affection for those called friends, shown them kindness and esteem?

'Do you regret it?' she asked; the quiet question earned a sharp response.

'Regret what? Dying? Having all I planned destroyed?'

'No, do you regret leading them to their deaths?'

'I led them nowhere,' he dismissed. 'They followed of their own will, just as your own group do you - only the weak do not take responsibility for their own actions.'

'Yes, but they follow on half a story. It's not good enough and I owe them better than this. I should tell them,' she announced to the howling plains, something inside her steeling, 'I'm going to tell them! Besides, the way things are now, I doubt some of them could like me any less.'

Sarevok looked as though he would have grabbed her had he dared, the man hastening to forestall this folly.

'Do not do this, sister! You jeopardise everything for a nagging conscience! If they know you mean to aim for the Throne, then they will know the results of your failure: becoming Bhaal. They could refuse to aid you –they could attempt to kill you!'

Fritha raised a highly sceptical eyebrow. Sarevok reconsidered his position with a dull frown.

'No, perhaps those of _your_ company would never consider such a step. But this decision could have far-reaching consequences. What if they refuse to continue on this quest for Sendai and instead demand you find another path, a way to avoid your fate? Your quest cannot afford delay or doubts!' He paused, watching the indecision mull behind her eyes, his voice softer as he added, 'You must share these worries, or you would have told them already yourself.'

'I…'

Sarevok muted her with that penetrating gaze. 'Do not be ashamed, sister, of an instinct that assures your survival, however selfish. Others may demand truths, honour, justice, but it is ones such as you and I who know the true price of these civilities, and when they must be sacrificed for the greater goal.'

'Like inciting a _war?_' she sniped, but there was little of the old indignation left in it. He was right after all. She had lied, murdered, cheated, all in the name of retrieving Imoen and then her soul. And it seemed she would do all that and more for the Throne. Somewhere in the greater multiverse she imagined what whispering memories that remained of Bhaal smiling – the family resemblance was closer than she liked to admit.


	42. The Frayed Rope

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Apologies for the wait, I volunteered to help out on a Baldur's Gate mod not long back and it has been taking priority. Thanks to everyone who left feedback recently and thanks to my two betas who make it all worth while._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Frayed Rope**

How quiet the world seemed – no crackle of the fire or surging hiss from the grassy plains about him to break the stillness. Solaufein lay under the blankets, letting the silence engulf him. The bedding next to him was bare and, on the cusp of wakefulness and dreams, it was a long while before he considered the reason; then the man was suddenly up and not understanding why he had not gone after her sooner.

Outside, the camp was empty, thoughts of those supposed to be on watch fading as his urgency to find her grew.

'Fritha?'

His voice echoed away to nothing and no answer split the heavy air. Through the milky dawn he could see the woods, wreathed in mist and emerald shadows. The forbidding wall of trunks seemed to part at his approach, their dull columns glittering with dew in the gloom. He moved silently, footfalls cushioned on the path of springy moss and, at last, there she was, the girl seated in a dell of bowing ferns and cloaked in that bright swathe of amber hair. Her back was to him and she gave no sign she had heard his advance, Solaufein suddenly worried he would startle her.

'Fritha?'

He reached out, seeing his hand land upon her shoulder, the curls swept back as the head turned and he was gazing down into icy blue eyes, that beautiful, ebon face smiling up at him.

'_Phaere!'_

Solaufein started, dun canvas swimming into focus above him and slowly his heart calmed. Next to him, the heaped blankets stirred, a pale sweep of forehead and closed eyes all he could see of the girl nestled within. He had the sudden urge to lay a hand upon her and prove she was real. But he did not.

Last night he had paced the arid copse until everything had cooled, that confusing turmoil of anger and passion and many other emotions he had not felt up to dissecting. Fritha had been asleep when he had returned, just as she was now, though her eyes were no longer blotched with the tender puffiness of last night's tears. His guilty stomach lurched; some air would do him good.

It was much cooler outside than his dream would have had him believe. A shiver ran over his body to set his skin bristling in protest, though he thought better of returning to the tent for his cloak, unwilling to wake the girl within.

At the fire, Valygar was seated alone on the last watch and feeding fistfuls of reeds to the smoking flames, their small supply of firewood long burned away. He sent Solaufein a nod as he noticed him, the drow finally allowing cold to win out over the discomfort and hunker down next to the firepit, eyes turned from the glare to cast out over the grey plains.

'Where is Minsc?'

'Off collecting in the traps.'

At his mention, Solaufein noticed them: three sleek brown rabbits laid out at the ranger's feet and awaiting the skinner's knife.

'A decent haul.'

Valygar slowly shifted his shoulders in what could have been a shrug or merely a stretch, dark eyes following him as Solaufein moved back from the fire to settle on the blanket Minsc had left.

'You are awake early.'

'I could not sleep – I dreamt of… things best forgotten.'

The ranger merely nodded, his gaze still on him, silently appraising. 'Imoen had a restless night – she mentioned another fight with Fritha before we retired.'

Solaufein shrugged. 'They have been at odds a while now…'

'Yes, they have,' agreed the ranger gravely, 'and longer than either would suspect. I will be blunt, Solaufein, I care for Imoen and, in the coming days, I do not trust Fritha to do what is best for her.'

'Fritha would _never_ do anything to hurt Imoen!'

Valygar's head dipped, seemingly acquiescing to his anger. 'No, I do not believe that would be her intention, but will it be a result? Fritha knows something, something about the Children, and holding it back from us will only cause more trouble. The end to this Curse, this prophecy -whatever you wish to call it- is coming and Fritha knows more than she is admitting, of that I am sure. This essence the Children hold, is it to be neutralised, or will they carry it for the rest of their lives? Imoen grows more powerful by the day and with apparently no effort. It is the Blood, of that I am sure, and I will admit, it frightens me. She has power, but not the skill or finesse to control it. These great explosions of magic - she is as much a danger to herself as anyone else.'

'And you worry if she must continue as she is for the rest of her life…' offered Solaufein.

Valygar threw another bushel of reeds onto the fire and watched them curl to ash. 'I will lose her.'

'You do not believe, then, in Balthazar's cure?'

'Do you?' Valygar countered sharply. Solaufein could feel the heat licking his cheeks, though his dark pallor hid his shame. The ranger was shaking his head. 'I want to believe -for a time Imoen would talk of nothing else, but… Bhaal was a god. I may not worship the Divine, but I understand Their power. What hope could any mortal have to thwart Their plans?'

His guilty silence had been nagging on him a while now; Solaufein skirted the truth as best he could.

'If Fritha is certain of the Fate of the Children, she has not told me.'

'But she holds something back?' pressed Valygar earnestly.

'We all have our secrets – this one is not mine to give.'

'And how long will you keep silent, drow? Until another of our group has been taken?'

'_Another?_'

Valygar sighed, frustrated his temper had exposed him and dropping his voice to admit, 'Athic died on the journey north –Jaheira told me. Who else from our company will pay the price for these secrets? Imoen grows- Imoen!' he exclaimed suddenly, Solaufein whipping round to find the girl stood just behind him at the mouth of her tent, bag in hand to begin her day.

The girl arched a tart eyebrow. 'Why so surprised, _Vals?_'

For a man who bore every discourse with an unruffled stoicism, Valygar was certainly very animated when it came to his lies, and Solaufein had to fight against a wince at his faltered delivery.

'I- It was merely that you seemed tired last night; I thought you would sleep later than this.'

Green eyes flashed; for an instant, the resemblance between her and Fritha was incredible.

'And _how_ would I do that with you two out here muttering? Well, come on then, don't keep me hanging – I certainly heard my named mentioned and Fritha's, too.'

And, as if on cue, the girl herself pushed from their tent, the hand that absently tidied the tousled hair stopping as she found she had an audience. Dark eyes darted briefly to him for an instant of awkward regret, before Fritha was taking in the scene about her, her voice quiet and still a little hoarse.

'Morning. What's the matter now?' she added at the loaded silence. Imoen turned a tight smile upon her.

'The boys were just having a little chat – about _us_.'

'We were merely discussing our immediate plans and your names came up,' pressed Valygar belatedly. 'Your shared heritage does make you integral to the troubles here.'

Fritha just shrugged, indifferent either way as she turned to her friend.

'Those that eavesdrop never hear good of themselves; perhaps it's best it remains a mystery.'

And it seemed that was the end to her curiosity, Fritha heaving up her pack to make for the river, Imoen sending one last glare to them, before hurrying after her. Across the fire, Valygar sunk his head into his hands – he likely had not heard the last of this.

**…**

Fritha smiled as the girl at her side leaned in with a sly giggle.

'Of course, _he_ doesn't know that; Vals still thinks he just keeps losing them. I'm wearing a pair of his now.'

Imoen was lost to chortling over Valygar's missing socks – 'the prerogative of a lover' the girl claimed, after her last pair had become too fetid to wear.

One good thing that had come from whatever Solaufein and Valygar had been whispering about that morning had been the change it had wrought in Imoen – namely the girl was more than happy to let Valygar know she was displeased with him by spending the day of walking chatting to her. Fritha was certainly glad of the distraction; the empty road provided no others from the cloying heat and the insistent chatter of her own thoughts. She cast a glance behind to the others that followed them, and Fritha's gaze was drawn unwillingly to Solaufein. He was talking with Minsc, ending their discourse with a nod to turn and catch her watching. He met her eye unwaveringly, and Fritha whipped back again. She had wanted to talk to him all day –she just didn't know what she wanted to say.

'They whispering again?' queried Imoen mildly, throwing a glance back herself. 'What do you think they were talking about this morning anyway? Vals keeps trying to fob me off with some nonsense about _our plans_. Honestly, do I look like I came down in the last shower?'

'Well, if he hasn't told you now, perhaps he never will,' reasoned Fritha dully. 'I suppose we all have something to hide.'

Imoen seemed to hear in this a censure that had not been there, the girl sending her a sheepish smile.

'Yeah, sorry I snapped last night, you just gave me a fright. I'm glad you and me are talking again. I was so mad when you yelled at me about Thinegate, but I get it now. You were just frightened because of the bounty - you know I was only doing what I had to.'

Silence followed. Imoen sent her a suspicious glare at this lack of agreement, and Fritha wondered just who the girl was trying to convince. Imoen pressed the issue no further though, changing the subject for one about which Fritha, rather than herself, could feel ill at ease.

'You and Sola all right? You've not talked to him much today.'

'You haven't talked to Valygar.'

'Fair enough,' Imoen grinned, adding wisely, 'I'm not really mad with him, but he always thinks he knows best and it's good to make him stew now and then. I'll make up with him when we stop to make camp.'

Fritha made no comment; on the rippling horizon, a building was rising from the plains with every step, its sloped grey roof standing like a jagged tooth against the amber sky.

'What's that?' asked Imoen. Fritha raised a hand to shield her eyes and drew it into focus.

'It looks like an inn.'

Not only an inn awaited them along the road though. Fritha shrank under her hat and pulled her scarf up another inch. The inn was closer now, the meadows all about it a sea of tents and other more makeshift campsites. People were seated about small fires cooking their evening meal, while children played on the outskirts, unmindful of the grim desperation that hung over the camp with the grey film of smoke. Refugees who likely could not spare the coin for a room - or perhaps there were none left to be let- congregated there nevertheless, and Fritha could see why as they drew to a halt before the building.

It was large, over four storeys tall with an adjoining walled courtyard of stables, the windows that overlooked them much larger than the few that faced out onto the road. It was a secure building, built to reflect its lonely aspect, and recent changes had merely heightened this aura of defence. In a ring a good few yards from the walls, a ditch had been dug, stakes hammered into the ground on those edges where the road did not allow for digging. A wild tangle of thorn and gorse had been lashed to the top of the wall that encircled the courtyard, Fritha's eye drawn up to the faded sign that hung above the barred gates. It had seen better days, the neatly painted handwriting peeling worst over the centre of the board to leave only the first and last words legible: The Rope. It was a rather ominous name considering the times.

'An roadside inn,' provided Valygar unnecessarily as he drew to a halt behind the girls. Imoen knew to what _that_ translated.

'A night in a bed,' she sighed with dewy-eyed longing, 'with somewhere to wash, and clean our clothes. Can we go in?'

Fritha shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, you lot can. I'll make camp-'

'You are not being left out here alone, Fritha!' snapped Jaheira, though no one followed the contradiction with any offers to camp outside with her.

'Just keep your hat on,' Imoen pressed, 'we're leagues away from Thinegate now, and we've had no trouble since. You can go straight to your room and no one will even know you're here.'

Fritha waited for any objection to this, but no voiced was raised against it, even the druid looking appeased by Imoen's logic. Fritha knocked her hat a touch lower and shrugged.

'All right then, lead on.'

Inside, the common room was only moderately busy considering the throng outside, and from what Fritha could see from beneath the brim of her hat, the clientele were mostly comprised of those men of a more _martial_ persuasion than the unlucky refugees. The air hummed with the rumble of a good few dozen deep voices, though for all, that the men seemed a friendly enough lot, Valygar and Minsc already in conversation with a table nearest the bar, while Jaheira spoke to the thickly bearded man behind the counter. Imoen was chatting to an equally wary Solaufein just before the doors, the pair splitting up for Imoen to follow the young server the innkeep had dispatched towards to the stairs.

'Come on,' the girl smiled, linking an arm through hers to pull them after him as the youth made his ascent. 'Jaheira got us three rooms and a meal. This lot will bring the food up.'

Sure enough, Jaheira and Solaufein were not long behind them, their arms straining under trays laden with dishes, bread and a great pot of what Fritha was disappointed to find was mutton stew - after over a tenday of pottage every evening and sometimes the following breakfast, she had rather hoped for something a bit more interesting.

'Where are the others?' asked Imoen.

'Valygar is still talking to some mercenaries at the bar,' provided Jaheira, passing Imoen a dish to settle on the bed next to the girl. 'Come on, eat up.'

Solaufein had taken the room's only chair, his dish resting on the dresser beside him and barely spared a glance as he picked at one of the soft flatbreads. He did not look miserable –he did not look anything, his face bearing the composed mask he had worn in Ust Natha, and something about that tugged at Fritha all the more. She needed to talk to him and… well, she was sure she would know what to say once the time came.

Until then… Fritha turned her attention to her own dish, pleasantly surprised to find the stew was, at least, well-seasoned enough to be different from their usual, blander fare, the tender mutton enlivened with cloves and the occasional chunk of dried apricot. On the bed opposite, Jaheira and Imoen seemed to be just as appreciative of the food and it was fortunate the men arrived when they did –there may have been very little stew left at the rate at which Imoen seemed intent on clearing her dish.

'Here, Vals,' Imoen greeted, as the door swung back to reveal the three men, 'I saved you a place next to me.'

The ranger served himself and sank down on the bed next to her, Minsc and Anomen taking up their dishes and the remaining two places next to Fritha. Jaheira took in the grim expressions with an appraising nod.

'You bring news then?'

'Yes,' admitted Valygar, 'though how reliable it is…'

'I doubt anyone could sift the truth from the rumours after this long,' reasoned Fritha, 'What did you learn?'

'Well, according to the company we were speaking to, one of the more solid reports is that the Silver Chalice and the Tethyran army are moving troops south west.'

'Are they searching for Bhaalspawn?' asked Imoen quickly. Anomen shook his head.

'While the warrant for the children is still in force, that is not why they are here. They are being sent to fortify the towns of Urdine, Alhazi and Yeven und Agis.'

Fritha plucked the map from the top of her bag. The larger sheet was already folded to the right square and her eyes quickly scanned the muddle of neatly printed place names and her own untidy annotations.

'Urdine, Alhazi and-'

'They are all towns but leagues from the Apagis forest,' offered Jaheira without even a glance at the map. Valygar nodded.

'Indeed, though the reason for this move is more disturbing and harder to confirm. Farmsteads, hamlets, even entire villages that border the Apagis are apparently being wiped out. The attacks are random and devastating; no survivors are left and buildings are either gutted by fire or razed completely.'

A guilty knot coiled low in Fritha's stomach. To Anomen's credit, he made no comment; they all knew there would be a price for dealing with Abazigal first.

'And the local lords have done nothing?' Fritha questioned.

'No, they have acted,' clarified Valygar. 'It seems a common assumption that whoever is behind the attacks is hiding within the Apagis, and the Tethyran army have sent a few groups in to investigate. It is said none have returned.'

'The Apagis is an ancient forest,' offered Jaheira over her spoon, 'as old and sprawling as the Mir, and holds its own dangers. If Sendai is entrenched within, then she will not be so easily routed.'

Imoen laughed coldly. 'We don't need her out, we just need her _dead._'

'And how do you plan to find her without being discovered ourselves?' retorted Anomen, 'As Jaheira just said, this forest is vast.'

Minsc swept a large hand across his chin, slowly formulating his proposal. 'Boo says, if warriors move through it to attack villages, they will leave some sign of their passage – we will follow that.'

'Good point,' nodded Fritha, 'we can keep an eye out for these missing soldiers, too. I wouldn't mind having some leverage, if we need to get back on their good side.'

Imoen was suddenly grinning. 'They'll have no cause to arrest us soon. Once Sendai's dead and Balthazar can work the cure, we won't be Bhaalspawn anymore.'

'Yeah, well, I still murdered a camp full of guards, so I don't think that bounty's going anywhere, Bhaalspawn or not.'

Imoen poked at her dinner with a sulky frown. 'You know Fritha, you can be a real optimist sometimes.'

Fritha preferred the term 'realist', but she let the mocking censure slide.

Their meal concluded in idle talk of their plans for the next couple of days and the route they would take which could best avoid any local troops – Fritha did not want another Thinegate on her reputation or more gold on her head. Valygar was the first to rise, setting his cleared plate on the floor between them to begin the stack.

'I believe it would be to our advantage if I continued speaking with the company downstairs.'

Solaufein left with him. That Fritha was hardly surprised did not ease her disappointment, the girl placing her own dish on the growing pile with a cheerful smile -he was not the only one with a mask at his disposal.

'What about the rest of you? We can have a game of cards, if you like? Or someone can see if they have any board games behind the counter – you used to enjoy thrashing me at chess, Anomen.'

'I shall join the men in the tavern,' said Anomen predictably.

'Fair enough. What about you, Imoen?'

The girl could not quite meet her eye, seemingly intent on brushing the crumbs from her lap. 'Ah, well, I'd hoped to spend some time with Vals.'

Fritha did not let the smile waver.

'Well, off you go then – and you two?' She turned to the pair left seated upon the bed opposite. Jaheira glanced to Minsc, and reluctantly they made to their feet.

'These mercenaries _would_ bear speaking to-'

'Don't fret about me,' Fritha forestalled blithely. 'Just send a maid up for these dishes and tell her to bring me a basin and some water when she comes and I'll wash our clothes.'

Jaheira smiled and nodded, Minsc giving her hair a friendly ruffle as they passed. The door clicked shut; Fritha finally let the smile drop, knees pulled up to her chest to survey the empty room. Her sigh seemed very loud.

'Alone again. Of course.'

**…**

Downstairs, the tavern was just as they had left it; a noisy confusion of tables all packed into that long, low space, the men down there all loud with drink and their own contentment. Beyond the few small windows, night was falling, one of the servers moving quickly between the tables, lighting the lamps and trying to recall the constant barrage of drinks orders.

Anomen fought the instinct to merely turn about and march straight back to the room he was to share with Jaheira and Minsc. He should not take himself away to brood, however disinclined he was towards company.

The table where Valygar and Minsc had first found welcome had moved, the mercenaries now finding seats at a table closer to the fire about the corner in the tavern's snug, though they were just as glad to have them back, it seemed.

'Ah, our brothers from the north,' greeted the broad man, his dark hair cropped as short as his sparse beard, 'and you have brought your own company, as well. Come, come have a drink with us.'

The men about him were dragging in more chairs from the surrounding tables, the one who had greeted them shouting to the server for more drinks.

'We wondered where you'd all got to,' laughed one of the younger men. Jaheira smiled, sinking into the seat beside him.

'We took our meal in our rooms - some of our company do not like crowds.'

'Not you though, eh? Here, grab a cup, my pearl.'

They were a lively group, five men of the local colouring and a paler seventh, all part of a larger band, the Ithans, so named for the river and the lands where they had first formed. The company was not to everyone's tastes though. Imoen stayed only long enough for the foam to clear from her beer before she changed her mind, swapping the tavern for a wash and an early night, and Solaufein had not even joined them for that, the man exiting the tavern to make his prayers as soon as they had descended the stairs.

Anomen half wished he had excused himself similarly, a perverse desire to stay there and suffer rather than be alone and brood pressing him to remain. He nursed the cup of ale before him, refusing any offer to top it up as many more cups were served and emptied about him. The conversation was being carefully helmed by Jaheira and Valygar, steered from the tales of battle and other anecdotes to more current matters.

'Here's to this trouble and whatever opportunities it may afford us,' toasted Valygar, those about him laughing in rowdy agreement.

'Indeed,' nodded the only other northerner of their company, a tow-headed man of middling years, a fleshy hand wiping the ale from his moustache, 'We're falling over work at the moment what with everyone raising armies and putting up bounties.'

'Bounties?' questioned the darker Nate, who had been so eager to greet their arrival, 'You heard something, Ketan?'

Anomen swallowed his heart along with a mouthful of ale. Nate was not the only one eager for this news; Jaheira was trying to subtly ease herself back into a more casual position after snapping ramrod straight, Minsc keeping his face to his cup to hide whatever expression he did not trust himself to quell.

'Only that there are some about,' continued Ketan indifferently, 'and with enough gold offered to see a man of my years retired – should he be able to claim the lot.'

Another of the older men was shaking his head. 'And if it's the one I'm thinking of, the risk might outweigh the prize – there's no point in having gold, if you're dead before you can spend it.'

'Oh aye, Deenan?' laughed the gangly archer, Haziq, 'That's not like you. What have you heard?'

'Only that the last company that tried to claim it ended up with half the men dead and their leader crippled.'

'Who were that, then?' pressed the youngest of them, the lad, Misch, leaning forward in his eagerness for the tale. Deenan just shrugged and downed his cup.

'Don't know for sure, just some great big Bhaalspawn bloke, I heard.'

'Woman.'

All heads turned to the, so far silent, Dacre. He was the only mage of their company, a long, thin man with a long, jowly face and sloping black eyes, the whole effect giving the impression of a wax figurine that had been left too close to a fire.

'What?' pressed Misch. Dacre observed his audience with sloe-eyed apathy.

'When I was sent to negotiate a contract with the Tethyran army, I was told the bounty was on a woman.'

Deenan pushed his chair back and stifled a gassy belch.

'That decides it then – I hate hunting women.' Anomen had been mentally commending the man for this surprising chivalry; he was soon corrected. 'They always find some place to hide,' Deenan sighed, rubbing his ale-filled paunch, 'some ally willing to help them. People trust them, see. You find you're fighting your way through scores of idiot knights and starry-eyed soldiers.'

'That does not sound like something we would find appealing,' said Valygar. Nate laughed.

'Well, you're in luck, at the moment, cause there's an abundance of work all around us – just pick your side! The Tethyran army are hiring, though the pay is lousy. There's rumours of some army being raised back east,'

'A long way to walk on but hearsay,' observed Minsc. Nate nodded.

'True enough, mate. And then there's this group hiding in the Apagis.'

Jaheira was nodding mildly. 'Have any mercs you've known managed to find them?'

'I heard the Black Hatchets went to work for them,' offered Halziq. 'They haven't been seen since, so they were either hired or killed.'

'So what do _you_ plan?' asked Valygar

The company about them shared a laugh, Nate admitting cheerfully, 'That's easy. We'll wait here for stuff to really kick off. Once the Tethyran army's seen the odds, they'll be desperate to hire anyone with a blade and then we can name our price. Till then, we're here.'

Jaheira indulged him with a rare smile. 'A fine enough plan, if you've already gold enough to live on.'

'Ah, you need a job to tide you over in the meantime?' confirmed Halziq, 'I heard that Helmite library up in the Stormantles is hiring.'

Anomen could not contain his surprise. 'You speak of Watcher's Keep? They have their own contingent of warrior priests and the resource of the church at their deployment– why would they need to hire mercenaries?'

Halziq's lean frame shifted in a shrug. 'Couldn't tell you, mate. Perhaps there's a job they need doing where they don't want to get their holy hands dirty.'

The cups between them rattled, Anomen pounding a heavy fist upon the table. 'Mind your tongue when you speak of my church!'

A chorus of shrieks as chairs were pushed back, each company appraising the other as the two men sized each other up. The lines were being drawn – Halziq broke first, narrow face twisting with a sneer.

'No offense meant, _friend_.'

For a moment, all was silent.

'Another round of drinks perhaps,' offered Jaheira, suddenly on her feet and turning that fiery gaze upon him. 'Come, Anomen, you can _help_.'

Anomen was almost tempted to refuse, that wilful anger demanding he bait her. But, eventually he managed a stiff nod, rising to follow her and Minsc clearly thought it best he join them.

At counter men were queuing two deep for their next drink, though it hardly mattered, the woman veering for the door opposite as soon as they were out of sight. The courtyard was in darkness, light from windows behind them opening panes of gold upon the cobbles while the air stirred with the distant scent of campfires. Jaheira whirled upon him as soon as they were through the door, shaking her head in that matronly way of hers that put another couple of decades between them.

'You ever were a _fool_, boy!'

Anomen more than ready to vent his temper. 'Hold your sermon, woman! I will not stand by while my Lord is insulted!'

'They spoke of your church, not your faith and there are better ways of dealing with such insults, as well you know! You do not wish to be here? Then retire to the room, but do not cause trouble with those with whom we are trying to build a rapport!'

Anomen scoffed past the burgeoning embarrassment. 'Anything they know they have told us already!'

'Oh yes? So you are aware of how well-known this bounty upon Fritha is? How far west the Tethyran patrols come? Where these attacks that border the Apagis are concentrated?'

Anomen could not meet her eye, that sharp face shrewd and accusing in the darkness.

'I did not think,' he muttered tightly.

'No, and you have not in a while! You are like an animal, pained and lashing out at anyone who comes close, be they friend or foe! I regret that Brieanna is dead, but you aid no one in this behaviour.'

Anomen could hardly believe that name had been spoken. 'Spare me your pity, druid! You know _nothing_ of this!'

'Nothing?' she demanded, her voice low as she leaned in. 'I have lost more than I pray you will _ever_ know. However, continue on this path and you may yet surpass even I -though know that it will be of your own doing!'

She pushed past him to throw the door wide and march back into the din. The slam of the door hit him like a fist's blow.

'_Didactic_ _harpy!_' he roared in directionless fury, the curse echoing out over the stone garth. Behind him, Minsc breathed a deep, disappointed sigh.

'Young Anomen…'

Anomen whirled on him instantly. 'I do not wish to hear it, Minsc!'

'No?' he questioned, puzzled, 'What is it I am to say?'

The question threw him, Anomen feeling the shame slowly blossoming to quench, at last, his anger – well, how would he have censured himself?

'That-That I am brash and short-sighted and a fool unto myself!'

The Rashemi's broad shoulders heaved an even shrug. 'You are pained.'

'I am,' he confessed, 'but not as I was… Brieanna is gone, and though I liked her and miss her friendship, I am not so false as to convince myself this all for her. I am angry, Minsc,' he admitted frankly, 'that all I have strived for and, at last, earned has been lost again.' He turned to fixed Minsc with a tired look, wish for an instant he had not promised to keep her secret for there was only more loss to come.

'Boo and I understand, young Anomen.' Minsc nodded, his gaze shifting back to the door next to them. 'You remember, I think, when we first became a company and it was Jaheira who would have seen us torn apart in her grief. She is right in what she tells you, but Boo believes she forgets too easily her own anger.'

'She had but days before lost her husband,' murmured Anomen, half recollection, half excuse; he remembered to his disgrace that he had not been so sympathetic at the time.

'Yes,' sighed Minsc, 'and then the Harpers turned upon us… sad times…'

'And you lost your ward,' Anomen added quietly. Minsc nodded, dropping his head back to gaze up at the bejewelled sky.

'That I did. But I took my vengeance, and Dynaheir's spirit is now at peace.' Minsc turned back to fix him with a remarkably open look, 'I did all that could be done; sometimes it is just the way of things.'

Yes, it truly seemed it was, and as miserable as that should have made him, Anomen found a hope in it, too. His pain was there still, as was his anger at the injustice of that world, but he was not alone in bearing it. Jaheira had grieved for her whole life, and Minsc had lost the woman who was likely the closest friend he had ever had of his own people, and they would exile him for it. Before him, the Rashemi was smiling, albeit wearily.

'Young Anomen, my people have a saying: a life without tears is but half lived.'

Anomen could not face him, head dipped to offer the only apology any of them would ever have asked of him.

'I- perhaps I should retire – and make my prayers.'

Minsc just nodded, a hand clapped upon his shoulder in parting as he returned inside.

**…**

Fritha tripped lightly down the hallway to the last room where Imoen would be sharing the night with Valygar. Jaheira had sent up the water as she had asked along with a large bottle of wine and news that Imoen had retired not long ago. It warmed her, the small ways the druid found to show her care.

The laundry had hardly seemed a chore after that. Fritha lathered and rinsed with blithe industry to hang clothes upon every stick of furniture the small room held, and little over an hour later, with aching back and wrinkled fingers, she was knocking on Imoen's door, bottle in hand and bundle of washing on her hip. A muffled answer through the wood; Fritha tried the handle.

'Imoen?'

The girl in question was seated at the small table, Imoen whipping back at the sound of door to sweep a pile of books and parchment hurriedly into the bag beside her chair.

'Fritha, I said not to come in!'

Fritha lingered at the threshold, trying to shrug off the snapped rebuke.

'Sorry, I couldn't hear you. Here, I brought your clothes to hang out.' She took a step inside to dump the damp laundry at the foot of the bed, 'There's no more space in my room. And Jaheira sent some wine up; I thought you might like to-' Her eyes caught on the small, fraying volume lying forgotten on the dark green quilt between them, something familiar about the worn, crimson binding. 'That book…'

Imoen leapt her feet. 'I can explain.'

'So, can I. It's from Abazigal's library.'

Imoen was at the doorway in an instant to wrench her aside, the door slammed shut behind them.

'Don't start, Fritha, all right? I couldn't let you burn them all -I wouldn't! You might have been happy to ignore the sermons we spent our childhood listening to in the shrine to Oghma, but I still remember-'

'Oh, sod off,' Fritha cut in angrily, 'you only tagged along to those services because I liked singing the hymns, and I hardly care that you've smuggled some mouldy books with us, but Imoen…' she breathed, trying to impress upon the girl the enormity of her actions, 'what about _Valygar?_'

'What about him?' the girl countered pertly, the sudden dip to her eyes belying the guilt she felt. 'He said I could study magic.'

'_With him!_ Said you could study _with him_ and you said you would! You brought him in to this, Imoen, even got him to help you, and now you're going behind his back.'

'He wouldn't understand!' Imoen cried, almost pleading, 'Valygar sees my gift as a curse, even as he pretends to accept it. With him everything is slow: learn the theory, practise, repeat it and then learn the next, just as it is written. Never pushing forward, never challenging. And you can't understand what it's like, Fritha, because whatever talent I had for the Weave before, it is _nothing_ to what I can do now! I read a spell and it's there in my head, and as I draw on the magic I can see a hundred ways to change it, strengthen it, bend it to my need.'

'This!' Fritha gasped in sudden realisation, 'This is why you've had all those early nights -and the tiredness – you've been reading while he's sleeping next to you!'

'Oh, give over! You're going on like I've been shagging another bloke in our bed.'

'I think Valygar would be less worried if you had! What's he going to think when _you_ can enslave dragons? You said he's already worried by your magic – he'll be even more frightened if it seems like you're just plucking these spells from the ether!'

Imoen remained firm. 'Talk all you want, Fritha, I have to do this!'

'And what exactly is _this?_' Fritha snatched the book from the bed next to them, letting it fall open at random, 'The blood from the sacrifice- _Sacrifice?_' she repeated archly. Imoen bristled.

'Well, I obviously wasn't studying _that_ spell!'

'Imoen, this is dark magic.'

Her friend acknowledged these worries with a sneer. 'Oh, I forgot there's nothing you aren't an expert on. Suddenly, Fritha, who doesn't even know where her magic comes from, is a master mage! You sound just like Valygar, going on about corruption like he's just waiting for me to fall. There is no dark magic, only dark intent, and I'll never get anywhere holding myself back!'

'And who told you that?' challenged Fritha, 'Aurelia? The Cowled Wizards? _Irenicus?_ Because you haven't exactly had a lot of schooling in your powers, have you? They just awoke.'

'Yes,' retorted Imoen, 'like _yours_. Of course, it's not a problem for _you_ to harness your blood, running about as the avatar of Murder, fighting dragons and drow, but the rest of us Bhaalspawn have to sit on our hands and wait for you to save the day.'

'I never chose to have these powers!'

'No, but you use them! What do you think? That only _you're_ strong enough to make that decision! You're such a _hypocrite!_'

'What is this shouting about?'

Both girls whipped back; Valygar was stood in the doorway behind them.

'Vals…' gasped Imoen, a furtive glance thrown to the book Fritha still held. 'Fritha was- was just cross because I've lost those translations she did. But you're going to do them again, aren't you?' she added, nodding fervently as though to press an agreement, 'You know how I need them, Fritha… _please_.'

Fritha snorted, turning to push past the man and stalk through the open doorway. 'Fine. Goodnight, Valygar.'

He raised an eyebrow to the slammed door, the man clearly wanting to ask and thinking better of it, and Valygar moved past Imoen to sink tiredly onto the large bed. Imoen could feel her pulse slowing, the girl making sure she was calm enough to affect her careless manner before perching next to him.

'You should be more careful with your notes,' he sighed, easing off his boots and reclining back against the headboard. 'How do you think you lost them?'

'They were probably in one of the books I sold back in Halrid.'

'Imoen…' he scolded; she stalled any further admonishments with a quick kiss.

'Don't fret, no one but me can read Fritha's scribble when she's rushed it.'

She lay down next to him, drawing his arm about her to set his injured hand within her lap, firm strokes easing out the stiff fingers. Valygar seemed to relax into her, his voice a deep rumble as she settled her head upon his chest.

'Would you like to do some study before we sleep?'

'No… that argument's left me drained. You've been doing your exercises?'

'You know I have. Imoen,' he pulled back, drawing his hand gently from her grasp to face her, 'I know you worry about me, about my injury… and that perhaps you feel with my patience being tested here, you should not worry me further. But you can study your magic, Imoen – I want you to study. The powers you hold within you, they need direction so your magic, when it is called, is used safely. I promised I would help you in this and I shall.'

'That's what you were speaking to Solaufein about this morning, wasn't it?'

He nodded once, his dark eyes travelling over her face, a gentle thumb following the movement from brow to jaw. 'I would do anything to keep you from the fate that befell my own family.'

Imoen could not look at him, pulling away as hot guilt bubbled up from her stomach to leave her face burning.

'Oh, Vals.'

'Come,' he smiled, her embarrassment unnoticed as he gave her leg a rousing pat, 'fetch out your books.'

'Well, we could look at the tome from Master Omir,' she offered half-heartedly 'I've been having trouble getting my head round the protection spell used with the later summoning circles…'

And so she settled into the crook of his arm to study the spells she had read twice over now, and already committed to memory.

**…**

The room was painted in contrasts, glare from the low fire highlighting every plane that faced it to cast all behind in deepest shadow, the air damp and warm with the lingering scent of soap from their drying clothes. Fritha was seated upon the bed, the bottle of wine open at her feet and cup in hand, her head and throat aching with tears that refused to come. Imoen's book was resting on the faded quilt beside her, a memento of their fight and the lie that now gnawed at her.

Anomen hated her, Solaufein was avoiding her and apparently Imoen, her oldest friend, thought she was a _colossal_ hypocrite. Fritha took another long draft of wine in a vain attempt to numb the bitter anger. Perhaps she was. Since the Mir, she'd been pursuing her heritage while keeping all other Children from theirs –admittedly in an effort to ensure their survival.

The wine was a comfort, the liquid oily yet sour enough to leave her mouth dry. Another gulp ached past the lump in her throat. She wished she could just weep away that frustrated knot of weary anger, the girl running an absent finger along her bottom lip, imagining the dark stain that would be blossoming there as she sank the dark wine. Outside, footsteps were moving along the hall to pause before the door, wood swinging back with a creak reveal her reluctant roommate in the gap.

'Hey, Sola.'

'Fritha?' he exclaimed, closing the door behind him, 'I thought you were in Imoen's room.'

The girl said nothing, just shrugged to draw another gulp of the sour wine, head dropped to rest the cool cup against her forehead. Solaufein closed the space between them in two strides, his presence a balm, Fritha lost in the intoxicating heat of his body as he sank down beside her.

'Fritha, what has happened?'

All she could manage was a sigh, the cup lowered once more for another shaky mouthful and her eyes caught his over the rim. 'Why don't you talk to me anymore?'

'I- I talk to you, Fritha,' he countered uncertainly, his conviction rising with his temper as he continued, 'Has Anomen said something? By the Lady's Grace, that man-!'

Fritha just shook her head – he would not acknowledge it. 'We used to talk, all the time. We even talked when we were silent. Now you say nothing.'

'We still talk –we are speaking now. Fritha,' he pressed, fingers moved to brush a stray curl gently behind her ear. 'What is wrong?'

'Nothing,' she sighed, straightening unsteadily. 'Everything. I just… I just…' The world about her was fading to leave only him. She leaned in slowly, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his breath tremble against her parted lips. A firm hand pushed her back.

'Do not.'

'Solaufein-'

'Do not try to mask this pain with something else!'

'Sola, I-'

He broke from her side, only a pace from the bed when he whirled on her again.

'You cannot use me like this, Fritha! You act as though we are friends; call me brother, and then _this!_'

'We _are_ friends,' she cried desperately, 'I trust no one else and- and I thought- I just want to feel something, Solaufein, anything, but this- this grinding misery! Is that so wrong?'

'Yes- no- I do not know anymore! You are always there, to help and guide -and then that flower-' He whipped to her suddenly, hands gripped at her shoulders. 'I would have taken you away! I would have done anything to save you! But you decided to come here and die, and I will _not_ suffer another Phaere! To feel that again only to have it stolen away by some force I cannot hope to fight – I refuse!'

He released her just as abruptly, the man slumping at her side as all the passion left him. Fritha dipped her face, the welling tears brimming over to drip from the end of her nose. Her voice, when it came, came hoarse.

'I'm sorry, Sola, I- Just put your arm about me, please, as you used to – you've been so distant of late.'

The sigh was gentle, the refusal firm. 'No. You ask too much of me, Fritha.'

Fritha stooped to set the cup at her feet, mopping at her face with a sleeve as she made to rise.

'Yes, I suppose I do. But the ache is still there – if you cannot ease it, then perhaps another can.'


	43. Gathering Clouds

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Gathering Clouds**

Light was filtering across her in uneven shafts to pierce her head. Pain stabbed through her temples, throbbing all about her skull and searing her eyes. The floor beneath her was prickly, her first feeble attempts at movement finding her laid upon heaped straw, rough walls of wood hemming her in on either side, and Fritha realised belatedly she was in some sort of stable.

It was an unexpected state she had only just come to terms with before the tall gate behind her was swinging back and she shielded her eyes from the glare, the outline of a man suddenly standing over her, pitchfork in hand. Her alarm was short lived – it was one of the servers from the Rope. The gangly youth started as he saw her, though the fright she gave him did nothing to diminish his concern, thick eyebrows pulled low in a frown.

'Well, now, you all right in there, miss?'

Not even a croaked oath could convey her wretchedness.

'_Oh, Gods…_'

The lad chuckled deeply, reaching down a hand to help her find her feet. Fritha fought the urge to vomit as the world pitched about her _mostly_ upright position.

'There now, miss, that's quite the revel you've been having,' he laughed, noticing the three empty wine bottles poking from her straw bed. 'You didn't have a room for the night?'

'No, I had one,' she muttered from behind a polite hand – her breath would have left a sailor reeling, 'I just couldn't find my way back to it. Oh, my _head!_'

The youth was chuckling again, though not unkindly. 'Here, speak to Hallard and ask for the brewer's special – that'll set you straight.'

Some muttered agreement –nodding was beyond her- and she left the lad there, walking as slowly as she could back across the courtyard and into the tavern. The common room was empty at that early hour and she made her way upstairs, grateful of the gloomy hallway that spared her eyes. It was all coming back to her now: moving through the press of the tavern the night before, unnoticed by her own group or anyone else, to order as much wine as she could carry out into the courtyard, the rest of her evening spent sitting upon the stables roof and getting stupendously drunk.

The feeling lingered still, it seemed, as she shambled unsteadily down the hall. Had Fritha been more sober, there would have been some apprehension when she reached the door to the room where, but a night before, she and Solaufein had been having a very candid argument over how far their feelings could and would stretch.

But she was far too ill to be worrying about any awkwardness now, and opened the door to find him up and dressed, the man just finished buckling his recently repaired boots. His eyes followed her and she could feel them taking in the crumpled clothes and drawn features as she closed the door behind and shuffled over to the bed that was to have been hers. Solaufein said nothing for a while, long enough that even the unease she had previously assumed she was too sick to feel was creeping in, the cool disquiet lingering in his tone as he finally broke the silence.

'You did not return last night.'

'I told you, I went to find my comfort elsewhere.'

'And did you?'

Fritha said nothing; he seemed to glean all he wanted from her look, something about his jaw tightening.

'How was it?'

She turned away; angry he had assumed, angry she'd let him.

'Empty, meaningless -just like the first time.'

The silence behind was mirrored by her, her throat closed in horror of the spite she had just thrown at him.

'I will be downstairs.'

The slam of the door seemed to break the spell. Fritha slumped on to the bed, pain disregarded as her head was dropped in her hands, and dismay turned to anger at her own spiteful stupidity, her tirade punctuated by the violent smash of her heel against the bed frame.

'_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fu-'_

A muffled clunk somewhere beneath sparked her memory; Fritha lowered herself gingerly to her knees, ignoring her throbbing heel. There it was, just a long, dark green glimmer in the gloom and suddenly she was on her stomach, body pressed to the dusty floorboards to grope hurriedly for the good half bottle of strong wine she had been interrupted in the night before.

Well, it would be a shame to waste it, and with her head the way it was, it may be the only cure she could get that day…

Fritha wasted no time thinking up any more excuses. Her flask was fished from her pack, guilt hastening her movements and every other glance thrown to the door as she emptied the day's water into the room's wash basin, the girl shaking the canteen to get it empty faster before she was watching the wine glug nosily in to replace it from the upended bottle. She fastened the stopper once more and her exertions seemed to all catch her at once, the mattress sagging again under her narrow frame. Her head was pounding and the nausea was back threefold - she had left her stomach at the floorboards- the urge to lie down and succumb to sleep almost overwhelming.

However, the mere thought of having to explain to Jaheira why they were four hours behind on their day was enough to rouse her. Fritha rose unsteadily and placed the flask on the dresser; it was a comfort for later and just then she had to satisfy herself with a good wash and some of the clean clothes Solaufein had placed in a neat pile upon her untouched pillow. All the clean water she did not use to wash was drunk and Fritha felt much better for it, the liquid sloshing noticeably about her churning stomach as she, at last, stepped from the dresser.

One last check in the mirror to confirm she did not look half as dead as she felt, and Fritha threw on her bag and shouldered her pack, ready to face whatever trials the day had for her.

And the Fates were resolved, it seemed, to see her starting early.

'Fritha.'

Fritha halted at her name, turning from the door she had just closed to find Imoen tripping up the stairs along the hallway.

'I thought you'd be downstairs by now,' the girl continued, a little breathless from the climb. A wary smile was playing about her mouth as she tried to gauge how close to forgiveness she was. 'I- Talona's Blackened Nails, you look _awful!_'

'I didn't sleep very well.'

'No,' Imoen exclaimed, seizing on this and jumping to all the most obvious conclusions, 'me either! All I could think about was our fight! I'm really sorry. I didn't mean what I said, I- I'm just scared. I know you want to spare me, but I need to do this, I need to know I can stand up to whatever's coming.'

A less generous part of Fritha felt her friend was just making sure she intended to keep their argument and its _cause_ a secret, but she was kind enough to leave Imoen in no doubts.

'Here,' she answered shortly, taking the small crimson volume she had been entrusted with last night from the top of her pack, 'your book. What you do or do not study is none of my business. Just be careful. Whatever you say, magic _is_ dangerous and others may not be so understanding.'

Imoen said nothing but Fritha did not miss the patronising roll of her eyes as the girl shoved it into her pocket and turned back to the stairs.

'Everyone's in the tavern taking breakfast, but the room's practically empty – Jaheira sent me up for you. Come on.'

The others were as Imoen had described, gathered about a table in the empty snug and already occupied with porridge or the bread, cheese and assorted condiments that had been placed for the taking on the long table behind them. The hearth was without a fire and the room was pleasantly cool, though the smell of food was not much helping her stomach. Imoen retook her seat next to Valygar; a place for Fritha had been saved between Jaheira and Minsc, the last two people she could truly count among her friends, the druid pulling out the chair to greet her.

'Ah, and here- By Silvanus, Fritha, you look terrible!'

Fritha just bit back the 'Thanks' and settled on a bland smile. 'I didn't sleep much.'

'Boo says, you do not look as though you slept at all,' added Minsc with a frown. The hamster that was snuffling along the edge of his dish for scattered crumbs turned at this mention, it's whiskers twitching at her extended fingers and Fritha wonder if Boo could smell the reason for her restless night.

'Really, Fritha, you do look very ill,' pressed the druid. Fritha ducked the hand meant to test her forehead.

'Just tired. If you are happy to delay our departure until later, I'll go back to bed.'

Anomen bristled with instant opposition. 'You would honestly have us waste half the day here, so you can-'

'It was a _joke_,' Imoen cut in sharply, 'I'm sure you at least _remember_ what they are.'

Anomen returned to his plate with a scowl, Imoen sending her an imperceptible nod before doing the same, and Fritha saw it as a reflection on how bad she felt that such obvious attempt to win her over had actually made her feel a little better. Between Valygar and Anomen, Solaufein had not glanced up since her arrival, the shame and nausea threatening to overpower her as Jaheira served a good two spoonfuls of congealing porridge into a bowl to place it before her.

'Come, some porridge will set you right.'

'No, no food. I'll just take some tea.'

'I have some shredded betony in my bag,' offered Anomen in a manner much more subdued than she was used to hearing from him, 'it would not take a moment to stew it.'

Fritha closed her eyes and drew a comforting sip of the black, bitter tea.

'Don't waste them, it will pass.' The pain was actually a comfort then; it was too intense to let her think about much else. The meal continued on about her, everyone talking over the best route and where they could next stock up on supplies. Fritha added little; it seemed sometimes all they ever talked about together was their journey, as though it was all they had in common.

The tea cup was warm in her hands, her second of the morning, and her eyes drifted about her as she finished it by sips, watching the dust swirl in the shafts of light and land in an oily film upon the uncovered butter on the table next to them.

'Our route will take us very close to Halziq,' said Valygar, the unusually circuitous tone drawing her attention back to those before her. Jaheira was nodding, finishing her last spoonful of porridge to pour herself some tea.

'Yes, as we said yesterday. We will have to skirt the forest's edge if we wish to avoid it – the town sprawls almost to the treeline. You know something of the place?'

'Only that my mother once wrote of it, or, at least, a mage who once lived here. Memen of Halziq may have long left the town for grander places, but his legacy remains – the town is said to be the rival of any common city when it comes to provisions for the Art.'

More than a few gazes flickered to the astounded Imoen. Jaheira heard his plans, too, her dismissive frown audible.

'I can understand your desire to visit, but a town of that size and so close to the Apagis will be teeming with soldiers.'

Valygar took a different tack. 'We _will_ need supplies by then.'

'Which could be bought from any village.'

'Any village yet to evacuate, and we will need enough for many days within the forest.'

'Vals, it's all right,' interrupted Imoen sheepishly, 'I'm fine with the books I've got.'

Yes, she most _certainly_ was, considered Fritha coolly. The scowl of the woman at her side turned most pointedly to her.

'Well?' demanded Jaheira.

Fritha blinked. 'Well, what? Oh,' she sighed as it dawned. It seemed, when it came to it, it wasn't just useless boasting; they really did rely on her to make the hard decisions. Across the table, Imoen's green eyes were a fraction wider, silent pleading, but whether for or against, Fritha was not sure.

'I see no harm if only a few of us go,' she offered honestly. Jaheira and Valygar shifted back in their chairs with varying degrees of satisfaction. With this matter settled, everyone returned to their breakfasts and it was not long before they were all assembled on the road before the inn preparing to set out once more.

Beside them, two youths were opening the gates to the courtyard to allow a pair of newly arrived merchants to lead their horse and wagon inside, the lad who had helped her sending her a nod and amiable smile as he noticed them.

Fritha raised a hand in reply, the youth no doubt politely waiting for her to leave before he regaled his friend with the tale of his less than respectable discovery that morning. She could not help a smile, though it could not last; their exchange had had an audience. Fritha turned to find Solaufein glowering at her back with that awful, impassive censure. He could not think…

'Solaufein, I-'

'Minsc, here, let me aid you with those.'

Barely a whisper as he brushed past her elbow, and, as ridiculous as it was, for a moment, Fritha felt almost winded, the deliberate way he made sure they did not touch more hurtful than if he had shoved her from his path.

Solaufein was occupied helping Minsc load one of the large water flasks onto his back and Fritha watched them, hoping against all reason that he would catch her eye again and see the regret she wore so plainly. But he did not.

At their head, Jaheira made the call to move out and slowly they fell into step behind her.

**…**

The road was as it had been the previous day, and the day before that, and every day since their departure from Amkethran: hot, dusty and dull. Anomen cast a glance up to the merciless high sun, the movement pooling the sweat that had beaded on his neck and he felt the trail slither all the way down his back. The pale road stretched off to the horizon, the haze of heat that shimmered over the plains making it seem all the more like they were walking the path some powerful mage had parted for them in a great green sea.

His behaviour lately had made a pariah of him and that day was no different, the man travelling alone at the rear of the party, left to his own thoughts. But for the first time in a long while he was not content to spend the journey brooding.

He had prayed last night, not the intoned obligations of his recent prayers, but the earnest worship of those suddenly returned to their faith, A prayer for strength to deal with his anger, for fortitude and vigilance and whether his god had heard or not, it was a weight lifted from him, the man released from a burden he could now admit he had perhaps been clinging to out of resentment.

Before him the others trudged, Jaheira at their head holding conversation with Valygar and Imoen, Minsc and Solaufein walking on their heels in silence and a few paces behind them, almost hidden beneath pack and tall straw hat walked Fritha. To say she looked ill would have been a grave understatement; the girl was ashen. She had taken no food when they a had stopped a hour back, had just sank three cups of water in quick succession and laid down, face hidden under her hat to catch what little sleep their brief halt could afford. He had offered her again some betony for her headache; again she had refused him.

He had hurt her, this he knew, just as her lies had hurt him, and his thoughts were drawn back to their last night in Amkethran. She had fallen asleep little over an hour after Jaheira had retired and he had not the heart to wake her, watch or not. He did not know when he had noticed her shivering, but he could not ignore it once he had, and his own comfort had been sacrificed for hers in the form of his old blue cloak.

He still cared for her – he just was not sure what that meant anymore.

Ever since they had met, it had been the way with them, one always lashing out at the other when angered or hurt. It seemed they were to each other, as his sister would sometimes joke, the best of enemies or the worst of friends. But he could not deny there was a time when they had meant something quite different to each other, and though we was not sure he even wanted to reclaim their lost relationship anymore, he would at least like to call a truce.

A stone in her sandal found her paused, hopping half-heartedly as she shook it free and in two slightly lengthened strides Anomen drew level.

'Fritha?'

She glanced to him, squinting even under the shade of her hat.

'What is it?' came the utterly flat response. Anomen tried a smile; it felt foreign after so long.

'I was hoping to speak with you.'

'I didn't think you wanted anything from me.'

There was no hurt to her tone, no arch accusation. It was merely a dull observation on the state of things between them. Anomen felt the old frustrations coil.

'If a simple conversation is too much to ask-' He stopped; he no longer wanted to be that man. 'I… I wish to apologise, Fritha. My behaviour lately-'

'You had your reasons -forget it.'

Anomen heaved a sigh; her cool acceptance was hardly encouraging.

'I only wish that I could. How does one forget what is all about them?'

Fritha said nothing, only smiled faintly and unfastened the flask from her belt for a quick mouthful.

'I cannot forget,' he concluded, as much to remind himself as admit it to her, 'I can only accept and learn to live with what has happened.'

This got some reaction from her, the girl nodding in absent agreement. 'That is all we can do in the end.'

'Yes, Minsc said something similar last night. He shamed me, though he did not mean to. I was angry that Brieanna had been taken -not by you,' he added quickly, 'but by Elund, by this whole dark prophesy that tangles us all. It came as a blow too soon after another…' Anomen turned to her, her profile revealing nothing of her thoughts as she continued to watch the road they walked. 'You know, I think, the Order has dismissed me.'

'Yes, I heard. For what it is worth, I was very sorry to hear it. It is definitely their loss.'

The words were kind, but something in her mild delivery was irksome.

'An easy platitude to make when you are neither party,' he snapped, swallowing the bitterness with some difficulty to add, 'But I thank you for the intent.'

Fritha seemed to notice neither his anger nor the subsequent regrets, the girl taking another mouthful and finally screwing her flask closed.

'What do you plan now then, when all this is over?'

'I will return to Athkatla and look to my estate,' he answered, glad to be focused on the future. 'Too long it has been without a master, for I do not believe my father was worthy of that title and our steward left a while before Cor died. I will re-open the house and resume my duties to my people. And I am hardly old; perhaps when the time is right I will find some cause I wish to fight for again.'

He smiled, feeling the hope within him rise, not just for himself but for them both. There had been a time when to think on his own future had seemed only to remind him the fact Fritha did not have one. 'I am still a brother at the church, after all – I will put my sword entirely at my Lord's Will. It is a future not so dark as I would have perhaps once maintained, and matters are looking brighter for you, as well, are they not? This cure of the monks-'

The sudden cold spark of life to those dark eyes stopped him dead.

'You- you do not believe it?' he faltered.

'No,' she admitted baldly, 'I don't.'

The guilt he had been so glad not to suffer surged up to leave his stomach empty and his face aflame, his voice low as he pressed, 'Fritha, you say you are set upon this path, but if this Balthazar has found another way-'

She would not let him finish. 'Don't, Anomen. I swear you do not know the half of it when I say it does more harm than good.'

Her sharpness silenced any further platitudes. Anomen cast about them for something more to say, unwilling to end the discussion on such a note, his eyes catching on the figures just before them.

'Solaufein seems withdrawn today. It is usually him here at your side.'

'We are not speaking,' offered Fritha dully. Anomen would have been less surprised if she had told him the drow had suddenly renounced Eilistraee in favour of Lolth the Spider Queen.

'Not speaking? _Why?_'

'Because I said something unforgivably cruel with the express purpose of hurting him -and it did.'

'Well, I am sure things between you will be resolved shortly,' offered Anomen, at length, and only then because he could bear the silence no longer. Fritha made no comment to this, drawing a deep breath to continue evenly. 'I am glad that you are finding the will to move forward, Anomen.'

At their head, Jaheira's cry. 'Here, there's something up ahead.'

Those before them were slowing, Anomen's height an advantage as he gazed over his own group to the gathering of people who were bobbing over the horizon, brought closer by a rise in the land. He wondered, at first, why the druid had bothered even to mention it. Travellers were nothing unusual, though it paid to be cautious these days. Next to him, Fritha ducked further under her hat and Anomen took a step forward ready to shield her from the sight of those approaching.

There was no need though - they were not looking, and Anomen had concluded they were merely more refugees before the first man had even crested the hill; the hunched, unthinking way in which they tramped along that road told him as much. They had more belongings with them than usual, though, or perhaps it was just the means by which they travelled with them that stuck out. Three large covered wagons rattled slowly towards them, these behemoths surrounded by a scattering of handcarts and pack animals, and the group looked more like merchants than refugees, excepting the same broken look every face wore. There were no children in their number, and few women, the men a mixture of ages and all of the local colouring.

'Merchants?' confirmed Valygar, as confused by it as he it seemed. 'Perhaps they have supplies – there was not much spare for sale at the inn.'

Jaheira nodded, waiting until they had closed a few more steps before she raised her hand. Fritha and Solaufein both seemed to shrink instinctively behind the nearest cover; Minsc in his case, Anomen in hers.

'Hail there, travellers, might you stop a moment to trade?'

The first wagon ignored her, as did the second, those walking beside it keeping their heads down, eyes fixed on the road at their feet.

'Will no one trade with us?' Jaheira asked again, getting the attention of a short greying man of late years who was pushing a piled handcart. He paused, the middle-aged man who was following with a laden mule drawing closer to urge him along.

'Come on, Glin, we want _nothing_ from their kind.'

It took little to provoke Imoen's temper these days. 'And what _exactly_-?'

A look from the druid silenced her, Jaheira continuing evenly, 'We merely wished to buy supplies. If you do not want to serve us, then we cannot make you.'

A glance between the two men, the one addressed as Glin finally heaving a sigh to push his cart over to them. His friend remained where he stood with his mule, glowering at the exchange as wagons and carts rumbled past behind him. Glin threw the tarp on his wagon back and rummaged for a moment in the baskets and boxes to produce a rough linen sack, in which he began to toss various foodstuffs he carried with him.

'Are you merchants or refugees?' asked Imoen, her previous indignation much subdued. Glin just sighed and threw a round of cheese into the waiting sack.

'Can't we be both?'

'From where are you travelling?' came Valygar beside her.

Glin seemed to have difficulty saying the word, something in his throat cracking over the last syllable. 'Alhali – though there is no such place to flee from anymore.'

Jaheira was frowning. 'No such-?'

'It was wiped out, all right?' yelled the man behind them, his mule suddenly tugging at his halter. 'That enough to satisfy your sick curiosity? It is _gone!_ Three hundred people, all dead or taken! Bodies left in the streets for the crows and every building stripped of value and torched!'

'We were out trading, making the route north to Pelin,' explained Glin, something distant about the way he was still throwing things into the sack. 'When we came back, Alhali was gone.'

Behind them, the man was trembling with either rage or tears, his voice breaking. 'My children gone! My wife violated and left before our house to rot!'

Silence; only Imoen dared to venture, 'Do you know who-'

'Who else? It was fucking mercs! Giant, mage, drow – I don't care which Bhaalspawn they follow -_men_ did this! This land is damned! Not because of those godspawn, but because people, ordinary people just like you and me are willing to turn on each other, to murder each other, and for what? For coin! Filthy, wretched coin!'

He spat his curse on the ground before them and turned to lead his mule onward with a brutal yank. Glin shoved a bunch of rather limp carrots into the bag and, at last, tied it close.

'That's fifteen silver, if you please.'

Jaheira likely paid him twice what he asked for, just placing a purse into his outstretched hand. The weight alone seemed to confirm to him it was enough, Glin shoving it into his pocket without checking to set his back to his burden once more.

For a moment, no one said anything, that line of bedraggled people pulling away from them in silence.

So what had once been all rumour had now been given form in the drawn faces and cracked voices of those left behind. A whole town was gone with just a handful of people left alive to take the misery of its passing into the world. Next to him, Fritha was watching their wagons rumble into the distance, her face blank. Anomen wanted to tell her it was not her fault, but such a reminder assumed she thought it was, and in the end he said nothing, letting her pull ahead of him a step or two to leave him bringing up the rear alone just as he had every day before.

**…**

Had a day ever been as long? Fritha knew now where she would spend eternity. Not upon some tiled plane, not even in some twisted Hell, but there, wading through amber grass under that burning sky. Her head was pounding, throat screaming for moisture as the rest of her body merrily exuded it through every pore. Under her hat, her hair was soaked through, sweat dripping from the nest of curls gathered at her neck to soak into the blue woollen scarf she had not the energy to remove as she trudged after the others.

Her wine was gone, the last of it drained hours ago to little benefit to either body or spirit, but at least the end was now in sight. Sunset had seen them step from the road, Solaufein's sharp eyes picking a distant farmstead from the golden plains, and it was there they were heading, though not without worries as to their welcome.

'Do you think this is close enough?' asked Jaheira. She clearly did, the woman bringing them to a halt as she spoke, turning with the rest of them to run an eye over the collection of buildings that now stood only a hundred or so yards away.

'There is no smoke from the chimney,' offered Minsc.

'Perhaps it's abandoned,' said Imoen hopefully.

'Well, if it is not, I don't think us arriving in force will put anyone there at ease,' said Anomen. Valygar nodded his agreement.

'Indeed. Wait here.'

And off he went, striding on for a few more yards before he ducked into the tall grass and disappeared from view. He was gone just long enough for Imoen to begin getting twitchy, the girl greeting his return and the news he brought with equal enthusiasm; the farm was deserted.

The farmstead was on a cleared area of land upon the open plains, the grass nearby kept shorter by grazing, though there was no sign of any animals; perhaps the family had taken them when they had left. The house was in the middle of a dry, packed-earth yard and flanked by two large barns to north, presumably to house any beasts in the winter months while, a smaller fodder barn was to the south, the walled frame of a well just behind it.

Valygar still had the lead as they crossed the yard. The ground bore the ruts and divots of wheels and hooves, though in the arid conditions, it was impossible to say when they had been made, the man adding his own footprints to the dust as he headed straight for the main farmhouse. It was a simple building of local sandstone and two storeys, with a lean-to extension on the northern side. Under the windows, someone had planted a small garden, the pools of once blue lobelia flowers since crisped to bushes of brown straw from lack of water.

'Did you enter the house before?' asked Jaheira.

'No,' the ranger admitted, 'just knocked on the door. There was no answer. Imoen?'

The girl stepped forward, lockpicks in hand. They proved unnecessary.

'Vals, it's only on the latch, see? Come on.'

Fritha followed them inside and a nauseous tension she did not realise she had been carrying unknotted in her stomach. A part of her had been expecting bodies, but there were no signs of a struggle, no blood or footprints. Fritha drew a deep breath, and behind her eyes she saw Alhali, a woman lain face down in the street, flies alighting upon her rucked up skirts. She instantly felt sick again. It had been her decision; a battle against dragons would have killed more and with greater ease, but wars of men brought their own horrors.

The room she was standing in was clean and plainly decorated, rough stone walls whitewashed and someone had taken the trouble to paint a border of simple green leaves about the two doorways. What little furniture had been left was neatly stacked in one corner, as though there had, at one time, been a vain hope to find a place for it on some wagon.

Straight in front of the main door, a plain wooden staircase led to the upper floor, Solaufein and Jaheira already ascending into the gloom.

'There's the kitchen in here,' called Imoen from beyond the doorway just opposite.

'There is likely a cellar, too,' came Jaheira from somewhere above, Imoen's instructions to Valygar indicating they were checking the kitchen for the way in, and Fritha stepped back outside. Anomen and Minsc were peering into one of the large sheds and she moved around the side of the house quite unnoticed. Farms in the Heartlands often had their cellar doors outside and there it was, the sloping wooden hatch standing proud from the wall of the house, a door to the burrow of some particularly civilised rabbits.

She pulled the door wide without a creak to reveal a set of stone steps that disappeared down into the gloom and, for an instant, she was frozen by the morbid terror that the bodies she had so feared finding in the house could have been thrown down there. But as soon as the dread rose it was dismissed, soothed away by the fusty scent of mildew and damp earth, not a trace of that sweet, cabbagey decay and, in the end, Fritha did not even bother to summon her werelight as she moved down into the darkness.

It was cool down there, the change in air making the sweat that gathered in a sheen across her brow and cheeks suddenly unbearable and a rough sleeve wiped them clean before she could continue on. The cellar was as large as the building above it, the foundations serving as its wall, while the floor was likely just gravel and dirt beneath the rough wooden planks, a scattering of grain and long sweeping tracks of dust and flour showing where it, too, had been emptied. As in the house though, there had not been room to take everything. In the back, a few sacks of grain had been left beside a large barrel of ale that was deemed either unwieldy or worthless, and just behind that…

Fritha crouched, letting a finger draw a single line of rich emerald green through the crust of beeswing and grim. Two bottles, unlabeled but still sealed, the corks hidden behind a thick cap of dark wax. The Gods were merciful.

'Fritha?'

It was Imoen. Fritha snatched up the two bottles, wincing with every clunk as she shoved them hastily into her bag.

'Fritha, are you down there?'

'Just coming!'

Imoen was halfway down the steps, the girl squinting in the gloom. 'So, here's the cellar. Did you find anything?'

'No, there's only some grain been left. Where are the others?'

**…**

The kitchen was a large room and seemed larger still for the fact it was without a stick of furniture. It hardly mattered, the group settling one by one upon the scrubbed stone tiles. Minsc got a fire going in the blackened fireplace and soon tea was being served out, onions, carrots and some salted goat meat added to the remaining hot water for that night's stew. There had been no flatbreads spare to buy at the inn, but Jaheira had found a cracked mixing bowl and half sack of flour left in the otherwise empty pantry, and the woman was now vigorously kneading the dough for her own. Two rounds were already in the deep stone oven that was set into the chimney breast, the smell of cooking bread wafting about the kitchen, stirred by the breeze from the open backdoor.

Valygar and Imoen were seated closest to it, bathed in fading golden light as they read over one of Imoen's books. The girl had asked a question, the distracted way she listened to his murmured answer revealing to Fritha her curiosity was likely more for show. A linnet swooped low past the open doorway. Imoen glanced up to catch her watching and quickly looked away.

Further back into the room, Anomen was rooting for something in his pack, Solaufein seated with Minsc, the pair saying little as they laid out and checked their gear for the morrow. The quick fix performed on Solaufein's cut boot strap was already coming loose, the leather too thick to sew with any cord they had with them, and Minsc was showing the elf how to punch a hole though the leather and hammer it closed with some of the spare metal studs he carried.

'Can't you take that somewhere else?' complained Imoen over the racket as three swift blows from the mallet closed the first.

'There are only three more, young Imoen. Boo says to be patient.'

Fritha wondered if Boo was not thinking along the same lines as Imoen; the creature's hearing was likely more sensitive than her own and it felt as though her head was about to split in two. A hand at the bridge of her nose tried to massage the pain away.

'Here.'

Fritha glanced up, eyes meeting first the cup and following the hand about it up to that mildly smiling face.

'I already have some tea, thank you, Anomen.'

He snorted, half sigh, half laugh as he pressed the cup into her hand and eased himself down to sit beside her.

'It is the betony I offered you this morning. Maybe you feel the pain is deserved, though I doubt anyone else would agree.'

Perhaps she imagined his brief glance to Solaufein. She certainly did not make up, however, the pointed glare from the drow. A twinge shot all through her chest, and Fritha drew a sour sip. Anomen was right; she should only have to suffer one thing at a time.

At the fire, Jaheira gave the stew another good stir and replaced the lid. 'Right, that should be another hour or so – I'll put the flatbreads along the hearth to keep warm.'

'Here, I'll have my round now,' said Imoen, eagerly shutting her book and gesturing for the woman to throw her one. 'I'm starving.'

'Imoen, you can wait until the rest of the meal is ready.'

Fritha's stomach gave a plaintive gurgle. 'Can I have mine, too, please, Jaheira?'

'Fritha, you should have eaten something at high sun.'

But then Minsc asked if he could have his, as well, and Jaheira gave in with good grace, the rounds handed out straight from the oven as they were cooked. Fritha held a torn hunk of flatbread in one hand, absently chewing as she rooted in her bag for the map with the other. The parchment was getting grubby despite her best efforts, the ever-present dust of the road sending the creamy parchment a dull brown. But it did nothing to hide the details and it did not take her long to find the place, the dot annotated with the smaller, plainer lettering of those less significant sites: Alhali.

'Checking over our route?' asked Jaheira from over the cooking pot. Fritha shrugged.

'I suppose I am. Alhali was large enough to be marked on this map – it was right on the edge of the Apagis. If it is Sendai's mercenaries who struck the place then we should head there. That many soldiers must leave a trail – we can follow it back to her stronghold.'

'It could be occupied by others by the time we arrive,' offered Solaufein, 'Knight, soldiers and other companies we would wish to avoid.'

'Perhaps,' conceded Anomen, 'though after they have investigated the ruins, I doubt they would remain, not when there are other towns and villages in the area which will need their protection.'

'So we're heading to Alhali then,' confirmed Imoen quietly, 'How many days away is it?'

'Well, we will be at the forest's edge the day after tomorrow,' said Jaheira over her spoon.

'And but a league from Halziq,' added Valygar. The druid eyed him coolly.

'Indeed. I believe Alhali is further west though.'

'Yes,' agreed Fritha, using her thumb to measure the distance on the folded parchment, 'probably another two days' walk, perhaps three.'

Jaheira nodded. 'We would be wise to keep to the forest's edge; the roads will be teeming with soldiers.'

Her announcement sapped the last of Fritha's energy. She poured her tea into the betony and drained the lot in one draught; it was time for a very early night.

'Well, that's it for me. I need to sleep.'

'You're going to bed now?' cried Imoen, as her friend made to rise, The sun's barely set.'

'_And_ we have yet to have our meal,' added Jaheira sternly.

'I'm tired, all right?'

Perhaps Fritha looked it, or it was the broken way she had sighed the words, but for once, Jaheira left it at that.

'Then we should discuss the sleeping arrangements,' the druid continued briskly, 'There are not enough beds for us all, so I will take the loft above the storehouse. Fritha, you can-'

'I'll take the loft,' interrupted Fritha, suddenly aware of with whom she was about to be paired.

'Are you sure? There will only be room for one of-'

'I'm sure.'

Jaheira dragged her puzzled frown from the girl to Solaufein. The drow did not raise the expected objection, instead making to his feet.

'Excuse me. I would make my prayers.'

Jaheira waited until he had disappeared through the back door before turning back to the rest of them.

'Very well. Minsc, you can share the main room with…'

Fritha left them to it, leaving the kitchen for the small storeroom which adjoined it to climb the rough wooden ladder that was starched to the low rafters.. The ceiling hatch pushed up with barely a creak, revealing a long, narrow space along the same dimensions of the storeroom beneath, the lean-to roof making a triangular room in which Fritha could have likely only stood upright if pressed against the wall.

The storeroom had been added after the main farmhouse had been built, and the exposed rafters sloped down from the stone of what would have once been the outer wall, no plaster or whitewash to smooth the rough brick. It was not so much a room, as somewhere to sleep the night, likely for a child of the family or some young labourer hired long term to help about the farm.

With little else for it, she crawled inside. After months of performing every private act within the confines of a tent, the attic was positively spacious and Fritha was soon changed and laying out her bedding. Though not wide, there was perhaps room there for two people, if they were on very good terms and not inclined to fidget.

In the sloping roof above her head, a sliding shutter was set, and Fritha drew it back to reveal a pane of dusky blue sky, young stars just emerging to prick the velvet twilight. Solaufein would have liked it up there, sleeping under the constellations he knew so well, thoughts of the man making the ache his absence left all the more noticeable.

How could she ever face him now, even ask for forgiveness for what she had said? Silly, sorry girl – she had made a stranger of the most worthy friend she had ever had, and she had only herself to blame.

**…**

The farmyard was painted in shades of blue, the twilight leeching colour from the buildings and land to stain all in its own indigo hue. The air felt heavy, a gauzy veil of dust and damp hanging in the lingering heat. Jaheira could hear the merry slosh of moving water, the source somewhere at the end of the trail of footprints that tripped neatly across the packed earth of the yard. She had noted it when they had first arrived, an open well just on the other side of the fodder barn and the druid rounded the building to find Imoen naked from the waist up and enjoying a hasty wash over a brimming pail of water.

'Hey, Jaheira, here for a bath?' the girl giggled unashamedly, throwing another handful of water across her lathered shoulders to cascade down her pale back in foamy rivulets. Jaheira just nodded, setting down her bag to fasten the spare pail to the coiled rope and release it into the depths with tinny splash.

Imoen had finished scooping water over her back and was wiping the remaining droplets from her body with a careless hand, the girl finished to struggle into a fresh tunic and slip off her trousers and plain linen underwear in one easy sweep. She paused, bringing the bundle to her face; fresh blood was spotted upon the white linen shorts. Imoen made a casual examination of the carmine blot.

'Ah, I was wondered when that would start.'

'You were…' Jaheira searched for a word innocuous enough, 'concerned?'

Imoen merely shrugged, unembarrassed as she plunged the garment into the pail at her feet and set upon it with the soap.

'Not really, it's always been a bit sketchy. I never even used to think about it until, well, you know,' Imoen glanced up with an unabashed grin, 'me and Vals.'

'Yes…' Jaheira murmured, feeling oddly guilty. The girl's enthusiastic splashing had caught the ends of her hair, the water drawing each tendril to a dark hook. Imoen seemed older nowadays -not just the change to her appearance, but her demeanour, too- and Jaheira was suddenly struck by the thought that she had spent so long worrying about Fritha, that her other ward had grown up without her noticing.

One last heave brought the bucket above the well wall and Jaheira unhooked it to set the pail on the ground before her. Tunic and chemise were instantly hauled off in one, trapped air bubbling up from the depths as Jaheira plunged them into the bucket, letting the garments soak a moment before setting to them with the cracked sliver of soap she had carried since Saradush. It was of a better quality than most and lathered well, the druid beating the balled cloth against a flat stone just behind her that was likely placed there for that purpose, taking efforts to work out the dust and sweat of the day. And then it was her turn.

The soaped garments served well enough as wash cloth and she used them to give the upper half of her body a quick rub down, lingering suds quickly rinsed away and fresh tunic pulled on as Jaheira, at last, made her decision. It may have been too late in the coming, but the offer should still be made.

'Imoen, I know sometimes it may seem as though we are living in a shadow of more pressing matters, but if you ever wished to talk to someone, I am here.'

Giggling rippled about her knees, Imoen glancing up from her scrubbing with a cheeky smile. 'Sune's Unmentionables, Jaheira, this isn't going to turn into a lecture about silphium and wild carrot, is it?'

'No,' the woman rejoined dryly, 'I am quite sure you have _that_ aspect well under control.'

'You're damn right! I think Vals is stricter than me!'

'So his vow to ensure he is the last of his House remains?'

'Oh yeah,' said Imoen, blithely rinsing off the last of the soap.

'And that does not concern you?'

The girl straightened, wringing her shorts out to send a dozen or so rivulets coursing away across the dusty earth, the linen shaken smooth with a cheery _thwap._

'No, I was never that bothered about having children.'

'And you do not worry you may change that view when you are older?' the woman pressed, hanging her own damp chemise and tunic over the well wall. But Imoen remained unconcerned, merrily dancing damp legs into a pair of clean trousers.

'I've got to get there yet. Besides, if we agree on the chance that I will change my mind, then it stands he could, too.'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

The bang of a door echoed from the other side of the barn. Someone leaving the farmhouse no doubt, and sure enough, it was only a moment later a voice split their expectant silence.

'Ah, Imoen?'

'Vals!' the girl laughed in reply, tossing her shorts to land with the rest of her damp clothes upon her bag.

'Approach,' offered Jaheira easily, 'we are quite decent. Ah, Valygar,' she continued, as the man himself stepped from the shadows, 'how is your hand? Do not think I did not notice you avoiding me this morning.'

Valygar looked less than grateful for the inquiry. 'It is fine, Jaheira.'

'He's been training it too hard,' provided Imoen promptly. The ranger turned the mulish scowl upon his lover.

'I have hardly had chance to since your last lecture.'

But Imoen could not be baited away from her usual cheer. 'So I just have to keep you busy then?' she teased, 'Challenge accepted! I'll go warm up your side of the bed.'

A playful slap –where it had landed, Jaheira pretended not to see- and Imoen skipped off, disappearing back around the shed. Valygar watched the place where she had been a moment longer before turning back to the well and throwing the pail the girl had left within. Jaheira offered him a smile.

'She is a good girl – far more sensible than I remember to give her credit for.'

'Even when she is razing half a dockside?' he grunted between heaves. The druid shrugged.

'She has power, that cannot be denied, but it does not mean she cannot _learn_ to use it wisely.'

'No…' the ranger murmured; he did not look convinced. It recalled to Jaheira a similar reluctance to talk from the man not so long past.

'Was that what you were worried about, when you questioned me on my powers at the riverside? Imoen's magic?'

'I-' he faltered, all his attention upon setting the bucket upon the uneven ground, 'Yes, it was.'

And well should he be loath to admit it! Jaheira felt the indignation rise. 'I would have hoped you would have a little more faith in her, Valygar. Have you expressed these worries to Imoen?'

'She is aware of them, yes.'

'Well, that is something, at least. I do not think I would have to tell you how hurt Imoen would be if she found you had been discussing it with all but her.'

Valygar bristled, suddenly straightened and standing at least a head above her. 'If you wish to lecture _any_ in this group for keeping secrets, then I suggest you turn your admonishments on another!'

'What are you talking of?'

'Fritha,' the man admitted brusquely, 'she is holding something back, something concerning the fate of the Children.'

Jaheira did not bother to hide her scepticism. 'And how are you so sure of _that?_'

'Solaufein admitted as much to me, though he will not tell me what.'

'Then I do not know what you expect-'

'Ask her,' Valygar interrupted, suddenly in earnest, 'You are her mentor -Fritha has said as much herself in the past- she may tell you.'

But Jaheira was already shaking her head. 'I will not press a confidence from Fritha. There is no need, she has been questioned on this time and time again and assures-'

'She has lied before – why now do you believe her?'

Jaheira almost bit and stopped herself to draw, instead, a deep calming breath – it was far too late in the day to begin an argument. Fritha had sworn that there were no more secrets between them and after everything it was the least Jaheira could do to trust her. The sharp scent of soap assaulted her as she gathered the damp chemise and tunic over her arm and heaved up her bag.

'Valygar, I think it is time I bid you goodnight – and I will be checking over your hand in the morning,' she called over her shoulder. Valygar said nothing more, threw no parting shot at her back. He had no need; the seed was sown.

**…**

Lifeless black eyes stared back at her from that faded face, paint chipped here and there to reveal the dark wood beneath.

Fritha had found the figurine while packing the wine safely at the bottom of her pack. She was unsure why she had not just repacked it with her other belongings, or why she even held it now, resting upon her chest as she lay there in the blue half-light listening to the old house creak and settle about her, as though it, too, was relaxing at the end of another day. Stars hung in the pane of sky just above, the doll warm in her hand – Fritha fancied it had a look of its previous owner in the gloom: dark-haired and inscrutable.

'And who were you, eh? A mother, a grandmother? Did she talk to you as, I do? Did she sit in her tent at night and talk about her burgeoning hopes, her plans to find me, her joys, her setbacks? Oh, Brie,' Fritha sighed to the darkness, 'Why did you force my hand?'

At the end of her bedding, the hatchway creaked open a foot or so, the braided crown of Jaheira's head emerging from the square of light – she had obviously left a lantern burning in the room below.

'Fritha? I thought I heard you speaking. Oh…' the druid concluded, noticing the figurine, 'Anomen did not want it, then.'

'No…' Fritha sighed, heaving herself upright to set the doll gently into the top of her bag. 'But he seemed a little better today – perhaps I should offer it to him again.'

Jaheira made no suggestion either way, just climbed the last few rungs to take a seat on the hatch edge, her legs still paddling in that golden pool. 'How are you feeling?'

Fritha shrugged and was pleased to find no pain made a liar of her. 'Better.'

'Yes, well, I would suggest a little more restraint to your celebrations next time. Imoen clearly knew when to stop.'

So Jaheira thought she had got drunk with Imoen – well, it had been the last place the woman had directed her and with a bottle of wine no less. Fritha decided against correcting the woman.

'I promise all wine I take from now on will be in moderation.' It would have to be – she only had the two bottles to last her until Alhali.

'Though I do wonder,' the druid continued, 'whether your decision to drink yourself into a stupor came before or _after_ your argument with Solaufein.'

'He has spoken to you?' Fritha cried before she could stop herself. However angry he was, he would never betray her like that. Jaheira confirmed her faith with a mordant snort.

'He hardly needed to, Fritha. You two have shared a room or tent since you both quit Suldanessellar, and now suddenly you are apart? I know a quarrel when I see one, and,' she continued, something about her manner softening as she swung her legs up and closed the hatch to edge closer, 'I know they are often eased if spoken of.'

'I-' Fritha hesitated. It did not feel right discussing something so private, but the burden of it was pressing in and she was so desperate for someone to talk to; perhaps a highly revised version of events would suffice. 'Solaufein believes I ask too much of him… that I use him as a crutch. And he is right, I do. I have abused his friendship from nearly the outset.'

Jaheira levelled at her a doubtful frown.

'Did _he_ say that? I had thought him more than proud to be your second. Do not fret-' she forestalled easily, as Fritha made to reassure her, 'I know that role was once mine, but I do not play the bitter usurped. He was there for you when no one else was, myself included, and I am merely glad you have someone you can rely on.'

'Had,' Fritha corrected. 'I would rather not go into details, but I did ask too much of him and when he refused…' The tears were coming; Fritha did not fight them for long. 'I behaved like a spiteful child and I hate myself for it, because I can't bear him being angry with me!'

A hand landed upon her back, moving in steady soothing circles. 'Oh Fritha, there is nothing here you cannot repair. Apologise and he will forgive you.'

'Yes, he will,' she sniffed, 'and he will support me to the last, but will that be for the best? I've used him, all this time, and though he would never deny me, I know it is making him miserable.'

Jaheira said nothing, at first -perhaps she suspected there was much more to their quarrel than she was being told- though she pressed for no more details, instead offering with the gentleness of one who does not relish what they must say, 'If that is so, then perhaps it is better this way?'

'That he _hates_ me?' Fritha choked shrilly, 'No, Jaheira, I can't! I can't do this without-' She cut herself off with a miserable groan. 'Oh, how easily you show to me my weakness. You are right, let him hate me -what is one more, after all?'

'He does not hate you, child,' the woman clucked, gathering an arm about her shoulders, 'No one does. And if Balthazar is to be believed, soon this will be over and the taint that draws so much trouble to your life will be purged – then there will be no more need for him or anyone else to support you; you will be free to live as you wish.'

Fritha regretted her snort; the tears had left her nose blocked. 'So you, too, have put your faith in the monks' fallacious cure -I am _sick_ of hearing about it!'

Jaheira looked surprised by this ready bitterness. 'You will not even allow yourself to hope?'

'I just do not believe it will be that simple.'

The druid watched her a long time, long enough that Fritha had to turn away, rummaging in her bag under the pretence of looking for a handkerchief.

'Valygar is worried about the same, Fritha – worried that Imoen will not find the peace she craves after Sendai is defeated and Melissan is subdued.'

Fritha shrugged. 'Get your hopes high enough and anything will be a disappointment.'

But the woman was not so easily dodged. 'Fritha, please, if not as your guardian then as your friend, tell me now. If you know something of what is coming-'

'Why does everyone seem to think I know something?' snapped Fritha. 'It is not _abundantly_ clear I'm making most of this up as I go along? Look, Sarevok doesn't believe this can be cured and neither do I. Let Imoen hope if she wants, but I think it all the better if one of us continues planning for the unwelcome possibility that Balthazar can't do a damn thing!'

'And that plan would be?'

'Same as always – keep most of the Bhaalspawn alive, stop any who would kill them, and prevent Bhaal from being resurrected.'

'And Melissan?'

Fritha shrugged. 'She will need to kill me before she can ascend – we have that to our advantage, at least.'

Jaheira nodded and drew back, seemingly satisfied. Fritha added the squirming guilt to the growing snake in her stomach and lay back upon her bedding, shifting up to the sloping rafters on the other side to make room for the woman next to her. For a while, the pair lay in silence, lost in their own thoughts and that window of stars.

'You smell of soap.'

'I washed myself as well as my clothes. I was surprised you did not join us.'

'I'll wash in the morning…'

'It is pleasant up here.'

'Fetch your bedding if you like, there is enough room.'

'Yes, I think I shall.'

Jaheira made no move to leave directly though. The faint breeze stirred through the cloud of unbraided hair that fanned across the pillow to tickle Fritha's ear.

'It never ceases to amaze me,' the woman sighed, 'how I can look upon the same sky for every day of my life and still find wonder in it. I swear, I could live to a thousand and it would never tire. Khalid used to say that those who take the time to find beauty in such timeless things will never want for contentment.'

'Yes,' agreed Fritha, eventually, after all her thoughts of life and death had run their course. 'I was thinking the other day how lucky Abazigal was. For a dragon to grow to such a size, even a half breed, Bhaal must have spawned him as one of the first. He had decades, not just to plan and plot, but to enjoy life –to even have a son- before this war had to become his focus. But then, I suppose this war of ascension was what he was waiting for, so maybe it wasn't so fun, after all. Like a child waiting for its birthday or the coming fair, just aching for time to move faster, unable to settle to anything for the longing… Jaheira?'

A deep sigh, the head that shared her pillow lolling contentedly towards her. Fritha smiled; she would have to wake the woman eventually – she doubted Jaheira would thank her for letting her sleep in her boots, for a start. But for now…

Fritha pulled the blanket over them both and returned her gaze to the timeless sky above them –for one who was soon coming to the end things, that idea it would remain long after any of them had passed was a strange comfort.


	44. Beneath the Trees

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Beneath the Trees**

Fritha drew a deep breath, taking a moment to enjoy the cool morning. The air was damp and fresh with the scent of the ferns that covered the sloping sandstone cliffs as they loomed in emerald and gold about her. She was seated before Jaheira's tent where she had slept the night, but yards from the chattering brook that had likely helped carve that gorge, a stream of stars in the early light.

They were a league from the road and two from the large town of Halziq, the previous evening finding them clambering down into that verdant gully on the forest's edge to make camp in the relative shelter it provided. The Apagis loomed a dozen yards or so upstream, a wall of trunks upon the ridge above from where a small waterfall plunged from the murky depths, the noisy source to the narrow stream.

Her feet were free of their sandals and bathing in the long, dew-drenched grass and, for a few scant moments, Fritha was at peace. Then the anticipated clash of metal on metal came, and the serenity around her was shattered.

Behind, the fourth match had begun and she turned to watch Anomen and Valygar exchange the next few blows. The pair had been sparring for the last half hour, trying a variety of techniques in an attempt to bring the best from the ranger's new style. Anomen had lent Valygar his shield for this round, his mace catching it with a plangent clang as he shouted advice.

'Yes, hold it steady, but not stiffly; it needs to move as you do, if you are to use it to its full advantage. Good. If you find it effective, perhaps you can get one in Halziq today.'

Jaheira frowned into the worn bootlace she was rebraiding. 'I am still not certain we should be going at all.' She threw a look to Fritha, as though she expected the girl suddenly to change her mind and forbid it.

Fritha was tempted. She wasn't exactly relishing the idea of spending a day with only Minsc and Solaufein. The pair were hunched together now, Minsc giving instructions to fingers more dexterous than his own as Solaufein fixed the trap before them. It was not that she disliked either of them, far from it. But the pair had gone hunting every evening since the Rope, an unlikely bond forming between them and Fritha, as with many things, was left on the outside. She would have liked to blame the essence for setting her apart, giving her some strain of imperceptible disparity for others to sense in her, but in all likelihood she was just useless when it came to keeping friends.

Her relations with Imoen were little mended since the tavern. Oh, they laughed and chatted when circumstance forced it, but there was an awkwardness behind it now that made it all seem somehow false. It was the height of hypocrisy coming from one such as Fritha, but keeping her friend's secret felt like she was endangering them all and betraying Valygar into the bargain. Not that she was exactly close to the ranger, but he'd never done anything to her. Perhaps this was how she had been making Solaufein feel all that time. The thought was not a pleasant one.

'Are you sure you will be all right here?' continued Jaheira, almost hopefully. Fritha sent her a smile that was sure to disappoint.

'Course, Minsc has volunteered to play nursemaid to us two pariahs.'

She glanced to Solaufein to see his reaction to their shared exile. He looked away. A crash behind, Valygar cursing into the dropped shield as he ignore Anomen's requests to check over his hand, the commotion drawing Jaheira's far more persistent attention. Fritha decided to leave them to it.

Imoen had confided to her that she intended to use the visit to Halziq to lighten her rather overburden pack of many of the books she had brought from Abazigal's. She had already read them and made notes by now after all, as her friend had cheerfully explained -a thought that gave Fritha little comfort, though she was still happy to see the back of them. And sure enough, Fritha threw back the flap to the tent the girl shared with Valygar to find the ground sheet covered in books, notes and parchment as Imoen arranged what she was to keep and what could go.

'All sorted?' Fritha asked. Imoen nodded her agreement once she had confirmed it was her and swallowed her shriek.

'Nearly… I can't believe Vals is actually the one pushing for this.'

'Feeling guilty?'

The words had escaped before Fritha had even thought about them. Imoen was scowling, Fritha too embarrassed to offer an apology that they both knew was a lie and finding distraction at her knee. _Principals of Summoning_: the tome Imoen had bought from Master Omir all those days ago.

'The Amma… it seems an age has passed since we left the desert.'

'Well, it's been close to a fortnight,' Imoen answered evenly. 'Just think, another may see us free.'

Fritha said nothing, letting the book fall open in her lap as the girl continued, 'It's all right, Fritha, I'm a bit more wary than I was, but defeating Sendai, it's got to help in some way. It has to bring us a _bit_ closer.'

Fritha just nodded feeling choked by the sudden lump that was burning in her throat. It had rather caught her out, the way her last few tenday had crept up on her, the desert and her brave proclamations of Sendai's fall and Melissan's end divorced from what it would mean for her. A couple more tenday, perhaps a month, and she would never sit with Imoen like this again.

'Yes, not long now,' Fritha murmured, flicking forward to the front flyleaf to distract from the burgeoning tears. The first page was annotated in Alzhedo in a neat, scrolling hand, a smile coming as she translated the prose.

'Oh look, there's an inscription. _To Omir, my once great apprentice and now trusted friend, a small guide to help along the talents of which we are both aware. Do try not to be dazzled by your own brilliance. Master Sangeet. _How nice. I'm surprised Omir parted with it after so long.'

Imoen made no reply, suddenly intent on packing up the books about her. Fritha's conscience gave an unpleasant jolt.

'Imoen, he did _sell_ this to you didn't he?' she pressed, her heart sinking when the assurance failed to come. 'Imoen, you didn't- tell me you didn't steal this!'

'I had to!' the girl snapped at last, roughly snatching it from her, 'I needed to study it and I hadn't the time to translate the whole thing when we were with the Amma. Don't look at me like that -it's not like you've never stolen anything before!'

'Oh _Imoen…_'

And Fritha could say no more than that as the tears she had taken such efforts to swallow began to fall, coursing freely down flaming cheeks. What shame! To see what her friend had become, had been forced to become, following her on this path, and justifying it all with the terrible example of morality before her.

Her tears had seemed to have shaken Imoen from her guilty anger though, her friend looking torn between patting her back and just backing off.

'Gods, Fritha, what's up with you? All right, I won't sell it, I'll send it back to Omir. Shar's Nipples, you're so miserable nowadays! I'm not surprised Sola's tired of it.' Silence swelled in the realisation of what she'd said, the girl pressing quickly, 'Sorry, that was… What's happened between you two anyway?'

'Oh, you know,' Fritha hiccupped airily, mopping at her face, 'just a disagreement.'

'Did he, you know, try to _renew your relations?_'

In her surprise, Fritha could not suppress the bubble of wet laughter.

'No! Gods, no! Solaufein wouldn't touch me with the muddy end of Jaheira's staff. No,' she sighed, smiling faintly; even considering the source, the laughter had quite cheered her up. 'It was just a disagreement. He's working through some… personal concerns. I thought it best if I gave him some space alone.'

'Well, no such chance for either of you today,' the girl observed, thrusting the last few books into her bag and placing Omir's tome neatly on the top. 'I wish you could come with us to the town, but since you can't, go make up with Sola; the only one with a face longer than yours lately has been him.'

Fritha knew this was not so. Solaufein's expression had not once wavered from the disinterested mask he had been wearing since the Rope; she had been watching him quite closely.

'Imoen?' came the call somewhere outside. It was Valygar.

'You ready?' asked Fritha. Imoen nodded and the pair crawled out into the sunshine, Imoen hauling her bulging bag after her.

The others were packed and ready to leave, armed as usual, though their armour had been left off – after previous troubles, they were trying to look as little like mercenaries as possible. The two girls shared a brief embrace before they parted and Fritha watched them climb out of gully and disappear into the plains above, the two men left just behind her, talking quietly between themselves. The weight of the day was stretching off before her, the groan rumbling through her stomach;at least she had refilled her flask that morning.

'Do you have the map, Fritha?'

She turned at his voice to find Solaufein busy tidying away the tools he had been using to mend the broken trap.

'No, I gave it to Minsc last night.'

'That she did,' the ranger confirmed cheerfully, fishing the folded square from his bag, 'Here.'

He opened it upon the lush grass and the three gathered about it. According to a farm they had visited for supplies but a day before, many of the farmsteads and hamlets on that edge of the forest were deserted now, the people either taken or had left of their own accord – Fritha was hoping it was the latter. They were only _farmers_ though, as one bitter labourer had explained, so no one had bothered to investigate further, all the patrols for the area centred in and around the fortified town of Halziq.

'I walked the forest's edge with Boo last night and found recent tracks, but only for those who have entered. If they left again, it was not by the same route.'

'_If_ they left,' said Solaufein.

'One of the Tethyran patrols sent in perhaps?' offered Fritha. Solaufein was nodding absently.

'We must be on guard.'

Fritha laughed. 'On guard. Patrols. Get it?'

Two blank faces watched from the other side of the map, one unable to see the pun, the other merely unwilling. It was going to be a long day.

**…**

The bark was rough under her palm, the craggy surface patched here and there in paler lichens. Fritha pushed off from it, trying not to let the momentum take her as she followed that bobbing white head down into the slight dell, the ferns that reached almost to her chest checking her speed. They had walked for a while now, their brisk pace leaving her short of breath. The forest was on the flat overall, but the ground itself was a twisted path of roots and moss, dells and rises hidden by the thick brambles and ferns that could grow in what little light managed to filter through the canopy above.

But it was more than the walk that was leaving her breathless. There was a strange life there that was more that just the varied plant life and its accompanying fauna. The forest itself hummed with a primeval vitality, a secret place of lush shadows and shimmering clearings. Fritha felt a reverent hush pressing on her, the girl trying to keep the crash of her passage to a minimum. It did not seem right to break the stillness in so ancient a place, the forest as old as any hand-hewn temple, perhaps older; a shrine of the land from when even the old gods were young.

She had been using the stream that flowed past their camp to keep her bearings, but they had crossed and recrossed its meandering course so many times now that, if she became lost, the only way she could likely find her way back would have been to follow it.

Ahead of them now, Minsc prowled, moving across the uneven ground with a confident grace neither she nor Solaufein could have managed, even for the man's bulk. He cut a path across another dip, wading easily through ferns that would have drowned her or Solaufein, and it seemed the drow was thinking the same thing.

A pace or so before her, Solaufein was picking carefully along the edge of the dell, Fritha impatient enough to catch the retreating Minsc to push roughly through the thick forest of undergrowth on the other side. One step and her knee jerked as the ground reached her foot an instant later than she'd expected. Her weight shifted and she was suddenly on her back, tumbling down the steep bank the ferns had hidden.

Shouts somewhere above her; it was hard to place them in the crash of her passage, her body breaking a rough path through the ferns. Light was flickering through the leaves ahead, and just as abruptly she was out, tumbling from the thicket into a dry river bed. The water that likely kept it clear in the cooler months was now little more than a muddy trickle - Fritha was rather glad her battered body would not also be forced to spend the rest of the day in wet clothes. The forest looked even larger sprawled down there, ominous and imposing. The trees towered on the fern-covered banks above in a way that made her feel very small and, as much to distract from the sensation as to save at least what was left of her dignity, Fritha sat, and she was still spitting out leaf mulch and brushing dead ferns from her clothes when the men arrived upstream but a moment later.

Solaufein sighed her name like a prayer, closing the gap between them and he seemed almost set to reach a hand down to help her, when suddenly he thought better of it, the drow standing back to allow Minsc to crouch at her side.

'Don't fret, Minsc,' Fritha assured him with a smile, setting her hat back on her head 'nothing hurt but my pride – and my entire body,' she groaned as pain shot all through her back, her head tilted up to try to ease out the crick and it was then she saw it: a black tangle of legs the size of a man suspended into the branches just above. Slowly, it began to unravel. Fritha choked out the cry.

'Spiders!'

Four black shapes were descending about them. Fritha rolled to her feet, sword drawn ready for the one just above. She took it from the air before it had even reached the ground, a thrust up spattering them all in dark green gore.

The remaining three creatures were on the riverbed now, circling them, working together to try and corral them into one easy target; Minsc had other ideas. With a roar, the Rashemi lunged for the nearest. Its ally leaped in, ready to attack this exposed prey and Solaufein sliced through its front legs to finish it with a stab to the face.

The last spider reared back, webs spat into the branches above. Minsc swung his blade about, meaning to cleave it in two, but it was already gone. With a leap, the creature was in the trees once more, scuttling through the branches to be lost in the canopy.

For a moment, they stood, not moving, awaiting its return. Fritha and Solaufein sheathed their blades when it became apparent it possessed enough instinct not to try again, Minsc staking his broadsword into the soft earth as he crouched over the nearest body with a deep frown.

'These spiders, they are as the usual Greater Mottleback breed and yet….'

Shouts echoed about the surrounding trees before he could finish, the voices almost lost to the crash of undergrowth. It was only Solaufein's immediate action that saved her, his hand fastened about her wrist and pulling her into the bank of ferns after him, and Minsc had barely whipped to the sound before a good half dozen soldiers were cresting the western bank.

A few had drawn their weapons, others leaving them sheathed to better plough through the tangled undergrowth, though all were brought to a halt at the carnage they came upon. One of the soldiers whistled through his teeth, shrilly approving. From her hiding place, crouched beneath a canopy of ferns, Fritha considered how it must looked to the newcomers: Minsc standing there in amongst those corpses, broadsword still bearing the dark green gore of his kills, and she was suddenly glad for the ranger's size. If they were to believe such prowess of anyone, it was to be him.

The soldier she assumed was their commander was walking down the bank at a unhurried gait, the red horse-hair plume on his helm swinging ponderously. He was a tall man of the local colouring with a thick black moustache Fritha suspected he was rather proud of by the way ran a thumb and forefinger over it.

'Well,' he exclaimed with a smile, 'we had come to lend our blades to the fight, but I see we are not need. Well met, friend, I am Lieutenant Sashem of the Seventh.'

'Tethryan soldiers,' grunted Minsc. Fritha was glad the suspicion she heard in his tone had not been noted by the lieutenant.

'Indeed. I and my men were dispatched from Halziq to look for another patrol who went missing a few days ago, while investigating some disappearances in the area.' Sashem looked him up and down, taking in the supple leathers and vibrant tattoos, 'You are a ranger of this forest?'

Minsc surveyed the assembled men with an appraising frown. 'All forests are my home.'

They seemed to take that as a 'yes'.

'Well,' continued Sashem, 'I wonder if you might be amenable to earning a bit of coin. We could use a guide, not just someone who can track –we have enough men here with that skill- but one who can read the land, too. I've already had to send back two soldiers after we stumbled into a hornets' nest. And with far more dangerous creatures abroad…'

Fritha watched Minsc weighing the offer, dark eyes flicking to the undergrowth where he had last seen their pair. Next to her, Solaufein twitched, but his worries proved unfounded: Minsc knew his course.

'Yes, I will do this.'

**…**

They arrived at the prosperous town of Halziq a couple of hours before high sun. The walk across the plains had been uneventful, even pleasant in the morning's cool without the usual burden of his pack and tent, though Anomen wondered if the rest of the day was to be as enjoyable. He certainly had little taste for markets and he could imagine Jaheira or Valygar having no greater fondness for them than he.

The four had stopped beside an inn just inside the main gates to get their bearings, their group concealed in the throng that milled before the few stall which had been set up around the nearby shrine to Waukeen. Imoen was positively bouncing at Valygar's side, eager to be into the town proper, while Jaheira surveyed the bustle with narrowed eyes.

'It is busier than I had thought it would be.' And than she had hoped, considering the woman's tone. Anomen shrugged.

'I suppose if other towns have closed their gates, those left open will get all the more trade.'

How his father would have laughed to hear him speak so – you could take the man out of Amn…

'Should we split up?' offered Imoen, eager to be getting on, 'It would be quicker.'

'No,' countered Jaheira, 'I think we would be safer remaining together; we have not had the best luck with anything more populated that a village of late.'

'Fair enough. How about we go and fetch my books first and then get the supplies last. That way we're not carting them ab-'

They turned as one as a patrol of six soldiers tramped through the gates in formation, people hurrying from their path. Valygar and Imoen were suddenly browsing the stall behind, while Anomen was crouched, fussing over a bootlace. Jaheira had ducked into the alleyway just a pace from them, the woman using her vantage to watch the crowds.

'Have they noticed us?' hissed Imoen from the simple clay pot she was examining.

'No,' said Jaheira, 'and they are gone now, but it is good that Fritha did not join us.'

A nod to the passage she had just stepped from and the large bounty notice that had been pasted to the side of the inn. Imoen glowered at it with sober loathing – its presence seemed to have rather robbed the fun from her shopping trip.

'Look, trouble or not,' the girl continued briskly, 'it will be faster if we split up. We'll probably attract less attention, too.'

Jaheira paused to consider this logic and sighed her acquiesce when no flaw was found. 'All right. You go with Valygar and fetch your books. Anomen and I will get our supplies. Meet up back here by high sun – _no_ later.'

And with a trilled, 'yes, yes, highsun,' the two groups parted. The arcane quarter for which the place was famed was in the eastern area of the town, Valygar and Imoen taking a narrow lane to the bookstalls and alchemists' shops that awaited them. Meanwhile, Anomen and Jaheira turned along wider, and far busier street north for the marketplace -according to a friendly town guard.

Even if they had not been told, they likely could have guessed as much. The way was choked with people, some leading handcarts and small wagons, and Anomen found he was being jostled more than usual. Perhaps his lack of armour was helping him to blend in to the crowd – he could certainly see the benefit if this were the case, however irritating the result.

Barely a quarter hour later, and just when he believed the street could become no more crammed, it opened out onto a large square, several neat rows of bright canopies making a colourful mosaic in the centre, while the frontages of the permanent shops lined the edge. People were crowding all about them in a noisy confusion of voices, merchants hawking their wares over the din, the smell of the food stalls mingling unpleasantly with dung from the ambling pack animals.

Anomen tried to ignore the comparisons to Waukeen's Promenade, scanning the throng to catch on the glint of metal. On a less crowded stall at the market's edge, swords hung upon neat wooden racks and next to them… Jaheira could do nothing but follow as he was suddenly pushing through the throng. The older merchant set down the greave he had been polishing with a welcoming smile.

'Ah, a pearl to you, good sir. You look to be a man who knows how to make use of fine quality arms. Might I interest you in-'

'Just browsing, thank you.'

If he was disappointed at the dismissal, he did not show it, the smile not wavering as the merchant left them, and Anomen picked up the round shield that had first caught his eye. It was smaller than his own and lighter too, the curved wood likely alder and varnished to a dark shine that matched almost the hue of the stout iron boss. Jaheira watched him weighed the shield upon his arm.

'I thought we were here for food?'

'What do you think, for Valygar?'

A smile quirked the edge of her mouth – a faint glimmer of approval in her gaze, even as she disputed it.

'I _think_ we'll have enough to be carrying. If Valygar wishes to acquire a shield, then he can come here and fetch one himself.'

Anomen snorted. 'You believe he will be given chance to?'

And, for a moment, he fancied they shared the same image, Valygar plodding sullenly after Imoen, his arms piled high with her books as she tripped from stall to stall.

'Hmm, I see your point,' the woman conceded with a smile, 'Go on then, get it and-'

Behind her, a group of young men had stepped into view and were heading towards them, Anomen's gaze fixed on the blue and grey livery of the Silver Chalice.

'You pay for it. I have to-'

He thrust the shield at Jaheira, the merchant noticing their choice to bustle back to them.

'Ah, yes, my lady, you wish to purchase this fine-…'

Anomen left the merchant to his patter, crossing to the nearest alleyway in three long strides and turning to watch the young knights mill about the now haggling Jaheira. He was sure they had not seen him, and doubted they would recognise him even if they had, but it was better not to take that chance-

'Oh, your pardon, sir.'

He whipped about at the address, the two young boys stood in the lane behind him both taking an involuntary step back. They looked to be barely into their teens and were both wearing the deep scarlet tunics he would have wanted nothing more than to avoid. Oh, Helm, what trial was this?

Just as he had feared, the older lad was opening his mouth, recognition slowly dawning in his dark eyes.

'Here, are not you-?'

The boy was not given time to finish, everyone's attention suddenly reserved for the larger figure who had just stepped up behind them. The angular features were somehow harder than Anomen recalled them, the pale skin tanned now by many days in those warmer lands, and looking healthy against that red and gold surcoat. Anomen rumbled the name with the severity owed to the owner's appearance.

'Cadril.'

'Philip, Sanique,' the two boys jolted to attention, 'await me at the shrine.' The lads hurried past Anomen without a backward glance, leaving the two men to watch each other in a silence that crackled with the tension of a decade long rivalry.

'So, it is true,' said Cadril, at last, 'you are still in Tethyr.'

'And the Radiant Heart has returned as well,' added Anomen coolly. Cadril's narrow nostrils twitched.

'Yes, we are needed here. Rumour has it _you_ gave up the vows you made to the Order to follow a devil who would make this land her Hell.'

'I did no such thing!'

To Anomen's surprise, the knight nodded. 'I believe you. As a squire, you were a braggart and an ass, Anomen, but you were not an evil man, however _others_ may wish to paint you now.'

'Others,' Anomen snorted, 'you mean _Elquist_.'

Cadril merely shrugged as though he saw no need to confirm it. 'Did you know Sir Elquist has put out an order for your apprehension, Anomen? He wishes to speak to you about your recent alliances and how, by association, you have been _bringing into disrepute the honour of the Order's name_. All know with whom you travel, and it has been decided since that she may be a less than virtuous influence upon your actions.'

'Fritha has done nothing but battle to save this land!'

'Do you forget I met her?' snapped Cadril, 'Apart from an appalling taste in companionship, I found no fault to the girl. But, you must understand, Anomen, this war among the Bhaalspawn, it has drawn a very clear line between enemies and friends, and Sir Elquist and others higher up in both Orders do not like to consider the tones of grey your companion presents.'

'And what of us, Cadril?' challenged Anomen; if they were to fight, then let it be then when the old hatred was burning fierce! 'Are we enemies now?'

Cadril heaved a weary sigh, though there was little else about his stance that spoke of defeat.

'We were never friends, Anomen, and I do not pretend to be now, but...' He paused, struggling over the word as though it was hard for him to say. 'I respect you. I don't agree with your decision to leave the Order and rejoin your old group, but I respect you sacrificed everything to do what you believed was right. When we were squires, even after we were knighted, I thought your service to the Order, even your faith was all the means to some personal glory. But you proved me wrong.'

A hand reached absently for the small silver gauntlet of Torm that hung on a cord about his neck. 'This land, seeing what I have seen – the empty farmsteads, that raid on Alhali; they make the old grudges seem so empty. Perhaps we were even meant to meet like this.' He paused again, and for longer this time, weighing something behind his eyes, and when Cadril finally spoke there was a gravity to his tone. A decision had been made from which there was no going back.

'I know why you left the Order, Anomen, to seek out this Five. You are here for the Bhaalspawn hidden within the Apagis. Sir Elquist and the other leaders are planning to march our forces west in a tenday. They intercepted communications indicating the woman's plans to strike Memnon and are preparing thus. _I_ believe she has baited her trap well. They think too much like generals. There are points of strategic importance to the west –the city, the coast, Hegir's Fort- but nothing that should tempt a Bhaalspawn. She will be after blood.'

'Did you tell this to Elquist?' asked Anomen.

'Did he listen to _you?_' the man countered in a sneer. 'If the Orders are tricked to leave these towns undefended and march west, it will be a slaughter. If you mean to kill this Bhaalspawn, if you and your companions have some plan to end her, then act soon.'

Anomen nodded. Only one thing remained between them now. 'And what of my presence here?'

'I will not lie to my superiors, but I doubt they will directly ask me if I saw you.'

'Those squires will talk.'

'No,' countered Cadril, 'they will not. I will order them not to. Some among us still know how to follow instruction.' He moved past him for the square, but stopped at the alley mouth, perhaps not wanting to leave on a rebuke, his half-turned face silhouetted against the market's glare. 'Helm be with you.'

'And Torm with you.'

Cadril stepped into the light and was gone. Anomen waited there in the shadows for a good while longer, trying to gather his tangled thoughts. Jaheira was still at the stall where he had left her, the shield she had purchased slung across her back.

'You are returned, Anomen, I must admit I was worried when that knight left the alley. I assume you managed to avoid him?'

'No, I know him. We spoke,' Anomen confessed, the encounter still confusing enough to stilt his account. 'Both the Radiant Heart and Silver Chalice are here. He told me- I can explain as we go. We need to get the rest of the supplies and leave here as soon as possible.'

'Agreed, but first.'

The woman nodded behind them to a large stall bearing baskets, hampers and a fine range of woven straw hats. Anomen felt his heart groan – it had come to this.

**…**

Voices ahead, shouts lost to the crash of trampled undergrowth. Solaufein had been frowning for so long now he was getting a headache. For him, this should have been an exercise in centuries-perfected stalking and his newly found woodland skills, but the soldiers they were following were so clamorous, he had no need of either.

Perhaps it was an entire life in a culture that honed skills by survival, but he did not like it when others wandered blindly forward into the dangers of the land – it seemed… disrespectful.

Even Fritha moved more quietly than they and he could tell she was hardly trying. The girl was a pace behind him now, moving through the undergrowth as carefully as she could with one eye always upon the canopy, her hat removed to facilitate the necessity and hung now on a cord across her shoulders. She noted him wince at one particularly loud halloo.

'Noisy, aren't they?'

'I am surprised every mercenary and drow in this forest is not here to welcome us.'

Fritha merely shrugged. 'They are probably just watching, waiting until we find the bodies of the other patrol and realise with terror that we are not alone before they strike – that is, according to every horror story I have ever read.'

Solaufein failed to suppress the slight smile, his attention shifting to the broken fern now before them, fronds grazed and hanging limply from their stalks.

'Their passage is not much masked either.'

'Minsc has been teaching you how to track,' she confirmed without surprise.

'Yes, my interest in the traps inspire it. They must be lain where animals pass, the signs of this no different from those men must leave, it merely takes practise to recognise them. My Lady favours those who can hunt.'

Fritha just nodded at first, pausing to edge along the rim of a wide dell. She had learnt her lesson, it seemed.

'And how is your lute playing going?'

'Not as well, I confess. I have practised little since we left Amkethran. I find myself preoccupied of an evening.'

Her mouth opened, and he could sense in her the instinctive offer to help - to play duet that night or transcribe some music for him. But she stopped short, and perhaps she was not only speaking of his music as she offered blithely, 'Well, it can be good sometimes to take a break and learn something new. You have plenty of time to go back to your music.'

He knew his expression was unreadable and this was one of the few occasions where hers was the same.

'Indeed,' he murmured, thinking to end it there, the words blurted from feelings he had believed quashed. 'Though I will be ever grateful to you for first encouraging the skill in me.'

Fritha just smiled and nodded, and he could not tell if she was pleased or saddened by what had been said. He was not sure himself. Whenever they did talk those days they either said nothing or spoke in circles. Her cheek was grazed from her fall and he wanted to ask her if it hurt. But he said nothing.

He was not angry with Fritha, he was not anything, because he had snatched everything he had felt on the matter in an iron fist and buried it so deep he would never have to worry about it again. He was a drow –something that was only becoming more apparent the longer he spent from his homeland- and though the freedom to love and live was welcome, it seemed it had opened the path for other less desirable emotions.

It had been foolish -why should she not seek the company of others if he would not oblige her? But however he had reasoned it away in recent days, it had done nothing to extinguish the fierce jealousy he had never before had a right to, and that had consumed him at the time.

He had never had to deal with strong feelings, at least not freely, and the burning jealous anger when Fritha had told him, when he had watched her wave to that youth in the stables, had been dangerous. All that day he had been hot and cold, constantly snapping at Minsc. To look at her had been torture. But as unreasonable as he was being, he recognised the liability of holding such emotions when he had not the time or idea of how to work through them, and so he settled on the only method the darkness had taught. He had suppressed them and moved on.

'They have quietened down,' offered Fritha to the silence between them, a nod to the last place they had seen their strident soldiers tramping through the trees. Solaufein scaled a nearby hillock of twisted roots for a better view.

'Up ahead, they've stopped.'

And the reason became clear as the pair crept closer to take cover in the ferns that grew all about the edge of the wide glade the soldiers were now milling about. How it was kept clear of either trees or undergrowth though, Solaufein could not guess. The mossy ground was split here and there by standing stones that seemed to form an uneven ring. Many of the man-sized obelisks had toppled, their moss-covered rubble scattered across the clearing in misshapen hillocks of green and grey.

'It's an old henge,' whispered Fritha at his side, 'A holy site for druids.'

He nodded once, eyes back on the clearing; the soldiers had found something on the other side. Solaufein leaned forward as far as he dared, straining to see past that confusion of men. They were parting the ferns on the opposite on the edge to reveal a rocky fissure in the bank behind.

'Here, sir,' one shouted, 'a way down through these rocks and, ugh-'

Solaufein caught the scent on the breeze an instant before Minsc confirmed it.

'Bodies.'

'Jamaal, Edin light the torches, we-' Sashem took a step into the fissure and the glade exploded about them. Six of the uneven boulders that littered the clearing had sprang up, long legs sprouting from in thick black roots, Fritha's cry lost in the uproar.

'Spiders!'

'They're everywhere!'

'Keep together!' roared Sashem, a voice of authority in the building panic as the spiders darted in. The first leapt forward, a barrage of crossbow bolts leaving is face little more than mush, some soldiers hurrying to reload while others drew instead their blades.

The remaining spiders moved as one, edging forward to surround them, when one broke ranks to leap up, webs spat to the branches above to see it swinging overhead. A chorus of panicked screams from the soldiers. Solaufein grabbed Fritha's arm as the girl's first instinct saw her almost darting from the undergrowth to help them.

'It's above us!'

'Run!'

'I said keep together!'

A roar bellowed over the panic, Minsc pounding up the bank to leap for the creature broadsword brought down in a sweep that cut the spider both down and through. So decisive a kill seemed to rally the others, the soldiers pressing their own attack, pairing off to surround and overwhelm the creatures.

The last creature fell with a shriek and one by one the panting men sheathed blades and maces and returned to the grim task of excavating bodies both old and fresh from the spider's underground nest. Solaufein watched them line the rotting husks as neatly as they could amongst the carnage.

'Those spiders, there is something familiar about them… The way they camouflaged themselves and hunted as a pack.'

'Like an Underdark breed,' said Fritha. It was not a question, but he nodded anyway. In the clearing, the soldiers were picking over the bodies, trying to sort their comrades from the older corpses. Fritha watched Minsc make an examination of the largest spider. He looked disturbed.

'Any brought with Sendai would not have had time to interbreed with local spiders,' she murmured absently, 'They must have been here for generations. And that means…'

'There is likely a way down into the Underdark nearby, perhaps even a few dotted about this forest.'

Fritha sat back on her haunches with a sigh. 'So Sendai did not merely come to the Apagis to hide her army, she could have emerged here months ago.'

'And be all the more deeply rooted for it, as well as having a way of escape only a fool would follow her in.'

'Yes,' Fritha agreed grimly, 'but if she plans to march on Balthazar she will have to leave at some point.'

Back in the clearing, one of the soldiers had uncovered an unwelcome truth.

'That body –that- that's Kilten! He was supposed to have left to run a message for the Chalice to Zaeeepur a tenday back! Why was he even in here?'

'Look, here, Jamaal. His throat's been cut. Maybe those mercs got him on the road and then dumped his body in the forest when they were done.'

'And what in Hells do I tell his wife? She expects his return any day now! Those bastard mercs!'

Jamaal vented his anger on the nearest spider corpse, a furious kick sending the severed half of its bloody abdomen airborne, the hunk of dead flesh arcing up to explode against the tree just behind, showering them in gore. Fritha's hand over her mouth did little to mute the shrill squeak.

'What was that?'

Within the ferns, two faces whipped to each other in dawning horror.

'It came from the bushes.'

'If you can understand me, step out _now!_'

An instant for each to weigh the risks to the other and they were suddenly locked, hands upon each other's shoulders and each struggling against the other, fighting to prevent their friend from rising.

'I warn you now, _step out!_'

Somewhere outside the thicket, the slide and click of loaded crossbows. For an instant, the struggle intensified, Solaufein using his strength to force her down, and he was nearly away from her when-

'Please, don't shoot!' Fritha cried, as shrilly as any young damsel in danger. Solaufein stopped. Fritha was smiling, the smug quirk her lips almost daring him to stand _now_. Three words saw her released in mulish defeat, the drow slumping back to the soft earth, while she pulled on her hat to struggle to her feet.

'A girl?' someone gasped warily.

The crossbows had yet to be lowered, the men still tense from the fight, Fritha gazing wide-eyed about that ring of swords and distrust.

'Who in Hells are you?' demanded Sashem.

Fritha did the only thing she could do, and promptly burst into tears. Minsc saw his cue.

'Oh, what is this, young maid?' he boomed over her noisy sobs, 'Do not fear us, we mean you no harm –is that not so, good Sashem?'

'Why, yes, of course,' the lieutenant agreed, seemingly flustered at the way matters were quickly spiralling from the familiar. 'We mean you no harm, girl. Now, why you were following us?'

'My- My brother went to hunt in the forest two days ago,' Fritha hiccupped valiantly, 'and he hasn't come back.' With her hat on she likely passed for a human, the girl holding her scabbard awkwardly away from her side as though scared it would tangle about her legs. 'I took my father's old sword and came to look for him – I knew it was dangerous, but I just couldn't leave him! But I came in too far and got lost, and when I saw you soldiers I followed you – I-I just wanted to find my way back home!'

'Oh, there now, do not weep,' soothed Minsc, beckoning the girl forward to place a paternal arm about her shoulders, 'the threat is over now. Here, is your brother among these dead?' Fritha sniffed plaintively and shook her head.

'Well, then perhaps there is a chance he lives, yes? These soldiers are heading now to Halziq –is that where you live?'

'No,' she ventured tremulously, 'I'm from a farm to the east, just on the forest's edge.'

Minsc beamed. 'Well, then, Boo and I will escort you home. You can find the way back alone?'

The question was posed to the lieutenant, Sashem starting at the sudden address.

'I, well-' He clearly wanted to question the girl further, but he was equally reluctant to speak against Minsc and his hesitation was being noted, his men shifting restlessly about him. An instant longer left to flounder before pride won out. 'We can find our way back,' he assured Minsc almost sharply, fingers smoothing his thick moustache. 'Though you will have to attend the barracks as well to collect the payment I promised.'

'No, no,' the ranger dismissed, 'to patrol the forest thus is my duty. Keep your gold. Come now, young maid,' he continued to Fritha and making to lead the way eastwards, 'be careful of the roots here. I will speak to your family when we arrive, and perhaps I can search for your brother, yes?''

Solaufein watched them go, waiting for the men to return to the bodies before he ventured to follow, keeping his movements low and quick within the undergrowth. It seemed his skills would not be untested after all.

**…**

'And that other one you suggested,' snapped Imoen, '_The_ _A B C of Magic_, or whatever it was!'

'It was _Deleani's Arcane Primer_,' retorted Valygar, 'and it is book you will find in many mage's libraries!'

'Yeah, from when they were apprentices!'

'Something which you freely admit you never were! It contains some essential cantrips for miscasting protection and a passage on spell control. I was _trying_ to help fill the gaps in your training – starting with the fundamentals!'

Anomen let the noise of their squabble drift over him with the warm afternoon breeze. It seemed Valygar's reasons for making the highly surprising suggestion to visit Halquiz's magic quarter and encouraging _anyone_ in their pursuit of the Art were now laid bare, and his attempts to re-educate Imoen from the basics up had not gone down well with the girl. The pair had been arguing since long before they had met him and Jaheira at the town gates two hours ago, and it showed no signs of ending any time soon. Every now and then, a stony silence would fall between the pair, then one would remember something else and the whole argument would have to be gone over again most vociferously. Lonely as he had been at points in his life, listening to it made Anomen glad he had no lady.

'The others are returned,' came a quieter voice next to him and he turned in time to see Jaheira nod to the frail tendril of smoke that was rising into the amber sky from the gully he knew was still hidden by the long grass.

Anomen's stomach made his answer for him, and he realised with its growl that he had not eaten since breakfast. As soon as the thought occurred and it was as though all the energy left his bones. All he wanted that evening was to sit by a fire with those who knew him and share a meal.

'And what were you speaking so long about with that bookseller? Even when you sent me off to buy some salted bread, I returned to find you still there.'

'I told you, we were just talking! I didn't buy anything – check my pack if you don't believe me!'

'And leaving that tome with the Wind Rider Carriers at the shrine to Shaundakul – I thought you had _bought_ that book from Master Omir.'

'I did, but for the price they would buy it for here, I thought he might like it back! Ilmater's Bleeding Heart! I was trying to be _nice!_'

And to be _far_ away from those two.

'You are quiet, Anomen,' offered Jaheira. He could not refute it. He had already told her all Cadril had said and the added pressure of time the knights presented. If the Orders moved their combined forces against Sendai before they found her, it could force the drow to move, to go to ground, even to march her army and all their plans would be thrown into the air.

'I have little to say. I only hope the others have had more success than we have.'

Jaheira glanced to the wide-brimmed straw hat that was hanging on a cord across his shoulders resting upon the pack he bore, the shield he had bought for Valygar hidden within, and Anomen suspected he looked just like any other traveller.

'You have known a long while that you have been expelled from the Order,' the druid confirmed at length.

'Aye,' he sighed, 'long enough and the wound is healed -as much as it can be. Have no worries there, Jaheira.'

Ahead, the yellow scar of the gully was splitting the plains and they reached the edge to find the others below as Jaheira had predicted. Solaufein and Minsc were busying themselves over a pair of rabbits their traps had caught during the day, while Fritha was laid out on one side of the fire, drawing eager mouthfuls from her open flask and enjoying the last of the sunshine. Her cheeks seemed flushed and he wondered if she had caught the sun, the girl waving as she saw them to sit with an earnest look, and he knew then both groups would have a story to tell that evening.

Minsc was there to help them with their laden packs by the time they had picked their way down the rocky slope, Jaheira already stooped over her own pulling out flatbreads and dried meat while shouting for water to be readied and the fire built up. To Anomen's weary body, her barked orders were a song.

'How was it?' asked Fritha from the pile of firewood she was deliberately laying stick by stick upon the building flames.

A 'hmph!' from Imoen told her all she needed to know regarding one aspect of their trip, Jaheira continuing more helpfully, 'Smoothly enough, and we have supplies now for over a tenday if we are frugal, though Anomen was recognised by the local delegation of knights.'

'By the Silver Chalice?'

'No,' he admitted, 'by Sir Cadril. The Order has joined again with the Chalice, though he assured me he would not tell them of my presence here. Apparently, I have been labelled a recreant, and should expect fitting treatment if discovered.'

A quirk to her brow and slight purse of her lips were the only things to betray the guilt Fritha likely felt.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' she sighed eventually, drawing once last mouthful and screwing closed her flask. 'You're back no sooner for it though - this happened just before you left?'

'No, a short time after we arrived at the marketplace actually.'

'And you stayed there with such a risk of being seen?' the girl cried, astounded glare thrown between him and Jaheira as though she did not know who to explode at first. Anomen fought against a smile.

'There was little risk, Fritha, Jaheira saw to that.'

He ducked slightly, drawing over his head and tossing to her the wide-brimmed hat from where it had been hidden behind his broad shoulders. Fritha threw a jubilant laugh to the sky.

'_Aha!_ Another joins our ranks, Solaufein!

'Indeed,' the drow quipped, 'Perhaps you can even aspire to a bounty.'

Anomen snorted, catching it easily as Fritha tossed it back to him. 'I hear they only reserve those for the best of us.'

'Ah, tis true,' Fritha sighed, 'you have to be something very wicked to get a bounty. Still, don't give up, I'll get you there yet.'

'Come,' laughed Jaheira, giving the girl's shoulder a fond slap, 'let us serve out this tea and share our tales of the day.'


	45. Storm Front

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author'__s note: Apologies for the wait; one of my _lovely_ betas was at DragonCon, so she had to take some time out to finish her costume. Anyway, as usual, thanks to both my Betas and everyone who left feedback on the last couple of chapters, and, as ever, please read and review._ ^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Storm Front**

They reached Alhali at sunset. Solaufein had first spotted it hours ago, and since then it had been slowly rising from the horizon with their approach, a solitary outline of black upon bloody plains, the land stained red under the sinking sun. And always beside them, but a few hundred yards across the grasslands they walked, that meandering wall of black trunks, the dark belly of some verdant snake; the Apagis and all it secrets was waiting for them.

For hours, the town had seemed to grow no closer, and Fritha had even considered they might not reach the place before nightfall. And then, all at once, they were there, standing on the edge of where dried, yellow grass finally gave way to packed earth, the plains worn away by the attrition of feet that would never walk there again. Fritha wondered how long it would be before the grasslands claimed the place once more. Alhali was deserted, and yet there was something more than a mere lack of people – it was as though even the spirit of the place had gone. The buildings before them were empty, smoke-blackened shells where they had been set ablaze, the packed earth streets and walls stained here and there in a dark russet Fritha had seen all too many times.

Murmured prayers behind her; Fritha was unable to manage even that and she merely stood there, staring across the desolate vista and taking in every monstrous detail, choked by the idea that some decision she had made in a distant place and time had allowed such horrors. She did not know when she had begun to tremble, only that she was now, body quivering with an anger it was not large enough to contain. That there were men in the world who could inflict such atrocities upon another! Perhaps the Murder whose divinity she was soon to embody was not so terrible – she certainly felt she could take great pleasure in it then.

'You did not do this,' murmured Anomen at her back, taking her shaking for fear or sorrow and placing a firm hand upon her shoulder. Fritha fought the urge to shove him back and instead set out to distance herself from the needling contact that had stirred up her bile.

'Come, we should scout the area before nightfall.'

They moved as a group along the main street. A square had been left open in the settlement's centre and it was there they split up, Imoen at her side as she had been those last few days, though whether it had been Fritha's tears before Halziq or her fight with Valygar after it which had brought Imoen there, Fritha still did not know.

Alhali was either a large village or a small town, expanding into the plains over the years as was needed. It was certainly large enough that they could lose the others after a street or two. Fritha moved along the wide lane with Imoen, not wanting to see but feeling compelled to look at the charred shutters of gutted homes, dust blown across yawning doorways and the smell of decay wafting from the buildings with the buzz of flies.

They saw no bodies though, merely darker stains on the ground where they had been cut down, the dusty streets pocked by a chaos of hoof and footprints likely belonging to the soldiers who had cleared them. At the end of the lane, the grass of the plains swayed in serene ignorance around a large square of freshly tilled earth. Fritha led them right up to the edge. It had no marker, but she knew what it was.

'A mass grave,' said Imoen bleakly. Fritha wondered if she had been hoping for survivors.

'Whoever came here after the mercs likely ordered it dug. The ground would have had to be consecrated and the bodies blessed to ensure they did not rise again.'

Fritha turned away, her gaze back on the settlement behind her and she had reached for her flask without thinking, the mixed liquids within warm and sour. Imoen sighed, nodding to the canteen as she lowered it.

'Here, let's have some of that. I drank all my water this afternoon.'

Fritha suppressed the instant urge to lob the flask as far as she could into the plains. 'Ah, best not. I think I might have a cold coming on.'

'What? Don't be daft. The quarters we live in, whatever you get I'll likely catch anyway.'

The girl had her hand out expectantly. Fritha sighed and passed the flask to her, watching as Imoen raised it for a swig and coughed over the mouthful.

'Bloody Hells! What- what's in here?'

'A mixture of a strawberry wine I found at that abandoned farm we stayed in and a very rough port I bought from those travellers we met a two days back. I'm not drunk,' Fritha sighed, smiling absently as she recalled a similar declaration from long ago, 'it's just something to take the edge off.'

'Fritha, this… You shouldn't-'

'Well, I am.' Fritha snorted, shoving the flask bag into her back to catch Imoen with a hard look. 'Now we've both got a secret.'

Imoen opened her mouth, more than ready to take great umbrage at the comparison, but another's shouts cut her off. After so long, Fritha felt attuned to his voice.

'Solaufein!'

The shouting was close, but hard to pinpoint, echoing against the empty buildings. Fritha tore down the street in a cloud of dust. At the end, Solaufein had just staggered into view, sword drawn, but held back, his free hand locked about a ragged youth and struggling to hold him back without allowing injury to either of them as the child thrashed and punched at any part of the drow he could reach.

'_You! You did this! I'll-_'

'Sola!'

He turned at the cry, the boy managing to land a punch to his stomach that likely more surprised than hurt the man, though the ingrained reaction could not be caught in time. The sword was dropped, Solaufein's freed hand swinging in to snatch the boy's arms and hoist him to his toes. A shriek split the air like a hawk's cry.

'_Leave him alone!_'

A girl had streaked from the abandoned building just behind to barrel bodily into the drow, her small fists pummelling anything she could reach as Solaufein struggled to hold them both.

'_Let him go!_'

'_Get off me! You're with them! I'll-'_

Fritha grabbed the boy's collar to haul him about, the young girl dancing back from Solaufein in her surprise.

'You'll _what?_' Fritha demanded, stooped and snarling, her face but an inch from his. All the fight seemed to leave him and he was just a child again, grubby, gaunt and utterly broken. A hand at her shoulder; Imoen's voice was unusually soft.

'Fritha, he's just a kid.'

Fritha released him to stand beside the girl, both bedraggled and wary, glowering up at her from beneath unkempt dark hair. They were of a similar age, about twelve years old and of the local colouring, their plain linen kurtis stained with sweat and dust.

'Not one step, either of you,' she muttered, turning from the pair to spare a glance to Solaufein, the man sending her a nod as he sheathed his blade. The thunder of footsteps behind them, Valygar pounding around the corner with Minsc, Jaheira and Anomen.

'Imoen, what had happ- Children?'

'Helm's Mercy…'

Jaheira crouched before the pair. 'What are your names?'

'Don't tell her, Palenna!' cried the boy, his face crumpling to a wince as soon as the words left his mouth. The girl just sighed, sweeping her long ratty braid over her shoulder.

'I'm Palenna and this is Harrit.'

'Is it only you here?' continued Jaheira. The pair shared a glance and nodded.

'Did you see what happened?' asked Fritha. Harrit squared narrow shoulders to the question.

'Men came.' A nod to Solaufein, 'Some were like him.'

'Where?' pressed Fritha. She could likely guess, but they needed to build an alliance through shared action. 'Show me where they came from.'

They followed the children to the other side of the settlement where the plains began again for barely fifty yards, leading straight into the black shadow of those looming trees and the flattened path through them which was obvious even from that distance, as though they were daring anyone to follow. Fritha gazed past it, deep into the forest's gloom. There was something about Apagis. It was not like the Wealdath, parched and brittle, only ever a lighting strike away from fire. But it was little like the swampy mangroves of the Mir either, all droning insects and stagnant water. The Apagis felt… _aware_, as though the forest itself was watching them, waiting to see what they would do and how it would be forced to react.

'We had just sat down to supper,' began Harrit, his eyes distant as he stared into the trees as she had been, as though recalling some vague memory from long ago. 'There was shouting and screams from outside. Pa went out into the street – he didn't come back. Ma sent me out the back door, told me to run into the fields. I met Palenna – it had been the same for her.'

'There were other kids, too,' the girl explained, 'hiding in the grass. Someone shouted to head for Gujert, the next village over, but my brother, Pharran had been out in the cowshed. I needed to find him.'

'Palenna and me went back. Our street was on fire. The men were rounding up the animals and-' the boy gulped over the words, 'and some of the people. They were taking orders from ones like you.' Solaufein straightened, but did not turn from the boy's glare. 'We hid and waited until they were gone.'

'But why didn't you try to get to Gujert or tell the knights you were here when they came,' asked Imoen.

The pair shrugged, Harrit adding tonelessly, 'This is our home. We're all that's left.'

'Not all,' corrected Valygar, 'We met some merchants on the road from Alhali who had been away from the town when the attack came. They were heading east.'

A sudden hope lit Palenna's round face. 'Uncle Teevan was out when the attack came. Perhaps we should go look for them.'

'No!' cried Harrit, glowering at her in this betrayal.

'The lad is right,' agreed Jaheira, 'we do not know where they will be headed and that distance would be dangerous to travel alone. But, you are correct as well, Palenna, you cannot remain here-'

'Yes, we can!' yelled Harrit, 'There is food in some of the houses and the well has water!'

'It is not safe-'

The boy would not hear it. 'I'm not leaving,' he shrieked, suddenly wild, 'I'm not leaving till Ma-! I saw them take her! She's alive! If we leave and she comes back- Don't touch me!'

A small fist lashed out, Jaheira darting back and snatching his arm as he made to flee once more.

'Get off- get off me!'

'Harrit, stop!'

'That's why we've come.' Fritha's voice was steady, cold even, cutting through the escalating tempers. 'We're going to get them back, Harrit, everyone they took, everyone that we can. But we need to know you're safe before we go.'

'Harrit, please,' ventured Palenna quietly, 'they're right.'

'Fine,' he muttered at last, wrenching away from Jaheira to mop sullenly at his face with a torn sleeve.

Fritha nodded once. 'You must leave here, and go to…'

'Go to Halziq,' provided Anomen. 'It will take only a day by the main road. Once in the town, head for the Shrine to Torm and ask for Sir Cadril. He is… a friend of mine. He will help you.'

'You should remain here tonight though,' added Jaheira, turning to usher the pair before her. 'Come, you can take a meal with us.'

They made camp in the dust of the main square –no one had wanted to stay in any of the houses- Harrit and Palenna huddled on the other side of the fire, sharing a warm flatbread. Fritha could not look at them, and even the sharp contents of her flask could not ease the nauseating guilt. Her decision had caused this, had left them and countless others without parents, destroyed families and lives.

The world had put their deaths at her feet and there was nothing she could do. She couldn't set it right. She couldn't make it better. All she could do was take retribution.

In the pit of her stomach, the Blood purred.

**…**

Solaufein kept low in amongst the ferns, body pressed to the bank that rose another foot or so above the brim of his hat. The sound of breathing marked Valygar's presence in the ferns somewhere to his left, though it was almost lost to the shouts and steady strike of tools that echoed up from the gully just over the rise. After eight days in the forest, they had found it.

They had entered the Apagis the morning after reaching Alhali, Harrit and Palenna given enough coin and food to last the day before being set upon the road for Halziq. Their own company had set out on a different path, following the clear trail that had been left through the undergrowth, and it was as the dusk was falling they finally came upon a campsite, deep within the forest and long since packed up in a trap that the mercenaries had seemingly grown bored of waiting to be sprung.

They had camped the night there, in what little cover they could find, and the following day found them picking the most promising trail to follow it south-east, deeper into the forests. The trail had gone cold only a day later though, and for two more days they wandered one hopeless trail after another until-

A crash of rubble from somewhere over the rise above them, angry shouting mingled with the cries of some unfortunate who was taking the blame in a beating. Slowly, Solaufein crept further up the bank, the stirring ferns next to him indicating Valygar was attempting the same. Two days ago, Minsc had returned late from a hunt to tell of an outrider he hand seen leading his horse back through the forest, the tracks it had left still fresh the morning after, and now there they were.

He inched his body further up the bank, ignoring the irritating bristle of the fern stalks and the dead leaves that were gathering in his belt. He had first heard the encampment an hour ago, whispering on the edge the forest's serenity like a distant storm, and he and Valygar had been creeping closer ever since. The ridge was just above him now, the ferns coming to an abrupt end as the bank fell away in a rocky escarpment.

The shallow gully it dropped down to was too large to be natural, the clearing at least the size of Thinegate's market square and ringed by cliffs slightly taller than a man, the once thick carpet of moss and ferns more recently cleared back to the dirt by the insistent tramp of countless feet. Directly opposite them, a fissure split the opposite rock face. It appeared to have been made much wider by recent digging, a steady stream of broken men and the occasional woman pushing barrows full of stone from the yawning hole, all under the watchful eyes of their mercenary guards.

The reason for this excavation was set to their right, an ancient building rising in dark, lichen-encrusted sandstone over two floors to dominate a good half of the clearing. A narrow tower rose above the main building for another three storeys, the wood of recently restored main doors looking fresh and incongruous in their ancient stone frame.

It seemed to Solaufein like some combination of fort and temple. The thick stone walls were set with narrow, defendable windows, the tower summit crenulated, while the whole building was encircled by a high stone wall. But for its clearly martial function, every lintel, frame and key stone was covered in carvings, symbols and scenes of a faith he suspected had long since been forgotten from the state of disrepair. All over the walls and building, bright yellow patches of freshly quarried sandstone showed where repairs had been made and a whole team of slaves worked still to mend a breach in the rear of the walls, while at the front gates…

Solaufein felt his nostrils twitch, the only outward sign of the myriad of emotions that churned within as he watched two fellow drow in discussion before the gateway. That they were out in the light, albeit muted by the trees, without veil or shade for their eyes meant they had likely been there a few months at least. For a moment, Solaufein just watched them, the rest of the camp fading away. The way they moved, so fluid and sharp, seemed familiar and yet all at once alien to him. Even the subtle posturing in their exchange, the ever-present vying for an advantage over ones fellows that had once been as familiar to his state of being as drawing breath now looked complex and pointless, and he was struck by the idea that even if he had desired to return to the Underdark, it may have no longer been possible for him.

To the left of the clearing and opposite the temple, four large pavilions and a scattering of smaller tents had been pitched, soldiers in a mix of blue and green livery milling about the cooking fires. Solaufein counted little more than twenty men, though - hardly the numbers Sendai was reputed to have gathered by now. The thought had him inexplicably worried.

At his side, Valygar was moving through the ferns, retreating back from the bank and Solaufein followed him, the pair reconvening behind the rotting trunk of a fallen tree at the foot of the embankment.

'So that was why they've been raiding villages,' the ranger murmured, 'for slaves to mine and repair that temple.'

'I do not see many here for all who are supposed to be missing,' offer Solaufein grimly.

'Perhaps they are underground at the rock face.'

'Or perhaps the mercenaries go through them quickly. That temple… Why would she bother to restore it, unless… We need to get closer; we've nothing useful yet to take back to the others.'

'We help no one if we are seen.'

A blithe whistling cut their argument dead. Behind them a youth in the dark green of a local merc band was strolling along the foot of the embankment on a cheerful patrol of the perimeter. Solaufein tensed, ready to leap up as the youth set to pass right next to the trunk they were crouched behind. But just before he reached them, the youth turned sharply, wading through the ferns back towards to forest proper to stand before a nearby tree. The sound of falling water pattered the bouncing ferns; they could not have asked for a better distraction.

Solaufein slipped a hand into his bag and pointedly withdrew a coil of rope. Valygar nodded once, the man rising to a half crouch to circle about into the trees before the lad as Solaufein stepped up behind. The youth noticed neither of them, head down and fingers fumbling with the ties at his breeches. The drow drew a breath and-

'Surfacer!'

The lad whipped round with a start. 'Wha-? Shit! Don't sneak-ugn!'

A large, swarthy hand muffled the rest, the boy's eyes wide as Valygar was suddenly behind him, one hand clamped over his mouth while the other arm was fast about his waist. He began to struggle; Solaufein was ready for him, the boy brought double by a sharp punch to stomach, and the rope was bound about his wrists before he had even chance to pull them back. Solaufein was already crouched and binding his ankles similarly, Valygar fastening a strip of linen about his mouth and, as soon as it had begun, it was over. Valygar had the boy's weight, the youth laid gently to the ground beneath them. He did not make a noise, did not even struggle. He seemed too shocked to react and just started up at them breathing heavily, eyes-wide over his bleeding nose, like a hind waiting for the knife.

'Come,' said Valygar, making a quick check of the ropes before heaving the youth up over his shoulder with a grunt. 'We should get back.'

**…**

It had been Minsc who'd found it, four days ago on one of his scouts further into the forest. The hollow was at least five yards across, left by an uprooted tree that was now slowly decaying to mulch, and it had not taken long for them to cover the hole with their tarp. The pegs had sunk easily into the peaty earth, that pale expanse of canvas strewn with leaves and dirt until it had merged seamlessly with the forest floor.

Inside, it was muddy, dark and crawling with insects and worms that coiled helplessly from the earthen walls. _And_, for the last four days, it had been their home as they had searched the surrounding forests in vain. But that morning…

Solaufein and Valygar were still out, following the trail of the outrider Minsc had first seen the night before, and the sense of anticipation over those they had left was palpable. Minsc and Imoen were chatting quietly, a growing pile of soft grey pelts between them as they skinned their catches from the squirrel traps that been their main source of food since entering the forest, while Anomen was already inside the dugout and likely tending the fire that was to cook them from the thin tendril of smoke that was curling from the entry way.

On the far edge of the clearing, Fritha was rooting in the earth with her hands, digging out a few more of the jicama tubers they had found the day before. She looked strangely at home there, and not just for the fact she was as filthy and wayworn as the rest of them. The girl no longer seemed to set herself outside her surroundings, still trying to keep that air of civilisation about her. She was part of that place now, wearing its mud as she had once worn her henna, the dirt smudged across her face to blend with the dark kohl rims she still painted under her eyes. Fritha had dispensed with her hat before they had even entered the forest, the girl braiding back the hair from forehead to gather up and pin the rest at her crown, and she had not taken it down since. Perhaps it was the lack of curls at her temples to soften it, or the lingering gauntness to her features since her tenday of being starved at that camp, but the druid fancied she held a predatory look.

Something about her manner had changed since Alhali, too, though she would not speak of it. In fact, she hardly spoke at all, just stared into the trees, listening to sounds even Jaheira could not seem to pick out from the hissing canopy. The girl caught her watching to send her a nod, abandoning her task and closing the few paces between them.

'They've been gone a while now.'

'Perhaps, but I do not see any reason to worry yet.'

'I'm not worried,' Fritha murmured, head cocked as she assessed the rolling sough of the trees, 'All will come, in time.'

Jaheira joined her in a sigh; she wished sometimes the girl had not been forced into that role at so young an age. To the east, the crash of undergrowth swelled to join the rustling air.

'Quickly!'

But Jaheira's urging was redundant, Imoen and Minsc diving instantly into the dugout, much to Anomen's surprise. Fritha was already concealed in a nearby clump of ferns and the druid found a place just behind her. Her shallow breathing stirred the delicate fronds, eyes fixed on the eastern approach and the druid parted the foliage to see, at last, two familiar shapes.

'It is all right,' she sighed, relief leaving her breathless as she made to rise. 'It is them.'

And they were not alone.

'They've made a friend,' quipped Imoen, though not even she was not smiling.

Valygar was panting, tired by his burden, the group shuffling back in anticipation of the body he dumped at their feet, and they were suddenly all staring down at youth of no more than twenty summers, short sandy hair looking almost white against his tanned skin. His nose was slightly swollen, an injury from his abduction no doubt, though it had long ago stopped bleeding, blood dried to a red crust that trailed from lip to chin, and with eyes bulging and spittle foaming about the gag at his mouth he looked almost rabid.

Fritha fell to a crouch next to him. They made for a strange scene, a girl and boy who, in another time and place, could have met at some harvest fete – could have even shared a dance. Fritha had reached a pale, grubby finger forward to unhook the gag, the boy spitting a few times to clear the blood from his mouth before finally finding his voice.

'Wh-who are you?'

'We are here from Alhali.'

He groaned, wretched and low, the youth squirming pitifully against his bonds. '_Oh,_ _gods!_ Please, I never-'

Fritha would not let him finish the excuses. 'You will tell us what we need to know.' She straightened, glancing to the two men opposite. Solaufein began.

'Where is Sendai?'

'Sendai?' the boy croaked, seeming amazed they even knew the name, 'I- she stays in that building, the old temple.'

'So she is on the surface?'

'Yeah,' the boy nodded quickly, 'she lives at the temple, well, part of it anyway. The place was a ruin when we first arrived – only the tower is liveable even now. And- and she goes into the tunnels sometimes too, to check on the soldiers and the other slaves.'

'There are others?' prompted Valygar.

'Yeah, the- the rest of her army. These dark-skinned dwarfs and more drow. The merc bands stay on the surface, but the others prefer it in the caverns.'

'What caverns are these?' asked Jaheira. Wide eyes found her in the sea of faces above him.

'The caverns? You-you don't know? The temple, one of the elves from the Enfarel's Hand said it was built to guard the entrance. Down there, there's this great split in the rock and if you walk down far enough, the Underdark. That's where her army came from – she- Sendai- she brought it with her.'

'Not _all_,' reminded Fritha, 'she has mercenaries on the surface.' Another glance to the two scouts. 'Did you see all of them there?'

'No,' offered Valygar, 'barely thirty men over two factions to keep the slaves in line. Where are the others, boy?'

'All over! They're in encampments all over the forest! They keep moving, sometimes venture out for supplies.'

'You mean to sack the nearby villages!' snapped Anomen. It seemed as though Fritha had had the same thought from her scowl.

'How many of you are there?'

'I don't know. About three, four hundred men over two score different companies. But add in those Sendai keeps under the ground and her army could reach a thousand.'

A muttering of oaths to which Jaheira added a soft plea to Silvanus. If this army marched… Below them, the youth seemed to sense he was drawing to the end of his interrogation.

'Please, that's all I know! Now, please, let- let me go.'

'And have you running back to tell your brothers?' asked Fritha. The boy drew his own conclusions from her question, suddenly thrashing frantically in the dirt and leaves, sobbing like a child.

'_Please,_ you can't- have mercy!'

'Mercy, is it? And how many cries of that did you hear in _Alhali?_'

The boy could make no reply, too lost in his own wretchedness.

'What are we going to do with him?' asked Imoen quietly. No one answered her, at first. Fritha was staring down at the boy, blood and mucus congealing in the stubble on his chin. The silence about them seemed very loud.

'Go inside.'

Solaufein's throat bobbed. 'Fritha, I can-'

But the girl shook her head, and Jaheira felt it all through her chest, that pang of rueful pride– it would have been too easy to stand back and give the order to another. For a moment, the druid thought one of them would check the girl, but no one did, the group filing past to step down into that cool dark pit, the desperate sobs of the boy but a canvas breadth away.

'_No, please, I only wanted - my mother said- please, she has no one else, and- Oh, sweet Ilmater, please, I beg you, __no-!'_

Silence and then the soft thud of footsteps, Fritha dropping into the dugout to face her jury.

'You killed him,' breathed Imoen; for a moment she sounded like the frightened young woman she was. Fritha did not flinch from it.

'He knew of our presence here and our location – do you want to set out in this knowing we leave such a liability behind us?'

'We could have kept him tied up – incapacitated-'

'No means of that is infallible. You would weight his life against all our own and the thousands we set out to save. You saw Alhali, you know what's at stake here. As it is,' Fritha continued, all brisk interest for the task at hand, 'it will not be long before they notice one of their guards is missing. We must move quickly. Thoughts?'

She had turned instinctively to Solaufein and Valygar, the two men sharing a glance for the former to offer, 'Though there is a wall about the temple, I noted a small work party of slaves and guards repairing a collapse at the back. The way to it is covered by dense trees – it could be a way to breach the temple without attracting too much attention.'

Fritha nodded, seemingly considering the advantage.

'Right then, how about this? We'll rush the work party at the rear of the temple, killing the guards and freeing the few slaves who are there. Before the other guards can rally, we'll get inside the temple and bar the doors. Jaheira, Anomen, Valygar and Imoen will hold the entrance, while Minsc, Solaufein and I head up the tower and kill Sendai and her guards.'

'And then?' demanded Imoen, 'We will be trapped in the temple with a whole army amassing outside.'

'The proof of Sendai's body will remove the mercs and possibly the drow, too,' Fritha concluded succinctly.

'And if there are more guards within the temple?' added Valygar.

'Why would there be any more than a handful? The place is under repairs.'

Jaheira was frowning. 'You seem to be rather relying on the idea that Sendai is even there.'

'She is.'

'Just as Abazigal was at _his_ stronghold?'

Fritha breathed a terse sighed. 'He was -_eventually_. All right, then,' the girl continued; she could clearly see opinion was stacked against her. 'How about a couple of us sneak inside? That leaves the rest of us out here and ready should something go amiss. I could likely get in unseen-'

'No,' interrupted Jaheira. Dark rimmed eyes snapped to her.

'What's wrong _now?_'

'Fritha,' the druid sighed, reluctant to voice words that should have been said a long while ago, 'you are our leader. You cannot keep placing yourself in danger like this. You need to remain outside, to give orders should something go awry. _Trust_ in us.'

'Because that worked out so well last time. Besides, it needs to be me, the Fates-'

'Oh, not this again!' cried Imoen. 'The _Fates_ you're so happy to rely on have done nothing but steer us wrong since we left Suldanessellar.'

Fritha snorted. 'Perhaps you have dreamt some revelation recently that will help us then?'

'You-!' breathed Imoen, the instinctive insult just bitten back, 'You know I've had the same useless dream since Amkethran!'

'Yes, and I wonder _who_ you think sends it!'

'You can likely make a better guess at that than Imoen,' snapped Valygar, 'It is clear you know more of this than you are willing to share.'

'I know that Sendai is within that temple!'

Jaheira took her cue to interject. 'Fritha, whether the Fates are with us or not is beside the point. Leaders are supposed to be the backbone of a group. They need to be giving orders and trusting their people, not going into danger alone. You wish to make the decisions for this group still? Then you must _lead_ us.'

'And how can she lead,' offered Solaufein coolly, 'when all you do is doubt her?'

'Expressing reservations as to a plan is not disloyalty!' snapped Anomen.

'No?'' the drow inquired, 'I suppose there were many Knight Commanders in the Order to whom you often expressed similar doubts?'

'That is different-'

'Yeah, they have an obligation to keep their people _alive_.'

'Imoen, that is unfair!'

Fritha had drawn back from the squabble, gazed focused on her twitching fingers. Jaheira could sense the building frustration.

'Fritha, understand, this is not against you-'

Too late the cry.

'Fine!' the girl snapped, 'If it cannot be me.' She turned grave eyes upon the man opposite, 'Solaufein, you will enter the temple in stealth and assassinate Sendai.'

Silence. Solaufein eased back as he came to terms with the _honour_ for which he had been singled out.

'I- yes, I should imagine that is possible.'

'_If_ she is not there,' the girl added tartly, 'you may leave the same way and none will be the wiser.'

'And what of the rest of her army?' asked Valygar.

'Without any to pay them, the mercenaries will likely disband. Any who do not, will be routed by the army in time. As for those below the surface-' Fritha glanced to Solaufein, the voice of his fellow Underdarkers.

'The temple proves the entrance has been here for hundreds of years – if the drow had wished to invade then they would have done so an age ago. I doubt there is anything nearby enough to interest them.'

'As a precaution, we could let the Silver Chalice know of the temple's location and they can likely re-inscribe any wards,' added Anomen. A round of nodding, Solaufein looking both nervous and resolute as he turned back to Fritha.

'So, I am to go then? Now?'

'Yes, now,' the girl agreed with a decidedly false smile, 'but not alone. Imoen will go, as well, under the guise of your slave. With your skills and what Imoen's been getting up to lately, you should be covered for all eventualities.'

'Sure,' said Imoen tightly, 'Piece of cake.'

For an instant, the dugout was silent as the pair glared at each other. Valygar's forehead was creased with the usual frown. 'And what are we to do in the meantime?'

'We will prepare the area for your escape,' Fritha continued to the pair. 'After you enter, we will give you a quarter hour, then begin a distraction – something easy to explain away, a fire perhaps, or something else. That should ensure the camp is distracted from the temple long enough for you to act and leave unnoticed. Any questions?'

**…**

The mercenary camp was a tranquil scene of gentle bustle in the early afternoon, the majority of the men gathered about the scattering of smaller tents. Imoen kept focused on the swinging ponytail of white hair a few paces before her, fighting the constant temptation to scan the trees to their left for the others she knew were sneaking along the perimeter towards the grouped pavilions. Though they had never _officially_ fallen out, the impending danger had seen her and Valygar snatch a few moments' privacy back at the dugout and any lingering resentment between them was now finally let go. There was something to be said for that life of near constant peril – it certainly put any lovers' quarrels into perspective.

Solaufein had reached the rough trail that had been worn into the main approach, the man turning onto the open pathway through the cleared ferns to stroll into the camp, heading directly for the large temple to the right. Imoen felt increasingly twitchy as the few mercs about glanced up to note their passing, her heart tripping along in time to her hurried passage.

'Sola, is this safe? I mean, us just walking in like this?'

'Who will stop us?' the man murmured back, 'I imagine all drow look the same to the mercenaries. Just keep your head lowered and you should remain beneath their notice, too – you are my slave, remember.'

She snorted, but kept her chin dipped.

'How could I forget? Do you _honestly_ think this will work?'

'Yes, I do. If _you_ do not, then why are you here?'

Imoen merely sighed. 'You always agree with Fritha.'

She sensed rather than watched the thoughtful pause.

'I…. believe in her,' he offered eventually. 'One day the rest of you will have the same confidence.'

Imoen wanted to add that she'd have a whole lot more confidence, if she hadn't found out Fritha was carrying the equivalent of industrial grade rum in her flask, but they had reached the gateway. Imoen kept her head down, Solaufein marching through without a glance to either of the mercs who were chatting just to one side of the opening, and for their part they hardly noted him. Inside the shelter of the walls, it was but a few yards to the steps, the worn sandstone stairs leading up to those pale wooden doors. A single sharp heave to draw one back, and she was ushered into the gloom beyond.

Imoen heard the door slam shut behind, and released a breath she had not realised she been holding. They were in a small entrance hall, the open square barely any larger than the two corridors that led off from either side of it, another set of new wooden doors barring the way forward. It smelt fusty and cool, the air of ruin lingering about the place still despite the recent renovations. The walls inside were the same smooth sandstone, brackets set high above where wall hangings and tapestries once kept the chill from the air. Along the leftmost corridor, the distant sounds of a work crew echoed, the chime of chisels muted by murmuring voices. Solaufein did not even look at the door before them, the drow glancing back and forth along the two corridors before nodding to the rightmost passage.

'Come, from the position of the tower outside, I believe the entrance will be this way.'

'Have you done this before?' Imoen whispered as they set out, their footsteps scuffing softly over the flagstones, 'Assassinated anyone, I mean?'

'Yes, a few times. Phaere knew such tasks were an affront – a true warrior should be able to stand before their enemy and take pride in a kill, not sneak about like some craven cave rat. I was the best male fighter in the city – the insult to even ask me when her House had assassins already trained and devoted to such an art was great, and I was proud enough back then to let it needle me.'

'And now?' pressed Imoen. She watched his shoulders bob.

'And now I see the need of such methods and their advantages. What Fritha asks of us is a compliment to the skills she attributes to us.'

Imoen rolled her eyes – when it came to Fritha, Solaufein could likely find a compliment in a slap to the face.

'Yeah, I'm honoured.'

They walked the rest of the hallway in brisk silence. The corridor seemed to run the perimeter of the lower floor, Solaufein leading them past a few doorways to pause at the first corner, a glance around confirming the adjoining passage, too, was empty. Half the length of the building again, and they soon found themselves before a single, large door. He leaned in, an ear cocked to the wood, before he stepped back to draw his sword. Imoen tensed, ready for whatever was to come. Solaufein raised a fist and knocked twice, barking something in his own tongue. A smooth run of clicks as the latch turned, the door barely ajar when Solaufein thrust his blade through the gap. She had been ready for it, but even so, the suddenness of the kill took Imoen by surprise.

Solaufein was already through the door and heaving the body of the dead drow further inside to dump him, crumpled over the first few steps of the flight that rose straight above them, golden in the light that streamed through the narrow windows of the first landing. Someone had taken the trouble to lay a carpet here, the rich wine red doing well to cover the pooling blood, banners of black and gold hanging at regular intervals all up the stairwell bearing an insignia of entwined snakes, the flags bright against the pale cream stone. Solaufein sent her a firm nod and set foot on the first step; there was no going back now.

**…**

Fritha kept low in the ferns, the presence of others gathering behind her whispering on the edge of her senses. The mercenary pavilions had been pitched close to the cliff that ringed the entire encampment, the tall tents casting the thicket they were crouched within in shadow. The largest of the tents was just before them, two smaller pavilions pitched further into the camp proper, while beyond them, the scattered grouping of smaller tents and campfires that Fritha could hear rather than see, the shouts and laughter sounding loud even from that distance. And above the peaked canvas roofs it rose, the pale sandstone tower where all their futures lay. Fritha could feel her there, a pulse that quivered through her limbs and down to the ends of her twitching fingers: Sendai.

She should be meeting the woman face to face; _she_ should be the one to strike the final blow. But the others had disagreed and, though it had gone against every drop of her raging blood, Fritha had sent another to take her place.

She clenched her nervous fingers, trying to will the tremor from them. Perhaps this course was the wisest. The Blood had been getting louder of late, ever since Alhali and the awakening desire to see her revenge wrought upon an unjust world. It was hard to fight it, harder still when even the forest seemed to be with her. Trees that had once loomed imposing, now stood as her protection. If the forest did have an awareness of its own, it was no longer her enemy. The earth hid her, the trees towered as her allies, as though the place knew her purpose there; the Apagis wanted these interlopers gone and Fritha was more than ready to oblige it.

'Right,' hissed Jaheira behind her, 'it is agreed one of us will put on the boy's tabard and take position somewhere in the camp. Once the time comes for the distraction, he can cause a disturbance, and under this cover we can extract Imoen and Solaufein and escape unheeded into the forest.'

'Who will enter the camp then?' asked Fritha. Valygar opened his mouth to volunteer; he never got the chance.

'I will go,' said Anomen. Jaheira looked sceptical, and Fritha would have once agreed with her. But there was an anger in Anomen now, and when it was not directed at her, she could see a definite advantage to it.

'Yes, I second that, Anomen will do well – and after six days in the forest you rather look the part, too.'

The man took the compliment as it was meant and even managed a smile for her through that scrubby beard, though Fritha's attention did not linger to see it, her eyes back on the camp. Behind her, Jaheira helped him on with the grubby tabard, Minsc and Valygar muttering some final words of advice, and Fritha did not see Anomen again before he left them, all her focus on the nearest pavilion.

'There,' hissed Valygar, gesturing to the narrow gap left between the tent before them and the shallow sandstone cliff. 'We can strike easily from behind there if needed.'

One by one they crawled through the ferns to drop neatly over the edge of the escarpment into the gloom beneath, and barely a moment later they were gathered again. The ground between the taut guy ropes was still springy with moss, their footfalls stirring the peaty scent as they pressed together, the cliff face at their backs and the pale wall of the pavilion throwing its shadow over all.

There were people inside the tent, the sounds of movement and scent of cooking betrayed them, and through the plain canvas Fritha could see the faint outline of two men seated just before where they had come to stand, their voices muffled but quite audible through the heavy fabric.

'Oi, Jessine, two more ales here, woman.'

'She's got a body that one, I tell you. Shame about that limp though.'

'What's it matter to you, it's not like you want her anywhere but on her back.' Crude laughter held them. Fritha hands were twitching, Blood screaming for her divine judgement - just as she had looked upon Alhali, just as she had stared down at that snivelling mercenary whelp.

'Besides, she's not as fine as that Calandra.'

'Nah, I had her once when she first arrived. Cried the entire time – it well put me off- f-_fucking-!_'

Everything felt suddenly distant, as though she were in a dream and Fritha could only imagine the man's horror as the blood spattered his face, the canvas behind his companion's head suddenly sliced open and two grubby hands reached through to haul back his friend's head and slit his throat.

'Shit! Men- ugh!'

What little cry he had managed was silence by the katana now skewering his chest, Valygar withdrawing the blade to slice the canvas top to bottom and half step inside.

'It was only those two. We are clear.'

An announcement that did little to soften Jaheira hissed rage. 'By the Stones of- Fritha, are you mad! What in Hells are you doing?'

Fritha could not tell her. She could barely hold the words in her mind, let alone speak them. She was trembling again, breathing quick and hand still clenched about the bloody knife as the final spasms of ecstasy coursed through her body. The power she had felt – to hold someone's life and death in her hand, to judge and deal out retribution as though she was born to it! She had never before enjoyed the killing, but then she had never wanted it more than at that searing instant.

The rush was fading now, the comedown leaving her jittery and scared to look inside and analyse what was left in its wake. The horrified anger in Jaheira's eyes had Fritha suspecting she would not like what she found, and rather than face it, she pushed quickly after Valygar into the tent.

Inside, a tableau greeted her, those within the pavilion still frozen mid-action by the surprise of the killings. A few women, bruised and terrified, were standing in amongst the two rows of tables of what looked to be the mess tent preparing vegetables and kneading dough, one woman trembling behind a large cauldron of soup that was likely to be the evening meal.

'Stay calm,' assure Valygar, in his deep baritone that belied the tension in his jaw, Minsc and Jaheira fanning out at his back. 'We are here to help you. Where-'

He had no to chance to finish his question. At the other end of the tent, a shaft of sunlight heralded the ill-fated entrance.

'Here, Megharine, you- Who-?'

For a moment, the three sides watched each other in stunned silence. The merc broke first.

'Men! Rally-!'

The plangent clang of a sturdy iron pot felled the man in one good swing, the mousey middle-aged woman behind him looking more victim than the victor as she gazed down at his supine form.

'Good work,' nodded Fritha, at his side an instant later and crouched over him. She glanced up to the woman, dagger handle proffered to her.

'You want to do it?'

The woman shook her head, petrified and hugging the pot to her chest like it could shield her from the disbelief of what she had managed. Fritha shrugged and cut his throat, the girl easing herself on to her feet once more to address the remaining women.

'Right, there should be enough weapons on the bodies. Arm yourself and wait here until things quieten down. If any confront you, escape through the back into the forest.'

Jaheira had done half the work for them, the druid straightening from the last body to hand out the collection of swords and daggers she had looted. The gathering captives took the proffered arms with varying degrees of reluctance.

'Hide these. We will remove the bodies. Pretend all is well until you have a chance to escape.'

'Captain, we-' None were there to stop him that time, the young mercenary hardly letting the flap close behind before he was darting back through it again, his bellow exploding over the camp outside.

'Alarm! The slaves are escaping!'

Fritha was already charging after him, dagger sheathed and sword drawn.

'_Fuck!_ You go!' she yelled back to the women, 'Escape through the forest. My lot, attack!'

**…**

Imoen paused before a narrow window, the din outside faint through the mullioned pane that looked over the forest they had just traversed. Somewhere outside of view, men were shouting, the clash of arms sounding tinny and trivial from that distance.

'The distraction? It's not time yet.'

Above her, Solaufein was already set out again and taking two steps at a time.

'The others must have been discovered. Come on.'

Somewhere above them, a door slammed, the sound of footsteps thudding closer on the soft carpet. Solaufein paused, pressed to the wall before the landing just above them and waiting for them to round the corner.

The two drow saw Imoen first, just stood in the centre of the stairs, and one died with the look of confusion still on his face, Solaufein's dagger flicked across his throat. The other did manage to draw his blade, though it did him little good against the green bolt of energy that hit him square in the chest, Solaufein finishing the drow as he lay prone on the floor.

'Sendai's bodyguards,' the man, concluded giving one of the bodies a nudge with his toe to show her the intricate pattern of weaved serpents that had been tooled into the black leather pauldron. 'Sendai likely dispatched them to investigate the disturbance outside.'

'At least it'll be easier when we get to her.'

The final landing was just up the next flight, the simple wooden door rising into view with every step. Solaufein led the approach , creeping cautiously up to the door, though Imoen doubted such stealth was necessary –from the sounds coming clear through the wood, Sendai was more than occupied, her voice deeper than Imoen had been expecting.

'How did you escape, worm?

'Please, mistress, I- I don't-'

His own scream cut him off, the cries ebbing and falling in a piteous song. Solaufein glanced to her. Imoen nodded once, feeling the magic begin to warm in the base of her spine – controlled this time; she did not want another Thinegate.

'I will not ask again! How did you-?'

Solaufein kicked the door wide, the room suddenly open before them. The woman Imoen assumed was Sendai was standing in the centre, a short, rather stocky looking half-drow with cropped white hair and narrow red eyes, little of her dusky skin to be seen beneath the ornate black leather armour. She was holding a glowing rod before the grey gnome who was suspended between two drow bodyguards, all four whipping about at their sudden entrance.

'_What-?_'

Imoen did not leave her time to finish, the spell she was already casting tearing through the ornately carved ceiling panels, a fracture through the multiverse to that fiery plane beyond. As one, the guards dropped the gnome, blades streaking from their scabbards as their prisoner scrabbled for the doors. Imoen hardly noticed him pass her, all her focus on her spell. Sendai had danced back, eyes fixed upon the growing tear, a hand raised as she muttered something in her own tongue and Imoen was swallowed by overwhelming dread as the portal she was fighting to maintain slowly closed. Sendai turned to them and smiled broadly.

'You think you are the only spellcrafter here, mageling? Kill them!'

Solaufein stepped up to meet the two guards, his blade a blur as he parried and countered their attacks. Imoen raised her hands, sending the scorching bolt of light ricocheting back into the room with a hasty barrier. Sendai was laughing at her clumsy casting as the woman readied another and, for a time, blade caught blade and spell countered spell as the paired duels continued.

But slowly the tide was turning. One of the guards was wounded now, a slash to the throat taking him down. Imoen was barely aware of it, nor of the sweat that beaded her forehead, her body a conduit for a limitless power she was fighting to control and weave into her next spell. Sendai was no longer smiling, the frown of concentration as she struggled to hold back the crackling arc of energy spurring Imoen on. They could do this, they would-

A blur behind her and her spell redirected an instant later to vaporise the drow at her back, his three brothers still charging up the stairs with blades drawn. Unchecked, Sendai was preparing her last with a look of wild elation. Solaufein reassessed the odds and made his decision. A deft kick sent the guard before him staggering back and Imoen was suddenly knocked flat against the wall, the warrior shoving her to one side of the narrow landing as he rushed the three drow to the other.

'Imoen, _run!_'

And she did.

**…**

Fritha ducked the axe swing, stabbing under the man's unbuckled cuirass which had been clearly donned in haste.

'Get down!'

Her knees buckled before she had even registered Jaheira's command, the merc behind brought to the ground with a sweep to his legs. A crack to his skull ensured he did not rise again.

Across the camp, tents had been trampled in the chaos, mercs laid dead halfway into their armour or fleeing the flames that were tearing through second pavilion where a small fire had got out of control in the initial confusion as their five had cut that first swathe through the unprepared troops.

They were pushing back now though, the mercenaries falling back on their training and their superior numbers. Valygar had his shield, as did Anomen, the pair stood either side of Minsc and leaving the man free to swing his blade at all within range. But it was not enough, the rallying numbers of mercs pressing them in, trying to hem their group against the spreading fires.

Fritha lost another step, forced back a pace to dodge the mace that swung for her head. Anomen caught the next blow on his shield though it left his flank exposed, Fritha lunging to parry the blade that would skewer him when an explosion of blinding light ripped across the lines before her to send the mercs sprawling. Imoen was tearing across the clearing in the shockwave's wake. She was alone.

'Come on,' the girl yelled, hand at Valygar's arm and dragging him after her, 'before they regroup!'

Fritha grabbed her free arm, whipping Imoen back to her.

'Where is Solaufein?'

Nearby, men were staggering to their feet. Anomen looked set to throw Fritha over his shoulder and give her no choice in the matter. 'Fritha, we have to go! Now!'

That suffocating weight of leadership, all about her paused, silently demanding her decision.

'_Fuck!_ Fall back, all retreat!'

Minsc had the lead, pounding through the trees and Fritha looked at nothing but the fleeing figure of Jaheira before her for the whole time they ran, undergrowth whipping her legs and lungs screaming. The land was sloping downward now and, ahead of her, she saw Minsc pause, the man taking a further step to disappear completely. Another of the streams that hatched the forest had cut a narrow gorge through the earth there, though its course was little more than a trickle then, the group dropping one by one to stand, bent double and panting, in the muddy bed. Imoen was beside Valygar, the man stroking her hair as she sobbed quietly into her hand. Fritha's chest was heaving, but it was not from the run, the fury she had been forced to rein in now quivering through her.

'_You!_' she growled, voice rising to a roar as she hurled a finger at the girl with the accusation, 'You _left_ him!'

'I had no choice!' Imoen cried, dashing the tears away with an angry hand. 'Sendai is a mage – she closed the portal I tried to open. Solaufein told me to run!'

'And you did! I was a _fool_ to trust you with this!'

'We could have taken her, but we ran out of time and more guards arrived - we were overwhelmed! It's not our fault you were discovered in the camp.'

Silence. Fritha was shaking, the truth she wanted to forget, to strike from the memory of time itself voiced by a reluctant Minsc.

'We were not discovered, young Imoen… Fritha killed a guard and brought battle to us.'

Imoen seemed to swell, blotchy face flushed in her sudden indignation.

'_You!_ This is _your_ fault!'

Fritha just held back from flying at the girl. The Blood was screaming, anger blazing through her mind in a maddening fog.

'It is! _I _should have gone, I told you! I told all of you! Ignorant wretches, you know nothing of this! The Fates want _me!_ _I_ was to take Sendai – I will murder all who stand before me! This forest will drown in blood and death and-!'

Two hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her about, wide hazel eyes suddenly but inches from her face.

'Fritha,' gasped Jaheira, the terror in her voice cutting through the haze, 'where _are_ you?'

Fritha tore away from her, rage suddenly inward, her head cradled and body curled in upon itself with that wretched moan of despair.

'You can't understand, the anger, and now- He is _lost._'

'We will find him, Fritha' the woman assured, 'We will rescue Solaufein.'

'Is it likely he still lives?' asked Valygar to the agonising silence.

'He's _alive!_ Sola- _shush!_'

'Fritha?'

Fritha silenced Jaheira with a look, head jerked suddenly to the bushes above them. Something was there, she could _feel_ it. She eased herself up onto her toes, something of the hunter about her as she prowled towards the bank to stand there, poised and waiting, waiting-

Her arm snatched out, and something above them squealed in terror, Fritha dragging the bundle of grey and brown from the bushes to dump it at their feet and the group looked down upon the bedraggled form of a hessian-clothed, grey-skinned deep gnome.

'A svirfneblin?' breathed Jaheira.

'The gnome from the temple,' offered Imoen, adding for the others, 'the one Sendai was torturing.'

'Speak,' snapped Fritha. The gnome seemed used to taking orders.

'I was looking for you,' he barked promptly, 'the ones who stormed the temple.'

'Were you followed?' asked Jaheira, scanning the woods above. The gnome hastily shook his head.

'No, most certainly not. My people are known for their stealth.' A wary glance to Fritha. 'I am surprised you heard me.'

'Well, I did. Why are you here?'

His bald head shifted with a chary frown. 'I came to help you.'

'Help us?'

'Yes. I am Fendle, a slave, first for House Malfain and then taken by Sendai with others when she first left her house in bloody ruins and hid herself outside Der'Reeth, the city of her birth, gathering her army within the wastelands of the Underdark. My people have always worked with the stone and are skilled masons. She used me and other svirfneblin taken to repair the temple here. We drew up the designs, we know the traps she plans, the hidden passages, the fortifications and we know, once it is finished, she will kill us to keep the knowledge safe. That is why I escaped, though I did not get far before I was caught.'

Fritha glared down at him. 'And you would risk your freedom again to help us? Why?'

'You do not understand, I never wished to escape up here. I want to return home, to my clan in the Underdark. But I will not do it alone. All the svirfneblin she holds should be freed.'

'She holds them at the temple?' asked Anomen. Fendle shook his dusky head.

'No, underground. As your kind built a fortress up here to guard this bridge between our worlds, so the duergar who first found this place built one beneath the ground. Below the earth here, a great fissure runs, as wide as the temple clearing and miles deep, right down to the Underdark. The duergar built a fortress just below the surface, a staging platform for any raid upon your lands. It is there Sendai keeps her main army and it is where she will have taken your friend. I will help you inside, if you will then aid the rescue of my people.'

Fendle started as Fritha's hand shot out to him, though it did not grab him this time, the palm held to the side before his quivering chest.

'Deal.'

They shook on it, the gnome taking his hand back to gaze at it as thought he was no longer sure whether he could trust the limb. Fritha cared little to assuage his suspicions. 'Now how do we get inside?'

'Before I left, I noted the mercenaries falling back to the quarry to guard Sendai's back. They are well dug in now and will not be routed by your few numbers. But they do not know that it was never the fissure there that the temple was guarding. That fracture was made much later and hollowed out by the need for stone. The first entrance it is warded and fortified in the basement of the temple itself. It is through there Sendai and her bodyguards will have fled,, and it is through there we can follow her.'

Fritha straightened. She needed no more plan than that. The Blood was calling, pulling her forward, but she ignored it; it was not for Sendai she would brave the darkness.

'Come. We go now.'

**…**

Strong hands gripped him under the arms, the two human warriors either side of him working as one to drag him along the dark stone corridor. Solaufein knew better than to struggle, there would be little point then and it was better they believed him still unconscious, his body limp and mind sharp as he tried to take in all he could of his surroundings.

The walls about him were granite –they were no longer in the temple- something about the cool damp of the air stirring memories and it was as they passed a narrow window aperture that opened upon the utter blackness beyond that he confirmed it; he was underground.

They made a brisk pace along a few more corridors, their three suddenly before a stout door and he was thrown inside a small stone cell. His head was throbbing where the blow had brought him unconscious, the cold walls pleasant against his forehead. That they had not killed him on sight was a good sign –Sendai wanted something and, for his part, he just needed to keep her interest until the others reached him. He knew they were coming –it was tactically unsound, even suicidal, but wherever he was now, they would be attempting a rescue or die trying, and if they were to die, then he was not sure he wished to survive either.

He did not know how long he sat there, alone in the darkness. He knew what was coming, though, and used the time to prepare accordingly, the fluttering fear quashed and his fate accepted. There would be torture and he _would_ endure.

The rattle of the lock started him and he was upright again, dragged to his feet by the same two men and hauled roughly into the next room. The sudden light hurt his eyes. It was a decent-sized chamber and likely kept for only one purpose, the few lamps throwing a warm yellow light upon the large wooden frame that rose in the centre, iron shackles hanging eloquently from the upper corners. To the right, shelves of bottles glittered in the glow of a smoke-blacken brazier, a rainbow of venoms and acids within. On the table opposite, a small collection of pokers and brands had been arranged, a more extensive collection of knives lined similarly at the other end next to a large wooden board set with iron spikes. Sendai was stood beside the table, idly examining a narrow blade, the woman glancing up with a staged smile as they entered.

'Ah, good. Put him on the rack.'

The men did as instructed. Solaufein did not struggle, he made no sound at all. The frame seemed to be built for taller men than him, or perhaps that was the idea, and with his arms pulled above his head to the shackles, his toes only just brushed the stone flags. His calves were already beginning to ache, his chest and stomach feeling unnervingly exposed in that position.

Sendai stepped forward, the two guards flanking her; the beaming smile made her look almost attractive. Her hand caught him sharply across the face, only to smooth down his abdomen in a lingering caress that felt close enough to foreplay to make his stomach lurch.

'So, what have we here?' she purred, drawing out her pleasure with the needless question, 'An assassin? Speak!'

Solaufein knew the answer expected of him; he did not disappoint. The gobbet of spit and blood hit the nearest guard full in the face. It was a calculated strike- any move against Sendai would have meant instant death and interrogation was as much an art for the captive as the torturer. His rescue was coming, of that he was sure; he just needed to keep himself alive until they arrived. His insolence had the desired effect, pain exploding through this jaw as the fist caught him. Solaufein held his breath, the force of the next few blows enough to crack a rib until, at last, Sendai nodded once and the guard moved back to leave him battered and breathless. The woman smiled.

'Who sent you?'

'The Matron Mothers,' Solaufein panted; his lip was split and it hurt to form the words.

'The Matrons!' Sendai exclaimed, suddenly all excitement; their involvement, it seemed, was expected, 'Who? Which of the bitches _dared_ to raise a blade against me?'

'All.'

'_All?_'

'They are united in their hatred for the half-blood upstart.'

A cruel hand spattered more blood from his mouth across the shoulder of his tunic.

'They will _kneel_ before me!'

Solaufein bloodied his own chin with a derisive snort. 'They will never kneel before you, _surfacer!_'

But Sendai merely laughed. 'No, and their arrogance will see them dead. And yet they seem to have swallowed their pride in other matters,' she considered airily. 'After all, they sent a surfacer to stop me – you think I do not note your clothes? Your manner? You are no _true_ drow.'

Solaufein feigned outrage at the suggestion. 'I am more drow than you! The Matrons knew I had spent time upon the surface – my skills were needed to find you.'

'And time enough to makes allies up here, as well. The guards noted her, your human aide. What would the Matrons think, finding you working with the surfacer _filth?_'

'She is my slave.'

'You told her to run.' Sendai's face twisted with a sneer. 'How noble, or perhaps there are others she seeks to inform. Perhaps so they may come and finish your failure?' Dull red eyes considered him coldly. 'Who are the Matrons who orchestrated this? From which city do they strike?'

He raised his bloody chin to her.

'I will tell you nothing!'

A nod to the guards and for a time there was nothing more to focus upon than the pain, blows wracking his aching body. The aftershocks left him trembling even as the men stepped back, his throbbing jaw suddenly snatched in the steel grip of blood-slick fingers, that broad, unsculpted face but an inch from his and filling his vision, though he did not need to see it to recognise the burning prick of the dagger at his throat.

'Speak now or _die!_'

Solaufein could not help a smile; the first round was over.

'Despana,' he choked, feeling the blood gurgling up with the words, 'Jae'llat, Ul-'

'Who? I do not know-'

'They are of Ust Natha. Have you not heard? All the Underdark seeks the glory of dispatching the half-blood bitch!'

'Impudent-!' She drew back and struck him herself in her anger, 'Continue to torture him. You _will_ talk.'

Sendai left him with another slap and the two men stepped forward once more. Solaufein closed his eyes and settled it in his mind, the mantra to his Lady that would see him through the next hour.

_Eilistraee__, She who Dances, our Lady of the Moon, grant me your Light in the darkness…_


	46. The Webs of Fate

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Webs of Fate**

'Come, this way.'

Fritha spared a glance to the gnome hurrying before them, his feet scuffing softly over the stone flags, and almost lost to the clatter of those that followed him. The temple was deserted, but that did not stop her watching every shaded alcove and fluttering curtain. There was no room for error now.

The camp outside had been empty. Findle's predictions that the mercenaries would retreat back to guard the quarry and the only entrance to the Underdark they knew had proved correct, it seemed, and they had slipped through the now abandoned break in the wall at the back of the temple unnoticed.

'Here, it is down these steps.'

Fritha had the lead as they followed the gnome down into the darkness, the large door they finally reached ajar and allowing a thin sliver of light as a beacon, Fendle pushing it wide as he reached it. For all she could have expected, the room was quite unremarkable, just a plain sandstone chamber a dozen yards square and seemingly untouched by the decay that had ruined the temple above. Tall oil lamps burned in each corner, throwing a steady yellow light upon the doorway opposite and the rough stone passage beyond. It was gated, though the iron railings hung open, as though that last person through had been in too much of a rush to see it properly closed, the only allusion to decoration in the whole room found in the simple border of symbols that had been carved into the frame.

'Wards,' murmured Anomen, letting a finger trace one, 'though long faded.'

Fendle had the lead once more, though he was hardly needed as a guide now; there was only one passage and Fritha saw no turnings in her bobbing werelight. They walked for what felt like an age, though it was likely only a good quarter hour, the girl having to resist the urge to push past the gnome and break into a run. If they were too late…

The gnome suddenly quickened his pace, and Fritha momentarily considered that perhaps he had sensed her impatience when she noticed something change in the air and, at last, they were out, the group stepping onto a narrow precipice that hung in the darkness. The cavern they had come to was vast; Fritha could see neither roof nor the opposite wall, her eyes following the precipice they were standing upon around the sloping wall at their backs to another, larger shelf of rock a hundred yards or so away, the black mouth of a second passage open on the cliff face behind. She gazed at it a moment longer, her mind slowly coming to the realisation that she should not be able to see _that_ either in just the meagre glow of their werelights when Fendle broke through her reverie.

'There,' hissed the gnome, pointing to the edge just before them, 'it is down-'

'Whoa!' gasped Imoen, Fritha stepping forward as she did and the source of the light was suddenly laid bare. There below them, a huge stone edifice rose from the darkness, its plain grey walls aglow with light from a hundred windows. It had been built on a large rock plateau, a bridge spanning a few hundred yards between it and the cavern wall, while underneath the ground teemed with tiny figures, the grey peaks of tents breaking through the throng.

'There,' breathed Fendle, 'that is where we will find your ally and my kin. We are stood now at the top of a fracture that runs for over a league and right down into the heart of the Underdark.'

'And what is that over there?' asked Valygar, nod sent to the shelf opposite.

'That passage leads up to the quarry – a shorter route to the surface, but one, as we know, is guarded. From there you can see the steps which lead down to the fortress.' And thanks to the light from the fortress, Fritha could, the set of stairs carved into the wall itself and snaking down to another narrow rock plateau that seamlessly merged into the fortress bridge.

'The duergar mercs and their slaves which make up Sendai's forces down here hold camps at the base of her fortress and upon similar plateaus all the way down the fissure.'

'We need a plan,' said Jaheira firmly. Anomen was peering over the edge with a frown, casting his eye across the torch lit bridge and the few figures that were standing on guard upon it in amongst the crates and barrels they seemed to use the place to store.

'We could likely take the bridge with a surprise attack.'

'And what about the army camped below?' asked Imoen.

'The only way onto the bridge is either through the fortress or up a set of steps,' provided Fendle quickly. 'You cannot see them from here; they have been cut into the cavern wall on the other side of the bridge.'

'It would take time for a force that size to mobilise,' assured Anomen, 'We could take the bridge and be inside before they reach us.'

'And then what?' pressed Imoen – it seemed she had had her fill of being sent into danger unprepared.

'The doors are usually kept open to allow the slaves to move the supplies from the fortress on to the bridge ready for transport to the surface. Sendai allows only a few slaves, her bodyguards and a handful of others to be housed within the fortress itself,' offered Fendle, 'If we get inside and bar the doors behind us, it would take a while before the army reached the upper levels; we could make our rescue without meeting any great resistance.'

Fritha tried to weigh the risks against their limited options, all the while fighting to ignore the writhing pull to be down there, to be racing to his side.

'Yes… that could work. Once we're inside, Minsc and Valygar can hold the doors, the rest of us can go with Fendle and find Solaufein.'

'And what about Sendai?'

Everyone seemed to stop at Imoen's question. In spite of everything, Fritha could not help but smile, grim and war-weary.

'We will leave _that_ up to Fate.'

**…**

Everything hurt, and yet even so it was not merely an all-encompassing ache. He was so aware of every agonising detail. The sharp pain that stabbed with every breath from his cracked chest, the throbbing tightness as the blood dried in the cuts upon his face, the fire that raged in his extended arms – rich accents above the dull ache of his whole body. The two men had beat him until he had fallen unconscious again, and he had awoken to find himself being healed by a male drow, a priest of Ghaunadaur by his look, the sick green light that emanated from his hands tingling unpleasantly even as he felt the flesh it touched knit. The priest grinned, giving his tender abdomen a spiteful slap as he finished, and it was only then Solaufein realised his chest was bared, the tunic he had brought from Suldanessellar removed while he was unconscious. The thought made his stomach squirm.

The two humans were gone and, as the priest moved past him, Solaufein fought the urge to cast about for the orchestrator of his torture.

'Mistress, he is ready.'

'Good.'

The deliberate click of her heels upon the stone tiles advanced from behind him, the woman sashaying into his peripherals, though her focus was not on him, but the large set of shelves but a few paces to his left. Solaufein focused on the lingering pain, using it has he had been taught, desperate to ignore the chime of glass at his side, Sendai's voice soft and teasing as she pored over the rows of bottles that lined the wall.

'Our people would deny it, but we can learn from the surfacers. The drow think themselves the masters of torture. We create tentacle rods to cause pain unimaginable, starve others at but a whim and punish any beneath us in retaliation for the torments _we_ must face from those above, but our ways are usually so sterile, nothing that would permanently mar a slave's, or _male's_, worth. Ah, this one, I think.'

She turned at last, a large glass bottle in hand, the pale green contents glowing unnaturally in the lamplight. Solaufein fought the urge to thrash vainly back from her.

'Few understand that it is the fear for the body, fear of the useless lump of bloody flesh that will be left afterwards that is half the torture in itself. But you understand, do you not?'

Tapering fingers removed the stopper, the glass plug held above his chest and he watched the lingering liquid which clung to it slowly pool in the lowest corner, the droplet swelling until its own weight freed it. It hit his flesh like a bullet of fire, his scream fading long before the pain to leave him panting in the reek of his own burnt flesh. Sendai smiled, pleased with the effect.

'Now, tell me who sent you.'

Solaufein said nothing, unable to help but writhe back from her as the bottle was raised above him again. He did not understand how she could bear to stand so close – his scream was deafening.

'_Who_ sent you?'

She did not even wait for the screaming to stop that time. The smell of burnt flesh was stomach-churning.

'Give me their _names!_'

Sendai waited for his screams to fade, regarding him as he panted roughly, the four lesions weeping on his chest, all blood burnt away to leave only a gooey mess of flesh that opened to the bone. Slowly, a smile graced her thick features, the woman sending a nod to the male behind him.

'Take his arm down.' She lingered over the word like a caress, 'His _sword _arm.'

The priest obeyed her in silence, the relief that flooded his freed arm tempered with the growing dread as the male forced it out, both hands about his forearm to prevent it being pulled back. Sendai took a step towards his flexing hand, the bottle held titled above it so the bright green liquid hung upon the lip of the mouth.

'Tell me _who_ or I will empty this bottle and leave you to watch as your hand dissolves away to a useless _stump!_'

A drop landed on his open palm, pain searing along the entire limb. Another drop and then another - the screams did not even sound like him anymore.

'Tell me _NOW!_'

The image of Valygar flashed behind his eyes, the man cradling that clawed lump of flesh. Solaufein was screaming so, he barely had breath left for her answer.

'_The Silver Chalice!_'

'What?' Sendai cried, voice trembling with incredulous laughter as the bottle was at last withdrawn. 'Those knights who cannot even _find_ me– how many of their patrols have they lost trying?'

Solaufein's breathing was ragged, his seared chest heaving. 'They- they concluded the same. They hired me.'

'A fellow drow to succeed where they could not?'

'Yes, they did not realise you are a half-blood _mongrel_.'

The slap to his face was almost friendly. 'Now we are getting somewhere. How did they contract you?'

Solaufein kept panting, feigning the diminishing need for breath - being unconscious had not given him much time to ponder his next tale.

'The- The Chalice met with an envoy of elves after the battle of Saradush. I was among them.'

'Which elves?' she barked, with a casual punch to his abdomen, 'From where?'

'Ah! From- from Suldanessellar. I live in the city, as a convert to Eilistraee.'

That drew a smile from the woman. 'So, we have a worthless convert to the Dark Maiden before us – it seems we were not the only ones to turn from Lolth.'

The male next to him gave an appreciative snort as Sendai added, 'And the girl with you?'

'A fellow from the Chalice sent to ensure I did not betray them – they do not fully trust my kind.'

'Interesting,' Sendai pondered idly, 'but is it the truth? You see, Malfindur here is my spy master. Malfindur, has the Chalice hired any drow, any assassins at all, over the last three months?'

Solaufein could hear his grin. 'No, Mistress, our agents have made no such report.'

Sendai's smile took on a snarling edge, those long fingers snapped again about Solaufein's tender jaw.

'You think me a fool?'

'I- I think you are afraid.'

She struck him so hard he almost bit through his own tongue.

'I fear nothing! Not the drow, not the Matrons, not even Lolth!'

'It took bravery to turn from the Spider Queen,' he pressed, an insane disregard for the consequences surging through him, 'but are you any freer now? Open your heart and Eilistraee will-'

A punch to his diaphragm saw the rest lost to wheezing, Sendai throwing her arms wide with a wild laugh.

'Eilistraee is doing for you now, what She did for me: _nothing!_ Where was your goddess when I spent decades cowering in abuse and torment? Where was She when I was a half-blood slave kept alive only on a whim for the magic I possessed? I hope my Matron appreciated the irony when I used it to slaughter her and destroy that _pathetic_ House. It was as my mother said before they dragged her to the altar – I was never meant to hide down there, but to rule it! And after I ascend, the drow will tremble before _me, _Bhaal's favoured general! And as for you, _Eilistraee_,' Sendai snarled, her face an inch from his, fingernails scoring his cheeks as she held his jaw fast, 'I will break you down here, and you will never see the light of your beloved surface _again!_ Now tell me _who sent you!_'

She released him at last and Solaufein dropped his head, closing his eyes to shut out that room. The pain was too much to focus upon, and he fell back into the only solace he knew.

'Mistress, he is whispering.'

About him, two presences pressed in, trying to catch the breathless muttering. The air split with an almighty shriek.

'He is PRAYING! You will beg Her for death when this is through! Malfindur, the scourge; I expect to hear his screams in my chambers!'

**…**

'Get down!' yelled Imoen.

Fritha dived for cover, the crate she had leapt behind exploding in the hail of splintered wood as a bolt of energy struck both it and the advancing duergar guard.

'Watch your casting!'

'I'm trying!'

'Press on, we need to reach the doors! Minsc, at your flank!'

The Rashemi whirled at Jaheira's shout, just catching the blade that would have found his back, though he could do little else, Fendle springing from behind a barrel to skewer the dwarf.

'Segojan take you, _filth!_'

'Everyone, keep moving!'

They had managed to edge down the steps in stealth and had remained unnoticed until the very last flight, one of the duergar at the end of the bridge turning from the crate he had been examining at just the wrong moment. He sounded the alarm with a shout that was lost to screaming as Imoen's fireball engulfed him and they had stormed onto the bridge in an explosion of flames to take the dozen deep dwarves on guard by complete surprise. Only three dwarves remained now, two turning to run in vain from the spell Imoen had hurled after them, Valygar facing off against the last to cut him down with a brutal slash to the face.

'I think that was the last of them,' he gasped. Anomen cast a glance over the bridge's wall to confirm all their fears.

'We've been noticed – the other mercenaries are mobilising below.'

'Never mind that,' screamed Fritha, suddenly springing into a dead run, 'they're closing! Quick, get to the doors!'

She reached them in time to slam furiously into impenetrable iron. '_Hell's Teeth!_'

'Is there another way inside?' cried Jaheira. Imoen hurled a blazing ball of fire from the ramparts, 'The others are coming! We need to go!'

'No one is leaving!' snapped Fritha.

Valygar had already pounded back to the other end of the bridge, skidding to a halt before the steps, shield raised and ready to face the advancing tide of warriors. 'Whatever you plan, decide _now!_'

Fendle's voice came hesitant in the growing tempers. 'There might be a way-'

Fritha jerked to him. 'What?'

'It would be dangerous, and would need an agile frame-'

'Just _tell_ me!'

'Over there,' he croaked, hurrying to point over the crenulated wall, 'A moulding runs along the side of the bridge and onto the wall of the fortress itself. Someone could edge along with me on their back and I could unlock a window and lead us both to our friends.'

A heartbeat to consider it and Fritha dropped to a crouch. 'Yes. Here, climb on.'

Jaheira had joined them, the woman suddenly frantic.

'Fritha, no, you cannot do this! You may reach Solaufein, but how do you plan to get out again?'

A curt nod to the doors as Fritha straightened, Fendle now clinging to her back.

'Through there.'

Minsc was beside himself, the Rashemi joining his voice to the druid's.

'No, young Fritha - you walk into death!'

'She walks the only path there is if you wish to rescue your ally!' proclaimed Fendle over her shoulder, 'This fortress was built with over a dozen secret exits. From one of the middle levels, a hidden ladder runs down along the building and past the edge of the plateau. It was how I first made my escape, and it leads to a ledge in the rock that runs back to the stairs we first came down. Once my kin are released, we will all fight our way through the fortress and escape as one!'

Minsc was shaking his head, unconvinced, and for the first time since Amkethran, Jaheira looked close to tears.

'Fritha, _please_, I understand, but-'

'No, you _don't!_' Fritha burst out, not angry but desperate, 'Not him, Jaheira, they can have anyone but him! I promised myself he'd have a future, that he wouldn't have followed in vain. I need one happy ending from all this, one success! It can't _all_ be for nothing!'

'It will be if you both die down here!' snapped Imoen.

But Fritha just turned from them, suddenly calmed as the weight of her words sunk upon her. 'If I cannot return with him, then perhaps it is better I do not return at all. Hold them here for as long as you can, then retreat back to the surface.'

Anomen looked wild. 'We will not abandon-'

'I've made my decision! The rest of you need to survive to stop Melissan.'

Fritha hopped up to sit upon the wall, a sheer drop into the darkness swimming on the other side as her eyes found that ledge, barely wide enough for her booted foot. She could not help but take one last glance to the others, perhaps the last chance she would ever have, her friends arrayed upon the bridge, worn and worried just as she had left them so many times before.

'I'm sorry -for everything. Be safe.'

**…**

Fritha clung to the window ledge above with fingers that had long ago gone numb, the disturbing sense that she could not feel her self gripping and could, in fact, be letting go without knowing, making her cling to it all the tighter.

'Not much further,' murmured Fendle at her ear. 'I suppose you are lucky Sendai kept me half-starved.'

Fritha could make no reply, the girl more than occupied shuffling her feet slowly along the ledge below without looking down at the dizzying drop that awaited any wrong move, the sounds of the fight she had left clashing against the stone before them. Hesitantly, she reached for the next window ledge, a panicked instant spent groping on air until her hand found the shuttered frame. In the corridor beyond, bodies were running back and forth, perhaps heed some unheard call to arms, and Fritha painfully inched her way past another three windows before Fendle finally called her to a halt.

'Here, this one sounds empty. Keep still while I open the shutters.'

Fritha pressed her body to the cold stone as though it too would cling to it if it could, her stomach lurching as Fendle clambered roughly onto her shoulders. A scrape of the blade he had looted, and suddenly his weight was gone and Fritha was groping up over the window ledge to haul herself inside. The room he had found was a decent size, easily holding six short beds and a few chests. Fritha scanned about it, merely glad of the distraction as she waited for her trembling heart to calm. The furnishings were so basic as to serve either slaves or soldiers, the height of ceiling, door and window leaving her in no doubt as to the fortress's original architects. Fendle was already at the door opposite, small grey head pressed to the wood as he strained to listen through it.

'Is it far?' she murmured, at last ready to speak.

'No, not far. The cells are three floors down.' Satisfied, Fendle pulled ajar the door to check the corridor and quickly beckoned her after him. 'This way.'

The hallway outside was empty, the pair tearing along it and down the next.

'There should be some stairs just-'

Fendle darted back from the next corner, but it was too late. Fritha did not understand what the two duergar were shouting, but her sword had their reply.

'Hells' Teeth!' she cursed to the nearest corpse. Fendle would not even spare it that.

'We must go! When they find the bodies we will be searched for.'

Down the coiled staircase they clattered and deeper into that maze. Fritha could barely tell one grey, torch-lit hallway from another after a while, every door they past set with the same plain wood. Fendle had the lead, the gnome pausing at each corner, haste tempered with caution and they made their way down two further floors without meeting another soul.

'Here,' he gasped finally, stopping at a stout door that looked little different from any of the others they'd passed, 'The cells are through here.' He cocked an ear to the wood. 'There is movement on the other side.'

Fritha took a step back and let light fingers rest upon the handle. 'Then prepare for a fight.'

Four duergar guards turned at sound of the door; the nearest did not even have chance to cry out. A single leap took Fritha into their midst, one cut down as she landed, his brother run through as he fumbled for his sword. The remaining two had fallen back, weapons before them, Fritha kicking aside a shield to leave him open for Fendle, while the other was cut down with a slash to the face. And save for them, the cramped, three-sided room was empty once more, the two walls that came to an apex before them each lined with three, grille-set doors.

'H-Hello?' came the tentative cry. Fendle was already fussing at his pockets.

'It is Fendle, I have returned! Just a moment, I will pick the locks.'

Fritha left Fendle to his task, the girl flitting from door to door to peer through the grille of each, another two occupied by gnomes, the last holding a dead duergar.

'Solaufein? He's not here!'

'No…' came Fendle's voice behind her, firm and slightly sad, Fritha whirling to take in that bowed countenance, his freed kin gathered behind him, gazing up at her with pebble-like, black eyes. 'Sendai will be torturing him. Her chambers are two floors above us.'

The word came hoarse in her disbelief.

'_What?_ You _knew_ this? Then you have to help me reach him – I need you to show me the way out!'

Slowly, Fendle shook his head. 'No. I am sorry, but we are not warriors. In the chaos you have wrought, none will notice a few more slaves – my kin will make their escape in a stealth you could not hope to imitate. Forgive me.'

Shouts rang along corridor behind her. Fritha hardly registered them in her rage.

'You- _you!_'

She was trembling, the bloody haze descending again as she raised her blade, while Fendle merely held his ground, stoically waiting for the blow. No one spoke, his fellows about him watching in silent acceptance. Inside, the Blood screamed, demanding its vengeance –and it would taste it. Fritha tore herself from him with all the will she possessed, a roar worthy of Minsc bellowed along the hallway they had just fought down as she hefted her blade and broke into a run.

**…**

Solaufein kept his head down, ignoring the sporadic drip from his bloody back. He did not know when he heard it, the distant clash of fighting, only that the sound began to creep through his prayers mere moments before Sendai had burst into the room. The woman had snatched the whip from Malfindur and dismissed the male, her rage instantly vented upon him, though she barely landed a proper blow in her blind anger, and the frame he was locked to bore the brunt.

Sendai had seemed to realise the same at length, the woman stepping back and she was still out of sight now, somewhere behind him, her breath coming heavy as she fought to restore her air of the unruffled torturer. His quiet laughter started her, the woman stepping into his peripherals.

'You find something amusing, _worm?_'

'Look at you,' he croaked, 'you rage and curse and let all see your failure when even a child would know to keep such outbursts hidden.'

But to his surprise, it was Sendai's turn to laugh.

'Fool! How long have you lived up there? Months? Years? The drow hold you still.' She snorted pityingly, 'Keeping yourself checked when you should be _savouring_ every moment of rage and passion you would have once been forced to suppress. You have wasted the life you had up there, and now it is too late and your allies' pathetic attempts at a rescue will shortly be at an end.' She looped the scourge she held about his neck and began to pull it tight. 'Along with my patience. _Tell_ me, _who sent you?_'

'I work- I was sent-' The pressure was crushing his throat, Sendai's eyes bulging eagerly as she watched him struggle for breath. 'M-Melissan!'

'_What?_'

The pressure was instantly released. Solaufein gulped at the air like a drowning man. 'She is killing all- all the Five.'

Sendai's face was alive in her triumph. 'I _knew_ it! That _bitch!_ She claimed only to help us, but I knew it! Blamed their deaths on some faceless Bhaalspawn from the north. From the beginning, she worked on us, divided us by our own ambitions; she wanted us weak. Who does she work for? Who's behind this?'

The whip was back, closing about his throat – Solaufein would have told her anything in the grip of that panic.

'No one! She seeks the Throne for herself!'

'You think me a fool? She is not of the Blood! _Who is_ _behind it?_'

He just managed to choke out the word. '_A-Amelyssan._'

'And who is that? Another of the Children?'

'No, that is her true name,' he gasped, 'Amelyssan, High Priestess of Bhaal, the greatest of the Deathstalkers, and she can take the Throne just as any Bhaalspawn could – She will betray her Lord and leave Bhaal dead.' He did not even know where this tale was going anymore, the desire to talk and still draw breath prevailing against any reason. 'I am part of a team she sent to kill the others. Illasera fell first in the forests of the Wealdath. Then came Saradush.'

'You lie!' Sendai snapped, finger stabbed into a wound on his chest for good measure. 'The mage, Imoen, killed Yaga Shura; they even call her the Saviour of Saradush!'

'And who took the enchantment from his heart? Who even knew of it outside of the Five? Melissan sent us. Abazigal, was next. We stormed his stronghold in the _Agasahra._'

Sendai stepped back, raising her chin in defiance of the news. 'And now she comes for me. Where is she? Where is Melissan now?'

'I do not know,' he confessed, 'I was to take news of my success here back to the desert. It is there her generals raise an army of djinn and dragons.'

'And what of Balthazar?' she demanded, 'Does he ally himself with that _viper?_'

Solaufein blinked. 'Balthazar?'

'Do not play the fool with me; I know he raises an army to destroy me! Why else would I need my own? He is in league with her, isn't he? Both waiting to betray the other after I am removed!'

The door forestalled any answer he could have made, a drow male bursting through to dip a panicked bow.

'Mistress! Forgive me, but you are needed.'

**…**

The dwarf swung low, Valygar taking the blow on his shield to leave the warrior open for Minsc's blade, his body shoved carelessly over the side by his fellows as another stepped up to fill his place. Anomen drove his shield into the pair before him, and here and there along the steps, men lost their place in the swarming mass of bodies and plummeted from the stairs. If it had not been for that choke point they would have been overwhelmed in moments, and the three men had worked together since to hold that army back, those dwarfs pressed behind prevented from making a concerted push forward by the constant barrage of spells and crates being hurled by Jaheira and Imoen from the bridge above.

'Watch the flanks!' Valygar roared, 'Imoen, send over more fire!'

'I'm working as fast as- Oh…'

At the end of the bridge, the huge doors into the fortress had opened, and in the pale flicker of the torchlight within stood a cadre of six drow warriors. Imoen summed the group's feelings up in one hissed expletive.

'_Fuck!_'

Valygar voiced the conclusion no one else could. 'It is time we left; Imoen?'

'But, young Fritha and Solaufein?' shouted Minsc, sending a dwarf plunging into the darkness with a well-placed swing, 'We cannot leave without them!'

The three men looked to Jaheira, their unbiased conscience in this. The druid squared her shoulders to the burden.

'She made her decision, Minsc. Imoen.'

The girl took a step back from the wall, hands flexing as the energies she had held back were slowly given release.

'Right then!'

She raised her hands, the dark green light about them intensifying and even the dwarfs on the steps seemed to pause in their battle to watch her. At any moment, that portal would to sunder the darkness above them. Valygar watched with a tightening stomach, struggling against the urge to join Jaheira on the bridge as the drow closed upon them.

_Any moment, any moment now-_

Imoen stooped so quickly at first he thought she had collapsed, glowing green palms slammed into the cobbles at her feet to buckle the stonework. It began gradually, a tremble to the air that slowly rose to a thunder, the low rumbled groan of some enraged giant. The bridge beneath had begun to quake, the fractured stonework already crumbling away into the darkness.

'What did you do?' cried Jaheira, her voice trembling along with the rest of them. Imoen was casting about above, as frantic as the druid.

'I don't know – I was only aiming to collapse the bridge!'

'Fool girl! How do you think this fissure formed! The earth here is unstable!'

The drow were in chaos, stumbling and cursing each other as they made to retreat over the collapsing stonework. Across what little of the cavern they could see, huge cracks were opening, rocks breaking from the walls and roof to plummet through the darkness. Half the dwarfs were trying to flee the falling rubble, those fixed to stay or who did not retreat fast enough trampled by the rest. A rock the size of a pavilion smashed through the upper flight to scatter any remaining into the depths.

'Come on, Vals!' Imoen urged; the man had lingered until sure there would be no pursuit. The others were just ahead of them at the steps, Jaheira in the lead and halfway up that first narrow flight.

'Quickly! I do not know how long- Get back!'

Valygar just saw the druid flatten herself to the wall behind as the boulder plummeted past her, instinct grabbing Imoen and throwing his wooden buckler above them for all the good it should have done. A flash and stone shards were raining down to rattle upon his shield, the pair left panting in the settling dust.

'Imoen? Are you hurt?'

The girl just shook her head, transfixed by something above her and it was only after a moment he realised it was him, the faint blue aura of magic still lingering about his clawed hand. Slowly he lowered the shield.

'I…' He honestly did not know what to say.

'Imoen? Valygar? Are you all right?'

Imoen stared at him for as long as the moment would allow, her thousand questions swallowed and her hand was suddenly gripping that cursed arm for a heartening squeeze. 'Come on, we need to go.'

**…**

The duergar tried to dodge, his fellows too packed in behind to allow for the movement and Fritha cut him down while he hesitated. Movement to her left. She caught the axe sweep, smashing the dwarf in face to run him through, another of his brothers stepping over the body to take his place in the circle that pressed her, just as more dwarves rounded the corner at the end of the corridor. Fritha kicked a nearby shield away, skewering the dwarf behind it. More were coming, many more, the girl reaching inside and trying to harness the last of the rage that was fading within her.

A sting in the back of her leg. Fritha whirled to cleave the offending dwarf's arm clean from his body along with his bloodied sword, the distraction enough to open her flank for another blade. She parried the blow, just catching another to her right; the circle was closing about her and the anger flared once more. She would not die there for nothing! She refused!

Somewhere above them, the thunder of angry stone that seemed to alarm the surrounding dwarfs far more than her. The corridor had begun to shake, and outside screams echoed against the stone. Through the nearest window, she could see shapes rushing past in the dark, the scene suddenly opened in an explosion of rubble as a shard of rock the size of a cart tore away the outside wall and the Underdark was laid before them in roaring blackness.

Fritha did not wait to see any more, the girl already past the fleeing dwarves and tearing down the crumbling passage; the Blood knew the way and for once she heeded it.

**…**

The quaking room was unheeded about him. Solaufein held his breath, ignoring the gentle chime of the trembling bottles, his eyes closed to the flickering lamplight as he fought to summon the last of his strength for the rescue that was coming. It would be soon – he would have to run. As the thought struck, so did the moment, the door exploding open and Sendai stalked inside, fear and anger blazing in those red eyes. A drow bodyguard and one of the higher ranking mercenaries had hurried in after her, though their reluctance could not have been more obvious, the pair lingering before the doorway eager to be away.

'Mistress, the cavern is collapsing - we should escape!'

Sendai ignored the drow, a hand thrown to Solaufein and her fury was expressed in one baleful shriek.

'_You!_'

Hands were suddenly on him, one clawed within his hair as the other struck his face with every word.

'What – is - _happening?_'

Solaufein could feel the smile curling his bloody mouth; he sighed her name like a prayer.

'Fritha.'

'_What?_'

'Bane's Arse, woman,' snapped the merc, 'just kill him and let's go!'

But Sendai was held rapt, the woman not even sparing a glance back as the two men cut their losses and fled without her.

'She is coming, Sendai. Fritha: Enslaver of Dragons, Leader of the Five, Chosen of Bhaal.'

Sendai had released him, the woman whirling to throw her accusations at the empty room. 'You make no sense! This woman is no member of the Five - the dragons were Abazigal's!'

'She found me in the darkness – I had all any male could ask for there, but it was not enough. She brought me here, to lands where I have nothing and it means everything.'

'They were just _rumours_ - of a Bhaalspawn from the north. Some of the others believed it, but I knew it was merely a plot – a tale of Melissan's to keep us paranoid and diverted -someone to blame for the deaths that _she_ had caused! Illasera, Yaga Shura, Abazigal! _She was not real!_'

Solaufein just managed a pitying laugh, all breath and gurgling blood.

'You've been hiding away in this forest for so long and missed so much, and now it is too late.'

The woman swelled, hysterical with rage as she beat any part of him she could reach.

'I hide from no one! _I will NEVER HIDE AGAIN!_'

'That is enough.'

That voice, both command and promise, and there she was, standing in the trembling doorway, a vivid blot of colour against the bilious, sallow stone. Fritha had come for him. For them both.

Sendai had whipped about, fury dissipated to sheer amazement as she found her there, and Fritha took in every detail of that plain, yet imperious countenance. Solaufein was half hidden behind Sendai's stocky frame, and she was glad for the numb throb of the countless battles it had taken to get there as she caught a glimpse of his battered face.

'Who-' breathed the woman, the horror dawning behind her eyes. 'Not _Fritha?_'

Fritha merely nodded and Sendai seemed for a moment lost to her own disbelief, her face crumpling with the cry.

'_No! NO!_ You were a _tale!_ Another of Melissan's _lies!_'

Fritha raised her chin – the sight of Solaufein was slowly working on her, worming past that war-weary fugue to stir her anger. With deliberation she ran a hand along her blade, leaving upon the dead metal an aura of flaming blue. 'I am her truth, drow.'

Sendai drew her sword with a defiant snarl; in her hand a globe of green energy flared. 'Come then! I am not dead yet!'

A heartbeat and they sprang to life, Sendai hurling her spell as Fritha dived clear, the bolt sundering the table behind to scatter the knives upon it in a deadly hail. Sendai was already upon her, sword aloft and Fritha just straightened to parry the blow, the drow's counter-attack awkwardly deflected as Sendai danced back from the glowing coals that suddenly strewed her path, Fritha toppling the brazier between them. Another spell arced across the room. Fritha caught it on her blade, the magics dissipating in a blaze that resounded with the clash as their swords met and for a time they traded blows, each sweep matched and countered. Sendai was the stronger, and likely the more skilled, but Fritha was fast, every move anticipated and it was an advantage the drow clearly wished to cripple.

Fritha parried a sweep to her shoulder, their blades locking at the hilt as Sendai closed the distance between them, and the girl was suddenly caught, unable to retreat without leaving herself open. Sendai smiled; she had cornered her against the remains of the broken table, the stronger woman forcing Fritha back towards the upright rack of iron spikes that had been leant against the wall behind. She struggled to resist, knives sent skidding over the flags as her feet fought for purchase, that brief glance down all the distraction Sendai needed. Pain exploded in her face and back in the same instant, the drow suddenly forcing their locked blades down to lay Fritha open for a vicious head butt that saw her meet the spikes behind. Hot blood was gushing over her chin, her vision filled with stars – another blow would finish it and Fritha could feel the searing wetness of her back as she braced for what was to come. Sendai drew back her head and-

_Crack!_

The drow's cry was muted by the gurgled spray of blood, the full force of her head butt impacting on to the top of Fritha's skull as the girl dropped her head at the last instant, to flatten the woman's nose and upper lip into a bloody pulp. Sendai staggered back, disorientated and half blinded by blood and Fritha lunged for her, shoulder colliding with her rib cage to drive her back into the shelves opposite. An explosion of glass and choking gases, and Fritha danced back from the pooling liquids. Sendai was thrashing at her feet screaming as the poisons ate through armour and flesh with equal ferocity.

Fritha left her there, already at the frame and fumbling at the manacles that suspended Solaufein beneath, the girl nearly buckling under the sudden weight of his body, until he found his own strength and took it from her. She kept an arm about him all the same, trying to support him upon the quaking stone tiles without touching the lesions that covered his bared chest, his back a bloody hatching she did not even wish to contemplate. He tried a smile, peering at her through swollen eyelids.

'I knew – I knew you would come.'

Behind them, Sendai had stopped screaming, her whimpers fading away to just the wheezing pant of a women who knew she could count her last breaths, mangled legs a gory, useless mess below her waist.

'We were to be gods upon the earth, the Five most powerful Bhaalspawn elevated to the greatest of His generals – just as my mother had promised. For decades, I suffered down there, clinging to my cursed divinity, my birthright, only to be murdered here by _you_.'

Fritha just shook her head, trying to stem the blood from her broken nose; they had not the time and yet- 'I am sorry. Even for those who would ascend in tyranny, I am beginning to think all us Children got a raw deal.'

'Save your pity for yourself!' the woman snarled, 'What army could have matched the one Balthazar's gathers but my own?'

'Balthazar?' cried Fritha, knees braced and taking Solaufein's weight as a stronger shudder shook the room, 'He gathered his forces only to protect the monastery from you and Melissan!'

'What? Could it be… _Fool!_' Sendai cackled weakly, 'It is Balthazar! _He_ is the last of the Five – and the worst of us! He gathers an army to the east not to march on me, but the whole of Tethyr! He plans to kill all who have the essence – from the greatest down to every worthless peasant with but a drop of black blood. He will start a war and murder thousands in his _duty_ to purge this taint from Faerûn.'

'His cure,' Fritha breathed. Sendai nodded, arms trembling under her own weight and at last she collapsed back into the glittering shards beneath her.

'Face him as you must… save Tethyr, if you can. And- and _kill_ Melissan. Revenge me of her…'

Fritha nodded, feeling that power within the woman as it bayed for its release, just waiting to engulf her. A hand snapped about Solaufein's wrist.

'Stay alive, Sendai! Stay alive as long as you can!'

**…**

Fritha tore along quaking corridors, Solaufein dragged after her in a desperation that overwhelmed the pity for his injuries that twisted her heart. Around the last corner, and ahead the main doors swung into view, both thrown open upon the wide crumbling bridge.

'Come on!'

She willed herself faster, dodging bodies and cracks even as the stonework fractured beneath her feet. Through the hail of falling rocks, she could see the opposite ledge and the stairs they first climbed down, intact for now.

'Go on, you first,' she commanded, pushing the man before her. Solaufein made no answer, his flagging energies saved for the climb and Fritha took one last glance back. Half the fortress was gone, collapsed into the depths below, great shards of rock raining from the cavern above to bombard the remains like a siege weapon.

Up they climbed, the worn stone steps shaking under screaming legs, until at last they reached that first plateau, deserted now, cool air carrying the scent of smoke from the black passage mouth.

'Come, the quarry's this way.'

Solaufein was waning, the man cursing quietly in his own tongue and trying to keep running through sheer anger alone. A dozen or so yards along the fissure the passage opened to a cavern, the few lamps casting the hewn walls in flickering yellow light. The makeshift scaffolding had already collapsed, the ground scattered with bodies, dead guards surround by dead miners. It had cost them dearly, but the slaves had finally risen up. A great rumble from the passage behind, the thunder of collapsing stone and the quaking about them intensified.

'Quickly!'

Fritha raced over the littered ground, pulling the stumbling drow after her. The passage began again on the other side, the slope upwards easier, worn smooth by the tramp of countless feet. A turn in the tunnel, and light opened the way above, an irregular white pane that it hurt to look upon.

Fritha quickened her pace; they were almost there.

As one, they stumbled into the light, Solaufein clinging to her arm like a drunk. The clearing was empty, the temple standing silent opposite the destroyed camp. Solaufein fell to his knees but a few paces from the cliff face, panting in the dirt. The sudden release of her body left Fritha just as unsteady and she collapsed to the ground beside him with a tremble of laughter. The blinding relief had brought tears to her eyes, the smile she sent Solaufein her last conscious act before oblivion claimed her.


	47. Dark into Light

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Well, this is it. At current estimates, I've only ten chapters left to go. Thanks go out to my betas, and to everyone who left feedback on the last few chapters -the encouragement really helps, especially after so long, so as ever, please read and review._

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Dark into Light**

'Another fallen, sister?'

Fritha took the hand he proffered and allowed Sarevok to help her stand, the girl braced for a pain that did not come – and why would it? It was not her body that stood there under the boiling green sky, and she hoped suddenly that the others had made it out alive.

'Sister?'

She turned from eager grey eyes, Sarevok hungry for her answer.

'Sendai is dead.'

'Impressive,' came the genuine praise, 'So you have only Melissan to defeat now and the Throne will be yours.'

'Not quite. Balthazar is the last of the Five, not her.'

'The monk with the _cure?' _He heaped disdain upon the word and Fritha turned in time to watch the warrior consider it, 'A clever ruse though, to hide his intent behind such altruism.'

Fritha sighed, hugging her arms about her against knife-edged winds. 'Oh no, Balthazar still has a cure. It involves him taking an army across Tethyr and killing, well, probably everyone of the right age who can't present evidence of a mortal father, to purge the taint from Faerûn.'

To her surprise, Sarevok began to laugh, deep and full of humour.

'That fool! Even your first plan, flawed as it was, of keeping the Children alive was wiser that this indiscriminate slaughter. Once enough power is released he will not be able to hold it – Bhaal will rise in him whatever his _noble_ intent.'

'Perhaps he believes he has the will to hold Him back? He has been training for this at the monastery all his life.'

'Then he is even more of a fool,' Sarevok dismissed, 'There are powers outside the mortal world larger than any mind can comprehend or body can contain. And what _he_ would seek… that vast, black consciousness that would take even the strongest mind to the edge of insanity.'

Fritha gazed out across that tiled plain, the flat landscape stretching off to that infinite horizon where grey met curdling green sky, and somewhere in between, somewhere behind she could _feel_ it. It was a whisper, a shadow that when looked or listened for would disappear, and yet always it remained.

'Yes…'

'You have felt it, sister, have you not?'

'Power,' she admitted finally, turning back to watch awe and anticipation fight in those piercing eyes. 'But not elevating or awesome, but something I had a right to, that had always been mine.'

'Yes, sister, that is it! That is the Throne!'

'To grasp it was incredible, but, ultimately, it was the one who took from me.'

'Perhaps, in the beginning,' admitted Sarevok grudgingly, 'before you learn to control it. But once _you_ have dominance, it is a power you could harness.'

'As you did?' she scoffed tiredly, 'I tried and it nearly cost me everything. The Blood does not care who it swallows to feed its lusts. Those closest will be taken first – you should have lost enough to realise that.'

He snorted, his sullen self once more as he turned from her, staring across the plains as she had.

'It has been a while since you came here.'

'I have been drinking of a night – I suppose my dreams are not as open to control. Do not be concerned, brother,' she added at the frown he had just snapped to her, 'it was nothing serious, and it is behind me now –for the most part.'

He was still scrutinising her, those eyes boring into hers as though he could read the truth of it on her face. Fritha shrugged inwardly, gaze back on that murky horizon.

'It's not long now…'

xxx

Her eyes opened to a washed out blue sky, the palest amber creeping through the silhouette of the western canopy. The air was cooling, the breeze stirring the lingering scent of smoke and blood, though it was hard to inhale it. Her nose felt blocked, likely swollen from where it had been broken and subsequently healed while she had been unconscious. Voices murmured about her, the urge to sit tempered by the pain that burned in every limb, her body once more the victim of a will it was not built to contain.

'Jaheira, she is awake,' came Anomen, somewhere just out of sight, a monumental effort going into lifting her head to find him knelt at her feet, the man leaning forward to help her sit.

'Did everyone- Are you all?'

'We're fine, Fritha, everyone is here.'

And that they were, their group gathered just before the entrance to the only pavilion still standing, at least nominally, the smoke-dirtied peaks of the half-collapsed canvas looming over the campsite's charred remains and scattered bodies, while the temple stood opposite, dark and silent. Minsc, Valygar and Imoen were settled to the left, a bottle of aqua vitae shared between then as they quietly tended their own grazes and cuts, while Jaheira was busy dressing the wounds on the body laid just beside her. Solaufein looked even worse in the sunlight, every welt and burn brought out in harsh detail, though whatever healing Jaheira and Anomen had managed between them had reduced the swelling in his face, the blood clotted in his hair a reminder for the half-healed cuts that still hatched his cheeks and jaw.

'Thank Silvanus!' Jaheira sighed, no pause to her work even in her evident relief, 'I thought we would lose you both when the cavern began to collapse.'

'No,' Fritha smiled weakly, 'not yet.' A nod to the body next to her. 'How is he?'

'I am fine, Fritha,' came that cracked whisper, 'Just resting. I knew you would come.'

Fritha swallowed, unable to leave him in this delusion of her heroism for a moment longer.

'Solaufein, I'm sorry. I started a fight in the camp. It was my fault you were taken in the first place.'

A pause to consider this revelation, the man hissing as he groped the air just between them trying to find a hand to take in his own.

'And it was by you I was rescued. Do not be troubled.'

'Solaufein will make a full recovery,' added Jaheira, as though to ease any guilt she felt on that front, 'The damage likely looks –and feels- worse than it is.'

Fritha just hunched forward and brought her knees up, not caring how much it hurt, her eyes falling on the girl opposite. Imoen was slumped into Valygar idly dabbing a small cut on the man's arm, her dark hair limp and straggly after days without a wash. Fritha wondered how she had not noticed it before.

'Good spell back there – I doubt we'd have made it out without it.'

Imoen tried a weak smile. 'Yeah, well, I get there in the end.'

'Now, you're awake,' continued Anomen, only to pause, slowly trailing off as more than one head cast about for the faint clatter that had stirred the air, echoing off the surrounding trunks with the distant crash of bracken. More than one head whipped about for the source.

'What's that?'

Fritha darted to her feet; her body screamed in protest. The sound was to the east, the mottled green undergrowth broken here and there by the flash of metal.

'Mercenaries. _Fuck!_ Imoen, Jaheira, get Solaufein inside the tent and stay there – I want our reinforcements hidden. The rest of you, follow my lead.'

A scramble to follow her orders, the two women bearing the drow off on the cloak he was laid upon, Anomen, Minsc and Valygar rising about her in an honour guard that would have impressed even Sendai and there they waited to meet the small war band who were making a cautious approach through the trees. They were a score or so men strong, all of a Calimshite bearing and each with some band or mark of blue upon them, while the thickly bearded captain at their head bore a round shield emblazed with a blue wolf's paw; mercs from one of the nearby camps, perhaps drawn by the smoke or noise. The captain brought them to a halt just inside the clearing, his men surveying the devastation in awe-struck silence.

'Deena, Pariq, check the temple,' the captain barked in curt Alzhedo, 'The rest of you pair off and try to find the source of that trem-' He stopped finally noticing their four, a nod to the men behind indicating they should follow as he strode towards them. Fritha drew herself up – with bloody clothes and a broken nose, she imagined she cut quite the figure.

'What has happened here?' he demanded in the local Chondathan, 'We saw the smoke from our camp and then-'

'_We_ happened here. Sendai is dead, and her army with her.'

The captain looked no less than astounded. '_Dead? _All _dead?_ _You_ did this?'

Fritha affected a derisive snort. 'You think _Sendai_ was the only Bhaalspawn in Tethyr? We work for the archmage, Imoen, the Saviour of Saradush. She saw an end to the pretender, Yaga Shura, just as she ordered the slaughter of this drow _bitch_.'

'You,' breathed one of the men, his young voice heavy with accent, 'you are the girl they describe in the bounty.'

'The one with three thousand pieces on her?' muttered his friend. Fritha fixed the lad with a steel-eyed glare. About her, the men hefted weapons.

'And do you wish to find out _why?_ I am but one of many in Imoen's service, but I know her destiny as well as my own: the Throne is _hers_ and her ascension will be steeped in the blood of _any_ who try to oppose her! Go, leave here and tell your brothers there will be coin in her wake for any who wish it. Her armies gather now at the ruins of Alhali.'

Fritha did not wait for any answer, pointedly turning her back on the man, secure in the knowledge that three pairs of eyes still watched it for her. A heartbeat and then another, and finally that clatter she was so desperate to hear, the barked orders of the captain taking his men back into the forests.

'They're gone,' announced Valygar, at last. Fritha just resisted sinking back to the ground once more -everything hurt- the girl kept on her feet as Imoen and Jaheira stepped from the tent, the drow born between them, and arm across each shoulder. Fritha made a half-hearted limp towards them.

'Sola, you shouldn't be up.'

'I am fine, Fritha.'

'He insisted,' provided Jaheira with a frown, the pair gently lowering the man to sit on the ground beneath them, Imoen's gaze remaining there as she struggled to find the words.

'Fritha, what you said…'

'I can't explain now, but we're going to need to raise an army, and it's going to need a figurehead, someone of the Blood. My name is too steeped in wrong-doing now, with that bounty notice telling everyone I'm leader of the Five. It will have to be you, Imoen.'

'But an army -_why?_'

Fritha sighed; they would have to be told. 'Balthazar isn't a neutral party in this – he's one of the Five, well, the last of them now, I suppose. He's raising an army to march across Tethyr and kill every Bhaalspawn. That's his cure. I'm sorry.'

Imoen seemed torn between anger and disbelief. '_That_ was his _cure?' _A beat to let the anger swell; green eyes snapped to her._ '_How long have you known about this?'

'Calm, Imoen,' croaked the man at her feet, 'Sendai spoke of it.'

'He believes it is his sacred duty to purge the taint from Faerûn,' added Fritha, 'it's what his monastery was set up for. He told us as much himself – just not the means.'

'But what about Melissan?' asked Valygar. Fritha shrugged.

'She's still a threat, but not one who is part of the Five.'

'But- but how can Balthazar be the last of the _Five_?' cried Imoen, 'he'd have to be a Bhaalspawn.'

'Not necessarily,' countered Jaheira. 'We believed Melissan was a member and she is not of the Children.'

'No,' croaked Solaufein, 'but he is.'

'Then how can he purge the taint?' cried Imoen, 'He'd have to…'

'Kill himself?' offered Fritha, 'Or perhaps he does have some sort of ritual to purge the essence once it is all collected. I don't know how he plans it, but we have to stop him and for that we will need an army.'

'But _how?_'

'A good question,' said Jaheira, 'but not one for now. A couple of you go and check the surroundings for supplies and the remains of a tent, we need to make a stretcher -save you assurances, Solaufein, I will not hear them. The rest of you pack up. Come, before more mercenaries arrive to investigate their fallen leader.'

**…**

They walked into the dusk, at last, halting to make camp in a shallow dell as twilight crept across the eastern canopy. After the day they had faced, all agreed to risk a small fire, Jaheira knelt now and tending the thin soup that was bubbling over it. Her patient was doing well: Solaufein was sat up in the circle that had gathered about the firepit, though he fought a wince in every movement, Fritha at his elbow and ready to help in any task he would allow her.

'So, Balthazar is the last of the Five,' began Valygar in a summary of the topic that had held them since they'd called a halt, 'and he's gathering an army to march across Tethyr to kill all the Children.'

'Well, where is it then?' asked Imoen to no one particular, 'his army, I mean. It can't have been just the mercs at Amkethran, there weren't enough.'

'Perhaps he hides them in the desert?' offered Minsc. Fritha shook her head, and passed a flask to Solaufein. 'You heard Harjit – nothing can survive long in the sands, let alone a whole army.'

'_Damnation!_' Anomen burst out suddenly, 'We heard of it– Those mercenaries we met on the road, the ones who could not find Sendai -they said they were travelling east to join an army that was being raised.'

Jaheira settled back on her haunches, spoon held contemplatively over the pot. 'Balthazar has been raising men for a while then… A force large enough to face Sendai's.'

'And now _we_ need an army to match it,' muttered Valygar.

'Hang on,' cried Imoen, as though surprised she was the only one to consider it, '_why?_ We didn't need an army to take out Sendai. Why don't we just assassinate Balthazar?'

Fritha sighed and took a long mouthful from the flask the drow had passed back to her.

'Because I'm guessing even if Balthazar falls, his brothers are going to be more than willing to carry on the fight – they've all vowed to end the taint, after all. We'll never raise enough men to face his army in straight battle,' Fritha continued thoughtfully, 'but if we can raise enough of a force to take Amkethran before the army is ordered to march-'

'My dream!' cried Imoen suddenly bolt upright, 'The two dragons fighting over Amkethran – it was us, us and Balthazar!'

Fritha could not help a laugh. 'Wow, _that_ was useful – the Fates are really helping us out here.'

After a couple of months of near continuous nightmares, Imoen was not inclined to see the funny side. 'Well, it's not like I can pick and choose what I dream!'

'All right, it was just a joke.'

'So what is the plan?' pressed Jaheira. All eyes seemed to turn to Fritha –and she was ready for them.

'The way I see it, we are disadvantaged in two areas: numbers and knowledge. Balthazar has an army and a fortress – his main force at the monastery will have to be removed if we are to stand any chance of dispersing this army before it marches.'

'Not all the monks wish to follow him,' added Valygar, 'we may be able to use that to our advantage.'

'Good point. As for what he plans, other than killing all the Bhaalspawn we know nothing. Is there some way he can purge the taint once it has all been collected?'

'I would expect he has some plan as to that,' said Anomen, 'Otherwise, another could rise as Melissan plans and merely take it.'

Jaheira was frowning. 'If you will recall though, Balthazar was sceptical as to Melissan's ability to take the Throne – he may not have considered this course.'

'This is what I am driving at,' pressed Fritha. 'We don't know enough, about what can be done or even if what we plan here will be enough to stop him. And Melissan's still out there somewhere. When Balthazar falls, there will be enough power accumulated to awaken, or open or, I don't know, _create_ Bhaal's Throne, and Melissan knows it, too. She's likely gone to ground, waiting for her chance and _we_ need to be ready when that time comes – we need to know more, about the Throne, the prophesies, everything.'

'So what are you planning,' snorted Imoen, 'a jaunt back to Candlekeep?'

'No, somewhere much closer.' A look to Anomen, and Fritha watched the comprehension dawn in those deep blue eyes.

'Watcher's Keep,' he murmured, all at once in earnest, 'Yes, even Melissan herself mentioned she was to visit there, though that could have been mere misdirection. But still, the brothers there are sworn guardians of knowledge considered too dangerous to allow free -and too vital to destroy. They could hold what we seek.'

'You believe we should split our group,' concluded Jaheira with a sigh. Fritha nodded.

'Yes… I will travel to Watcher's Keep with Anomen. With the Order looking for him and any bounty hunter with gold in his eyes looking for me, we would only be a liability to your efforts; the rest of you must travel to Alhali and raise an army.' Fritha drew a deep breath, letting the words she should have spoken an age ago finally find a voice. 'You were right, all of you; I didn't trust you. I thought the Fates wanted me, that anyone else involved would be, at best, a liability, and at worst, a casualty. But perhaps the Fates just want this, what we stand for. I can't do this alone -I was a fool to ever think I could- and the answers Anomen and I will find will mean nothing without the army you are going to build.'

'But a whole army…' sighed Imoen. Jaheira sent her an encouraging smile.

'We have more allies here than perhaps it first appears, girl, and there are many forces within Tethyr who should wish to stand in this battle.'

'As long as you don't mean the Harpers,' Imoen muttered. Jaheira looked almost surprised by the burst of laughter that escaped her.

'No,' the woman sighed, still chuckling mildly, 'I think I will look elsewhere this time.'

'It may be a risk, but we could speak to the Tethyran army,' ventured Valygar. 'We should at least warn them of Balthazar's intentions, if nothing else.'

'And do not forget the Orders,' added Anomen. 'They will wish to hear of this threat, as well.'

Fritha nodded. 'Well, with any luck, you'll have at least a few of Sendai's mercs to start you off.'

'Those mercenaries,' began Imoen reluctantly, 'they were the ones raiding the farms about here…'

Fritha sighed inwardly – the girl had a long way to go before she was the leader Fritha had been embellishing to those mercs.

'Yes, I know, Imoen, but I don't think we're in a place to be picky right now. Look on the bright side, if our two armies eventually do meet, the mercs will all wipe each other out.' A murmur of grim laughter and Fritha made to rise. 'So, we are agreed?'

Nodding about her, her friends resolved on a plan that at last felt as though it was not just cobbled together at the last moment from prophesy and desperation. Fritha felt her hopes flare – this would work.

'Good then. Right, I'm heading off for a wash. I'll not be long.'

'So we're really going to do this then,' muttered Imoen, a glance thrown to her friend's retreating form, now barely a dark outline in the deepening gloom, 'raise an army and attack Amkethran?'

'It _is_ the best plan we can make in the situation in which we find ourselves,' concluded Valygar, that clawed hand flexing unconsciously in his lap. 'How many days is it to Watcher's Keep?'

'About a tenday,' offered Anomen, 'perhaps longer. The Keep itself holds a defensive position high up Mount Tornas in the Stormantles, a range northeast of here, just north of the Ith River.'

'And what if they don't know anything?' countered Imoen. Anomen conceded the point with a mild shrug.

'Then, I suppose, we will be relying upon the army the rest of you are to raise. Please, excuse me, I would make my prayers before we eat.'

Imoen threw a scowl to his departing back –he and Fritha certainly had the better end of this deal. Raising army seemed an impossible feat, and the idea that she was to be its figurehead, even if only in name, that somehow the taint of its failure would rest upon her, left her stomach churning in unease…

'So where do we go from here?' Imoen sighed, nudging a shoulder into Valygar in an effort to get him to place a comforting arm about her. But she was sat on the side of his injured hand and he pretended not to notice.

'Back to Alhali,' answered Jaheira over a sip, the woman pausing to add the last of their pepper to the pot, 'That is where Fritha told the mercenaries we would gather.'

'And _what_ exactly are we going to pay them once they turn up?'

'We can promise them the spoils of a battle of which they do _not_ wish to be on the other side,' croaked Solaufein grimly, 'if they leave then, there is little more we can do.'

'Anomen was right,' added Jaheira, 'the Orders are our best recourse. Did not Anomen say you and he met with a knight of the Silver Chalice back in Indraviat, Minsc?'

And Imoen let the pair discuss their meeting, Solaufein lying back down to ease his pains, and the girl was glad to turn to the man next to her in this relative privacy.

'How's your hand? I mean, is it stiff?' she added quickly, 'I saw you flexing-'

'It is fine, Imoen,' came that gentle sigh, the pause between them just long enough to grow uncomfortable before Valygar sighed again to add. 'I know you wish to speak of what happened in the cavern and I will, just... not yet. Please?'

Dark eyes were gazing down at her, silently pleading. Imoen sent him a soft smile and nodded once. She was warmed that, at least, they were close enough for him not dismiss her entirely, a feeling only intensified as he placed that arm about her and let her massage the hand that had so betrayed him. As for what this all could mean…

Imoen was not so foolish as to think Valygar would suddenly embrace the Art for this discovery of his latent talent for it, but perhaps, in time…

A clanging broke her from her reverie. Jaheira was knocking the clinging film of nicely thickened stew from the spoon into the pot.

'There, that should be about ready. Can someone go and find Anomen and Fritha?'

'I will go.'

Imoen watched as Minsc heaved himself to his feet, and she nestled closer to Valygar. Perhaps this plan was not so impossible.

**…**

Anomen heard her long before he crested the bank and she came into view, that breathless pant that only icy water could elicit. He paused, hesitating a moment while just her head was all he could see, before considering that, with the proximity of the others, it was highly unlikely she would have stripped completely and he took another step to find her standing in the narrow brook in a clean chemise and shorts.

It was a sight that would have once had him scarlet, though he was past that now, an indifference the girl seemed to share, Fritha glancing up from where she was bent double and rinsing the last of the suds from her hair to send him a stoic nod.

'Does Jaheira need me back?'

'I do not know; I've been making my prayers. I just thought perhaps some time to talk was in order if we are to be spending the next tenday or more together.'

'I would have thought, with that on the cards, some time away from me would be in your best interests.'

Anomen sank onto the bank just up from her with a laugh and for a few moments silence held them, the man content to watch her as she wrung out her hair and coiled it haphazardly at her crown to await the comb, her attention turned to the pile of filthy clothes she had stripped off.

'I thought you beyond this,' he offered eventually. She had certainly seemed comfortable in the same set of clothes for the last six days. Fritha shrugged.

'I was,' she answered, shortness of breath keeping her curt as she pounded her soaped trousers against a nearby rock. 'I changed my mind.'

A change in the girl that perhaps spoke of others, too; Anomen watched her rinse her trousers and take up her old blue tunic. He doubted they had any means to remove the bloodstains, but perhaps the girl realised this too, merely rubbing it over with the soap as she had her trousers, the half-closed wound on the back of her calf flashing red as she crouched again to the rock.

'Your calf - you should let someone look at that.'

Fritha straightened to wobble on one leg, holding the pale limb out to him to allow for the most nominal inspection. 'There. It's hurt. So what?' she huffed, already returned to her beating. 'If you want to fuss over someone, go and find Solaufein.'

'Jaheira is tending him – besides, I am more concerned about you at the moment.'

'Trying to keep me in one piece?' she asked airily, stooping at last to rinse the tunic. 'I suppose if I'm going to ascend it would be nice to do it whole. Mind you, doesn't seem to bother Tyr.'

'It is not your physical self I am worried about. Fritha, this anger-'

'Is under control,' she cut in, calm but firm, 'I was angry, yes, and I let the Blood have more influence than I should, but I'm… better now. It's not like a battle where it's winning and I'm slowly losing myself. I just have good days and bad. I let it get the better of me over Alhali – it's hard when the world makes you decide who has to suffer – the murder the Blood has always cried for suddenly felt just. But, just or not, I can't let it rule me. I did back at the camp and look what I brought upon us.'

She shook her head, ashamed and lost for a moment -perhaps in what it could have cost her. Anomen would have done anything to ease her.

'It was not your fault, Fritha. Well, it was,' he admitted at her quirked eyebrow, 'but… allowances can be made. Ah, how do you do this?' he sighed suddenly, 'Trudge ever onward through false cures and betrayals, hunted and feared in equal measure?'

Fritha considered it a moment as she pulled on the waiting pair of trousers and stepped into her sandals.

'I don't know. I suppose I should say something noble here, like I'm doing it for the other Bhaalspawn -and I am, but sometimes I just feel so mired in it all, that I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. I am here. I must face Melissan and I must take the Throne and I must die,' she stooped for a clean tunic, 'more or less.'

'Young Fritha must take the Throne?'

They both whipped to the voice as one, Fritha shrill in her panic. '_What in the Nine Hells-?_'

Minsc had crested the bank behind them, the taller man literally towering over them in his breathless disbelief. 'Young Fritha must _die?_'

Fritha changed tack instantly, the girl scrambling up the bank to reach him. 'Minsc, I- I didn't mean it like that – we were speaking figuratively.'

'Do not mean to confuse me with your words – Boo understands you plainly! You know something of what is to come and it has been kept from the others! They _must_ be told, young Fritha!'

'And I will,' she pleaded, 'but not now, Minsc. Things like this, you have to tell people when there is something else bigger looming. I can't tell them now, it's too quiet, they've too much time to get really angry with me!'

'You will tell them now, or I will.'

Fritha looked close to tears, the girl grabbing his sleeve he made to turn. 'No, Minsc,_ please_, no,I'm begging you!Please, Minsc, I_ can't!_'

The ranger's heart was harder than a winter campaign– even Anomen felt compelled to lend his voice to her hopeless cause.

'Minsc, can you not heed her?'

But the man gravely shook his head, face set. Fritha drew back with a shuddering sigh and pulled on her last clean tunic.

'Fine, Minsc, fine, but…' She shook her head. 'You have ruined us.'

The others were gathered about the fire – there would be no reprieve waiting for absent members to return, Jaheira glancing up from where she was stirring the cooking pot.

'You look better for your wash, Fritha – more yourself. Thank you for fetching them, Minsc.'

'You are welcome, good Jaheira,' the ranger rumbled with an expectant look to Fritha and, about the fire, Imoen, Valygar and, at last, Solaufein followed suit. Fritha swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and beneath her Solaufein closed his eyes and struggled to sit – he knew what was to come.

'Minsc, perhaps this is not the best time,' Anomen offered hopefully to the swelling silence.

'No, it will be now. Young Fritha has something she wishes to tell you all.'

'Well, spit it out then,' sighed Imoen, 'you've got our attention.'

Fritha just stared down at them. She had always said she was going to tell them; it was only then she realised it had been a lie. A hand landed heavy on her shoulder, Anomen tightening it for a brief but heartening squeeze and she finally found her stolen voice.

'I- I don't know how to say this. I've been meaning to tell you all for awhile now, but- but there was never the right time…'

The camp seemed to be leaning towards her; she wanted to beg them not to be angry, but it seemed unfair – they had every right to it.

'I know that all this time we've been fighting to keep as many of the Children as we can safe, so Bhaal can't return, but- but it's not going to be enough. It would have never been enough, all these lesser Bhaalspawn won't mean anything – once we've killed Balthazar there will be enough Essence for someone to ascend.'

'And Melissan's going to try,' provided Imoen tiredly, 'Fritha, we know all this. We'll stop her.'

'And then?' countered Fritha, 'The Essence will always be there. What if another rises to claim the Throne? We already know it's possible for those not of the Blood. What if it's a warlord, a demon, a god?'

'So it has been hopeless,' concluded Valygar, his deep voice little more than a growl, 'You have known as much since the very beginning, and you _kept_ this from us?'

Fritha shook her head, a last glance to Minsc's impassive frown showing there would be no amnesty. She turned back to the block.

'No, Valygar, it is not hopeless. Sarevok told me of another prophesy. All who strive to take the Throne will run the risk of becoming Bhaal, but there is a chance that if someone has a will strong enough to control it, they will become a god in their own right, for better or worse. It is for _that_ which Melissan strives, and the only sure way to keep her from it…'

'You mean to take the Throne yourself,' breathed Jaheira, seemingly torn between horror for her fate and fear for her acceptance of it. Fritha felt like laughing.

'Yes. I was always destined for this. I was chosen, at the temple. I was to be the last and Bhaal was to be reborn in me. And, admittedly, that could still happen, but if I can manage to tame the power, I can spare the rest of the Children. They could all live out to the end of their natural lives. Sarevok said-'

'Is this the same Sarevok who just _parroted on_ about _birthrights and power?_' Imoen accused hotly, the girl making to her feet. Fritha flushed.

'Look, this isn't my decision! Sarevok told me about the Bhaalites' plan, that the Children of the Twin Temples were to be whittled down until only one was left. You said it yourself, Brieanna came down here for me. She knew what I am.'

Imoen fixed her with narrowed green eyes. 'I just want to know one thing: _when_ did you find out all this?'

Fritha tried to keep that hint of pleading from her tone. 'The- The knowledge came slowly, in fragments… I knew I had been chosen by the Bhaalites since the Mir Temple. I realised only recently what it meant.'

'_WHEN?'_

Fritha swallowed; another lie here and this would all go away...

'When I passed out, just after the battle with the dragon.'

Imoen glanced to the side, quickly reckoning the days in her head.

'Then… You said that was _it!_ When you awoke, you _swore_ you weren't keeping anymore secrets from us!'

'I _know_,' Fritha cried, 'I'm _sorry_. It was hard for me to admit – I needed to come to terms with what it meant before I told anyone else.'

At last, Minsc seemed satisfied, a comforting hand landing on her back to send her jerking forward a step. 'There, young Fritha, it is good that all is open between us once more.'

'Good?' exploded Imoen, her voice growing shriller as her colour rose, '_Good?_ She _lied_ to us! You always lie to us, you lying, two-faced _hypocrite!_'

Minsc seemed alarmed by the anger his confession had invoked, the man trying to get between them.

'Young Imoen-'

'I've said I'm sorry, Imoen. I did it for the best!'

'It wasn't the best, it was the _easiest!_ You stood there and promised me again and again – _you even talked about what we'd do when this was all over!_ You've never been my friend, not since the Asylum. You just lie and cheat and twist, and I'll _never_ forgive you this time, Fritha! _Never!_'

Fritha drew back, physically wrestling her anger with her. She wanted to scream at Minsc, to ask him why he could not have listened, but it was not his fault, the man staring aghast at the hatred he had unleashed between them. Fritha let the sight calm her; it was no less than she had expected -or deserved.

'I'm sorry, Imoen. I… there's nothing else I can say, but I _am_.'

'Can we assume from your silence you have known about this all along?' Jaheira inquired coolly of the two men who had so far said nothing. Fritha answered for them.

'Solaufein and Anomen knew before today – I asked them to say nothing. Minsc found out just now, and here we are.'

'Yes,' added Minsc quickly, seemingly glad that tempers were finally cooling, 'and great courage it took for young Fritha to face us. Now we must work together to find a way to help her escape this Fate.'

Jaheira was nodding firmly. 'He is right, there must be something we can do. Perhaps, the Grand-'

Fritha sent the frustrated howl skyward. '_See?_ This is why I had to _wait!_ Do you know how hard it was coming to accept this? To listen to you all chatter on about Balthazar's cure and a future I won't see? I had to be sure when I told you, so I could stand here and listen to you all plan a rescue that won't happen! So many times I've felt that hope within only to have it crushed again –but no more. This _will_ happen and there is _nothing_ we can do to change it.'

'Oh, Fritha!' Something in Jaheira's face seemed to break, the druid sadly shaking her head, and the girl was disturbed to see tears begin to well.

'Come now, Jaheira, this won't help. I've accepted what must come - it's all right.'

'At least let her cry if she wants to,' snapped Imoen, 'We haven't _all_ had an age to get used to it – unlike _some_.'

Fritha felt the anger prickle, her friend fixed with a pointed glare.

'Well, we've all got our little secrets, haven't we?'

'You mean like how you've been drinking since we left Amkethran?' rejoined Imoen. Fritha took the smug smile from her face the only way she could.

'_You_ stole that tome from Master Omir!'

'You slept with Solaufein!'

Fritha staggered back, her gasp drawing the breath for her last and throwing her finger at the girl, the judging hand of the gods themselves.

'_You've_ been study-'

'Enough, Fritha!' Two hands caught her, the face that still bore the welts and bruises of his torture suddenly before hers as Solaufein rose between them. 'Enough. You are better than this.'

'You are no better than she, Solaufein!' snapped Jaheira, tears swallowed in her sudden fury, 'You knew of this all along and spoke not a word to any of us!'

'Spare me your lecture, _druid_, you told no one Athic is dead.'

Jaheira whipped to the man opposite, her confidant laid bare as conspirator. '_Valygar!_'

'Athic's dead?' breathed Fritha. Imoen was trembling as all her anger redirected in an instant.

'You _knew_, Vals? _You_ were keeping things from me, too?'

'But why did you not speak of this, Good Jaheira?'

But the woman just shrugged off the ranger's question, tiredly making to stand.

'To what end? I wished to spare you.' A heavy sigh. 'I think I would be alone for a while.'

'Me too!' snapped Imoen, though much less bleakly, the girl quitting the circle to march off in the opposite direction. A final furious glare thrown to Solaufein, and Valygar hurried after her.

'Imoen, wait!'

Fritha merely watched them go, the group divided by her lies, and just before the Fates had made to part them. Speaking of which…

She turned to leave as well, the three men stepping aside to make way.

'I should go and fetch my pack.'

**…**

Fritha paused, the bundled robe she held halfway to her pack as she took a moment to swallow another bout of angry tears for which she did not have the time. Of all the ways they could have found out, of all the ways they had to be told! _Fucking Minsc!_

And even as the anger swelled, she felt the guilt surface with it. It was all her own doing. Her excuse that she had not been ready to tell them had been growing more tenuous with each passing tenday. She gathered up her last few belonging, shoving them inside and buckling her bag closed in time to straighten as Solaufein crested the bank above. Her pack was heavy on her shoulder, feet slipping on the soft earth as made to join him.

'Should you be walking about?'

'It looks worse than it is.' His smile held a melancholy air. 'Are you angry with me?'

'Angry with _you?_'

'That I did not tell you of Athic.'

'Oh, Sola,' she laughed somewhere between amusement and despair, 'the only one I'm really angry with is myself. As for poor Athic, it is the nature of people - we all have our secrets.'

'Not us,' he countered quietly.

'No, but I understand why you didn't tell me and I don't mind lies – as long as they are not needless or overly embroidered,' she added, unable to quite quell the bitter thought back to the old man who had swathed _his_ in both. 'Besides, look at it technically you never actually lied to me - I never asked you if Athic was alive.'

Solaufein made to answer; a dry snort cut him off.

'I _suppose_, working on _that_ premise, you didn't lie to us, because we never _asked_ if you were going to become Bhaal.'

Imoen was walking along the top of the bank towards them. She had clearly been crying, the angry flush still mottling her eyes and cheeks, though she hardly looked the picture of vulnerability now, a hand shifted to her hip as she stopped to glare expectantly at Solaufein. If the drow noted the hint to leave he did not act upon, merely staring back at the girl. Fritha sighed.

'No, Imoen, I lied to you and I'm sorry, because I know it hurts.'

'Yeah?' she scoffed, 'No one's ever lied to you like this!'

Fritha shrugged, too wrung out by the last few hours to be indignant. 'Looking back now, it feels like Gorion lied in every conversation we ever had that did not involve my chores or a telling off.'

Imoen snorted – angry she had an answer, angry that everything was not so simple and she could not just rage at her with impunity.

'So, that just makes it all right, does it?'

'No, and I'm sure it did not take this for you to realise how much it would hurt Valygar to find out you've been studying magic behind his back.'

The girl swelled. 'Is that a _threat?_'

'No, you stupid-' Fritha cut herself off, trying to rein back her temper, 'I am trying to warn you! You were the one who pursued him in the first place even with his hatred of magic. Then, you said you would not give up the Art and were prepared to end it, and Valygar changed! He actually changed, and now you do this! _Why?_'

'Because I had to do _something_,' Imoen screamed, '_anything_ to make me feel as though I wasn't just some _victim_ –back in the Asylum and waiting for someone else to fetch me! I'm a Bhaalspawn, just like thousands of others, just like I thought _you_ were! We were in this together, we all had a responsibility to end it! But you _lied!_ We're all helpless from the beginning, and however I'd struggled, whatever I'd sacrificed, it would never have been enough, because the Fates, Bhaal, everyone, they all wanted _YOU!_'

Fritha could have almost laughed. 'And how fucking wonderful for me! Look,' she breathed, fighting again to calm herself, 'I have said I am sorry, Imoen, and I am, truly. But I can't take this back or make it better, you just have to decide if you forgive me or not.

'_Forgive you?_' Imoen shrieked with incredulous rage. Fritha sighed – well, it had been a long shot.

'Fine, if you're not here for a reconciliation, is there anything you want to say you haven't already yelled about, because if all you're going to do is stand there and scream all the same stuff at me, you can just leave now.'

Imoen stood there a moment longer, shaking as though the rage she felt could explode from every limb, when she turned smartly on her heel and stalked back the way she came.

'I don't know why I _ever_ bothered with you!'

'Because as I recall, there was _no one ELSE!_'

That last burst of anger left Fritha winded, a few tears welling up to fill the space it left and shuddering about her chest as she let her breathing calm. Solaufein had stepped closer, steadily rubbing her back as though he had lingered there for that alone.

'I tell you, Sola,' she laughed shakily, straightening at last to dab her eyes, 'no one ruins things like I do; they just don't have the scope for it. Thank you.'

'For what?'

'I don't know… You've been very understanding about, well, everything. Even when…' Fritha swallowed, the apology well overdue. 'I'm sorry about what I said at the Rope. It was horrible of me, really horrible and not true, not at all. What happened between us in Ust Natha, I didn't- I don't-'

Solaufein merely offered her a mild nod. 'Apology accepted and you were not the only one in the wrong. Much of my anger stemmed from jealousy –foolish when I had refused to oblige you.'

'Yes,' Fritha conceded with a nervous laugh, 'though there were no others who _obliged_ me either. I slept the night in the stables.'

Solaufein looked dumbfounded. 'But _why?_'

'Well, I was there and I was drunk, and there were no more rats than in the Coronet.'

'No, I mean why let me assume…'

'I don't know,' she sighed, turning from the man in her shame. 'You had hurt me, I wanted to get back at you.' Fritha shook her head, forcing herself to face him. 'I'm such a child. I'm sorry. And I would have told you sooner, but after what you said at the inn… I thought some distance between us would be better.'

His bruised face seemed to crumple, Solaufein turning away from her to drop his forehead to one slender, dark hand.

'Oh, _why_ did I have to know what was coming? _Why_ could you not have lied to me like the others, kept me in blissful ignorance of this shadow that has always loomed over us?'

Fritha shrugged. 'Maybe I could have, but it wouldn't have been the same friendship we share now, not with that lie lingering between us. We are as we are because there were no secrets '

'No…' he agreed, adding with weary disappointment, 'I should have taken you east. I should have made you come.'

'Perhaps… too late now though. Here,' she continued, summoning a smile as she unstrapped the lute case from the back of her pack, 'keep an eye on this for me will you? You should have something decent to practise on.'

He caught her with that unyielding gaze, all guarded longing and unspoken vows.

'If you will take mine.'

'I –of course,' she managed hoarsely, 'We'd best go fetch it then - Anomen is waiting.'

It would have made more sense to remain there that for what little of the evening was left, sleep together the night and part company in the morning. But Fritha knew there would be reconciliation in those scant few hours and she could not bear an evening of dark looks and long silences. She had seen the flicker of reluctance to his eyes, brow lowered for the briefest of frowns before Anomen had smiled and nodded once to her request. True to his word, he was there now, pack slung at his back and ready to leave right away. Only Minsc was with him, his great bald head bowed as he muttered to the hamster perched in his hand, though he glanced up at their approach, a devastating anguish to the face that wore every emotion so plainly. Fritha forced a smile past the twisting guilt; she had brought this misery to all of them.

'Hey, Minsc, you here to see us off?'

The Rashemi could make no pretence at cheer nor any concession for her merry façade.

'Oh, young Fritha! Boo does not know what to say and nor do I. Our group again parts on angry words and I am to blame.'

'No, no,' Fritha dismissed tiredly, 'you are not. You listen as well, Boo. You must tell Minsc he must not blame himself, the truth would have come out in the end. Keep well, Minsc,' she continued, giving the hamster one last stroke and stepping back to clap the tall man heartily on the arm, 'and keep the others safe for me, too. I need to have someone left to make up with, eh?'

Minsc merely nodded, his guilt not so easily assuaged as he turned to share a last few words with Anomen, and Fritha was suddenly very aware of the man waiting in silence beside her. It was through a reluctance that stemmed from both longing and embarrassment she forced herself to turn and face him.

'Well, Sola, this is it. I wish you were coming with us.'

Silvery eyes caught hers above a winced smile.

'As do I, but it is better I remain here; the company of a drow with not aid any alias you will need to travel under. We will be reunited soon.' He embraced her, and far more tightly than she dared to hold him, his breathed words warm in the hollow of her neck. 'Until then, sister, endure.'

She nodded as they parted, unable to say anymore for fear she would dislodge more tears with the lump in her throat. Anomen was waiting, a friendly arm squeezed about her shoulder as they fell into step, tramping northwest for the river that would be their guide. Fritha felt eyes following her long after a dip in the land must have taken them from sight.

She did not look back.


	48. The Forked Road

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note - Thanks to everyone who left feedback - it really means a lot this close to the end._ ^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Forked Road**

Another distant rumble of thunder; the storm was past them now, at least, boiling atramentous clouds rolling northwards above the swaying canopy. Fritha waited behind him as Anomen readied to leap a narrow brook, a bundle of cloak and pack under the sagging brim of his hat. She pushed her hat back. The damp air was refreshing against her clammy crown, the girl gazing upwards and letting the raindrops patter her already wet face. After a tenday in that seemingly boundless labyrinth of trees, the sky was the only hint that a world outside even existed. For three days they had walked west in a heat that had only grown muggier and more oppressive with each day; it had been a relief when the storm had at last broken, however inconvenient it was now. Ahead of her, Anomen made his jump, the large man landing on the opposite bank, arms thrown up helplessly as his feet almost went from under him.

'Anomen?'

'Be careful here,' he managed as he righted himself, 'the ground is slippery.'

She minded the advice, inching as close to the edge as possible before making the leap, her body heavy under her pack and damp clothes. Anomen grabbed her arm as she landed, though it was more to reassure himself than from any need, and they set off together once more, their short gasps joining the fine hiss of rain. Time seemed to lose all meaning travelling there, Fritha currently distracted in keeping a count on the retreating storm, and it was likely a good half hour later when Anomen slowed his pace.

'I think I can see it up ahead.'

They marched on for a few more moments, the trunks about them no less densely packed for the slivers of light she could glimpse through them and then, suddenly, the trees were gone, the forest halted in an abrupt line by the road that had cut a swathe through that ancient woodland. It was as though, after over a tenday in the forest, Fritha did not know what it was. The rains were mixing the surface to a fine slurry of pale gravel and she half expected she see a barge slowly ploughing through its meandering course.

'The Southern Trade Way,' said Fritha. Neither made any move to step upon it; the pair merely stood side by side under the canopy of dripping leaves. Fritha watched a fat droplet spiral down a sagging curl to drip onto end of her nose. The forest had felt oppressive once, but since Alhali it had been like a home, a shelter against the exposed world outside.

'The map said we can follow this north to Ambril,' said Anomen.

'Then on to Coris, cross the river at Myratma, and head straight for the Stormantles.' She glanced to him, dislodging a shower of droplets from her curls, 'Do you still think the Watchers will help us?'

He shifted his feet, but made no other outward sign of discomfort at the question. 'I am a brother of the faith – they have no reason to deny us access to the libraries. You are having second thoughts?'

'I don't know…' she sighed, unable to quell that squirming doubt. 'Coming all this way on a hope.'

'We stormed two Bhaalspawn Strongholds with little more,' he reminded with a snort.

'Yes, but I was _sure_ then.'

Anomen shrugged. 'Or perhaps the Blood was merely happier with your path.'

'Perhaps so.'

'I believe there would be little we could do to aid the others in raising their army,' he pressed gently, when his previous reasoning failed to rouse her, 'and we will be returned in time for any battle. Come, before we take root.' And without waiting for her reply he took that first step from the tree line. Fritha replaced her hat, sucked her feet from the boggy ground and made to follow.

'I hope we reach an inn before nightfall,' Fritha offered with no real expectation of an answer. Neither of them had been allowed much sleep, both forced to spend half each night on watch and their rations had dwindled quickly. The idea that they would be forced to do the same that night, and in wet clothes, too, was something she didn't want to consider. 'Oh, before I forget, what names are we travelling under?'

'I usually go by Iorwerth.'

'Ah, I forget you're an old hand at this. I can't be Freya anymore, that name could be as infamous as my own by now. I'll be… Malal.'

Anomen glanced to her. 'The Alzhedo for _pearl_.'

'My mother would call me that.'

A half smile, but one that touched his eyes. 'It suits you.'

Though, the storm was far to the north now, the rain persisted, and without the cover of the trees, the pair of them were soaked through in mere moments. They squelched along for another two hours, the wall of trunks on either side finally thinning and falling away, and they were out on the plains once more. The veil of rain was fine enough to be a mist and it wreathed the rolling grasslands like a fog, blending the land into the clouded sky until Fritha could not tell where one ended and the other began. What she could see of the road that stretched off before them was not promising.

'I can't see an inn.'

Anomen did not bother to sigh, but she could hear the gesture in his tone. 'If we don't reach one in an hour or so we may have to do without.' A pause, a dark shape rising from the murky horizon as they walked. 'What is that?'

It was not an inn, or any sort of building for that matter. Fritha peered through the fine spray of droplets that hammered her hat's brim. The irregular outline was clearing at their approach to a man, a mule and a covered cart. The trio were not on the main road, but had been travelling along a rough dirt track that met it, the rains and recent travellers having churned the once packed surface into a mire. It looked as though his cart had been the last, the large wheels almost sunk to the hubs in mud. The man glanced up as they drew level. He was in his later years, though likely looked older than he was, the ends of his greying hair escaping from the hood of the oilskin cloak he wore. He smiled to them, something wary the expression as he noted their weapons, through whatever risk he thought they might pose was clearly worth chancing.

'Hail there! Might I stop you for a moment?'

'You having trouble there?' Fritha called back, 'I don't think we'll be able to do much, if your mule can't pull it clear.'

He laughed good naturedly, seemingly glad to find they were friendly. 'Oh, no, I've given up on that. I'll send some lads down tomorrow to dig it out. It's what it's carrying that's the trouble. The mule can't carry it all and I can't leave it here for the night – I'll come back in the morning to find it gone. You two look to be travellers. There are no inns now until you reach Ambril – they've all closed after the last one was robbed.'

'Robbed?' repeated Anomen, 'By who?'

The man shrugged. 'Mercs, bandits, I ain't sure, but war's coming and this whole land's going to the Abyss. Listen, you help me get these goods back to the farm and you can stay at mine tonight.'

Fritha glanced to Anomen to see him nod once and her back gave a miserable twinge as she gestured to the wagon.

'All right, then, let's see what you've got.'

**…**

They arrived back to Alhali just as they had left it, the low sun throwing long shadows from the desolate huddle of buildings. A walk along the main street and the lack of any fresh tracks confirmed the town was still deserted. Solaufein found little comfort in it, watching black windows pass with guarded scrutiny. They had made good time, clearing the forest in three days, though he was hardly surprised. Ever since the groups had split, it was as though no one wanted to do anything but walk, the hours passed in a silence that stretched on into the evenings at camp.

He had refused to let his injuries slow them, and for once Jaheira had not been in a mind to lecture. Under the druid's ministrations, he was fully healed now; only a few pale scars remained as a reminder of past tortures and even they would fade in time. He hoped his psyche would recover similarly. He was not broken by the experience, indeed, he had been tortured too many times before now to leave any permanent mental damage. However, he could not deny the experience had been unpleasant, and it would have been easier with someone to share it with, even if all that meant was a smile in the long days of walking and someone to wake next to in the nights. Those about him offered neither – outside of Jaheira, no one had spoken to him since they'd set off, Imoen and Valygar out of blame, the slumped-shouldered Minsc from regret. He felt the isolation more than he'd thought he would have, but not more than he could bear.

They came to a halt on the other side of the main square, Valygar glancing back and forth along the long street that bisected it.

'No sign of any mercenaries.'

'Perhaps that is for the best,' offered Jaheira. 'Come, we can make camp over there.'

She had pointed to an open stall that had been built against a house just off the main street, a shelter for animals or feed. A half-collapsed fence provided their firewood, the last of their dried meat and water emptied into the cooking pot, and they settled about their small camp in the same silence they usually did. Unlike most evenings though, there was no rummaging in packs to produce a book or some item that needed repair to ease the uncomfortable silence. It was as though all knew they had to discuss their plans, but no one spoke. Imoen was poking at the glowing embers with a splintered stick of firewood, Minsc watching the stirred flames dance with dull eyes. The girl had been angry for days, clinging to it as though it was the only thing left to keep the fear at bay. Next to her, Valygar was his usual sullen self. He had not spoken to Solaufein since the argument, though after his betrayal over the news of Athic's demise, the drow was hardly surprised. Among them, Jaheira was the only one occupied, the woman stirring the thin soup with a tired frown and Solaufein wished suddenly that Fritha were there. She had a knack for always knowing what to say -even if merely vocalising a fervent wish to be drunk, she would have got them talking. But Fritha was absent and, as the one she left to bear her guilt, Solaufein squared his shoulders to the task.

'So, we have reached Alhali -what is to be our next step?'

'We need to raise an army,' offered Valygar bluntly.

'Easier said than _done_,' muttered Imoen.

'Perhaps, but we agreed to try.'

'And _what_ are we going to pay them?' Imoen burst out with a frustration Solaufein suspected was long in the festering, the girl throwing the stick to the fire in a shower of sparks. 'How are we even going to _feed_ them? This place has already been sacked! I can't _believe_ she sent us back here!'

Solaufein felt his hackles rise. 'Fritha _sent_ us nowhere.'

'Don't you dare defend her – not unless she's whispered to you about some secret way of raising a few thousand gold!'

Jaheira's sighed carried the weariness of a hundred lifetimes. 'Imoen-'

'No!' snapped the girl, unappeased, 'Fritha's buggered off with her _knight_ for a jaunt up the coast to some library and _oh,__while __we__'__re __gone, __if __you __just __raise __a __few __hundred __soldiers __for __us._ It's impossible!'

'It is not impossible, Imoen,' countered Valygar tiredly.

'Oh yeah, and where should we start? Perhaps we could call on a few of our old allies: Simon, Bhaskar, Eruna –unless you want to tell me they're all _dead_, too?'

'Imoen, we have been over this-'

'Well, who else then? The Orders wouldn't even listen to us at Saradush, the Tethyran army is _hunting_ the Bhaalspawn, and we've _nothing_ to pay the mercs!'

Solaufein drew back with a cool snort. 'With this attitude you are already defeated.'

Imoen whirled upon him. 'Stuff your lecture! I've got nothing to say to you, _liar!_ All this time you chased around after Fritha, keeping her damn secrets!'

'Yes, I did. And I saw each time she was presented with an impossibility, and watched as she fought her way past it, because she knew she had to – even for what success meant for her. And now _you_ must do the same!'

'Ferhl,' came that quite rumble. Imoen whipped to Minsc.

'What?'

'It's a town two days north west of here,' provided Jaheira succinctly, 'Anomen told us before he left that it is where the main command of the Silver Chalice is camped.'

'How'd he know that?'

The ranger heaved a long slow breath, but did not raise his eyes from the licking flames. 'When in Indraviat, good Anomen spoke with a knight of the Chalice. He was told that all those who wish to help end this threat should seek out the Knight Commander, Lady Amaniti, in the town of Ferhl.'

Imoen snorted. 'And why would the Order help some _Bhaalspawn?_'

'Boo says, because you saved Saradush.'

Slowly, Jaheira began to nod. 'Yes, Anomen told us that was the rumour going about the Orders. Well remembered, Minsc.'

The man merely acknowledged her praise by rising from his place about the fire. 'I should go and set out the traps for the night.'

'That can wait a short while, Minsc, surely, the meal is almost-'

The druid stopped, seeing no point in continuing to the ranger's retreating form, and the silence Solaufein had been anticipating descended in his wake. Minsc did not return in time for the meal, though he hardly missed much in the thin broth Jaheira had managed to stew from the last of their dried meat – perhaps the houses about them would yield something more substantial for the coming days. Solaufein did not hand his bowl over for the dregs Jaheira was spooning out, instead rising as Minsc had to leave camp without a word.

There were a few places outside the village, narrow rabbit trails within the grasslands, where they had set traps on their last stay there. The drow walked between each old site across the golden plains, the blots of distant farms black against that swaying sea. Minsc was seated at the last of the trails, idly braiding the wire of the final snare as his hamster investigated a small pile of rabbit droppings nearby. The men shared a nod at his approach.

'You missed the meal.'

'I found I had no hunger, good Solaufein.'

The drow settled in the grass beside him, laying back to gaze up at the cherry blossom clouds that hung so serene in that fading field of lilac blue.

'How are our companions?' asked Minsc eventually.

'Quiet. Jaheira is not speaking to Valygar, Valygar is not speaking to anyone and no one should want to speak with Imoen, the mood she is in.'

Minsc snorted, pulling a face somewhere between a smile and a wince. 'Ah, a grave mistake I have made.'

Solaufein merely shrugged. 'The mistake was made long ago. I should have pressed Fritha to tell them, but she had her reasons -just as they have rights to their anger.'

'Young Imoen is afraid,' concluded Minsc dully.

'Yes, and I can understand why. At least Fritha was chosen, she could believe the Fates were with her, as much as they are with anyone –it is likely only an emotional advantage, but it is there still. Beside the obvious betrayal of these lies, I suppose Imoen feels very alone in the task she has been set.'

'Do you believe the Order will send aid to us?'

'I do not know… I cannot see why they would relinquish command of their own people to us, but as long as an army is raised to match Balthazar's, does it matter who leads it?'

A rustle in the grasses to their left, the soft thud of footfalls becoming audible as the woman came into view. Solaufein heaved himself up with a sigh to sit cross-legged as Minsc was. Jaheira looked older lately, like someone who had seen more than their years should have made possible, the slight breeze stirring through that cloud of tawny hair.

'Ah, here you both are.'

'You were looking for us?'

She slumped down beside them with a shrug. 'After a fashion. Imoen and Valygar clearly wished to talk privately – it was find you, or fetch more water for the morrow. I thought searching for you both would occupy me for longer, though a part of me was tempted not to bother –I am no company to anyone like this.' A world-weary chuckle. 'It seems strange to long for the days when we hunted Irenicus.'

'Rashemen did not seem so far away, and we tracked an enemy we could fight.'

'I thought you returned to your homelands here, Jaheira?' offered Solaufein. The woman snorted.

'It does not feel like it – perhaps the grove, but not here. What of you? Sendai's stronghold was the closest you have been to home for a while.'

'Well, the treatment was certainly familiar, but… She was right, I am not drow anymore. Not because I live upon the surface but, this life -the constant travelling and battle but for nothing tangible, a place or banner- it strips away all you once were. Perhaps that is why mercenaries seem to be a race all of their own.'

'You certainly share in their characteristics –then again I suppose we all do.'

'You are still angry with me, Jaheira?' asked Solaufein bluntly, though not without sympathy.

'No,' she sighed, somewhere between amused and exhausted, 'I am not even angry with Fritha. I can see why it would have been hard to tell us.' A glance to him, the broken weariness to those hazel eyes piercing right to his heart. 'That was what she meant, was it not, when she spoke of asking too much of you – it was lying to us.'

'Yes, I was not comfortable, but…'

The woman smiled faintly at something in the plains he could not see. 'You always were her second –I wish she had had the same faith in me, perhaps it would not hurt now as it does.'

'You feel she betrayed you?'

'No, but you have always known what is coming for her. For me… I knew her from her beginnings when she first found this life. I protected her, I wanted to keep her from those who would have harmed her, used her for the blood she held. After Irenicus, I watched her die inside, I did all I could to help her recover, and for what? So she could just die later on? The idea that she was doomed from beginning, it is hard to bear. Is this what Gorion entrusted her to me for, to sacrifice to some greater power later in an effort to spare Faerûn? If so, he asked too much. Ah, Minsc,' she sighed, sending a weary smile to the man at her side, 'come now, punish yourself no longer -of any here you, have done nothing wrong.'

'Not so, good Jaheira, I split this group in anger. And now young Fritha walks to death and there is none who can save her. This should not be so, but even Boo has no answer for me.'

The druid gave his back a rousing slap. 'Then we must continue in our task. I was discussing it with Valygar and Imoen; it has been agreed that three will make the journey to Ferhl and two will remain here salvaging what can be found from the homes and awaiting the arrival of any mercenaries who may or may not come. We thought it best if this task is left to you two.'

Solaufein drew a breath and nodded once.

'Fine. We will do our part. You leave on the morrow?'

**…**

'Yeah, you heard Jaheira,' retorted Imoen, no pause as she shoved things into her pack, 'we'll need to leave early -it will take two days to reach this place even then.'

'So you need to do that now?' pressed Valygar. She avoided his eye and carried on packing, their small camp aflame in orange firelight and black shadows as dusk deepened. She hated feeling that way, anger and guilt coiled in her chest, the one person who she would usually go to for comfort the cause of it all, and yet she still could not bear to let it go. Gently he made to ease the rolled tunic from her hand.

'Talk to me, Imoen.'

'About what, Vals?' she cried, too miserable to be angry and pulling away to shove the tunic into her pack. 'You lied to me.'

'As you did to me.'

'Yeah, about some sodding book – Athic is _dead!_'

'Imoen, a lie is a lie, however you justify it. Part of me wishes Solaufein had not stepped between you and Fritha – better let you fight and get all these secrets out in the open for once.'

Imoen said nothing, very aware of the shattering revelation from which Solaufein's intervention had spared her – she was no innocent in all this and she knew it. Valygar took her silence for anger.

'I am sorry,' he apologised, and not for the first time. 'Jaheira told me in confidence.'

'That didn't stop you chatting about it with Solaufein,' she muttered mulishly. A bitter sigh at her back.

'As I have said, Imoen, I was trying to get him to reveal what he knew of Fritha – I had a feeling she knew more of what was coming that she would confess. I was worried about what it could mean for you.'

'Well, _nothing_ apparently, because I'm just some pathetic, Bhaal-sired peon who has to sit around and wait for our _glorious_ Chosen One to save me.' She turned away, catching the few tears with the corner of her sleeve. 'I hate this…'

'At least you will be saved…' he offered, a hand resting upon her cold shoulder. 'If we succeed and Fritha ascends I wonder what will become of the other Children – perhaps the essence will be purged from you completely.'

Imoen snorted. 'You'd like that, wouldn't you? No more magic to come between us –but then, I'm not the only one with powers there, am I?'

She turned to him, tears still sparkling about that green-eyed glare. Valygar seemed to wrestle himself from taking a step back.

'Imoen, I don't want to-'

'No, you said you wanted to talk, let's talk about this. How long have you known you had the Art? Was in the cavern the first time or have you cast before?'

'Imoen-'

'Vals, I'll help you any way I can. We can study together, learn how to harness this, whatever you want.'

His body was stiff, though his voice held a waver she was not used to hearing in it. 'I want you to forget it ever happened.'

Imoen could have hit him in her fury. 'I don't _believe_ you! This is a gift! You can barely hold a blade and suddenly you've the power of sorcery at your fingertips. Can't you see how this could help you?'

Valygar was shaking, too, now, their faces twisted into angry masks of black and orange.

'My skill at arms improves daily!'

'How can you still do this? How can you still fear magic even as it's a part of you? Before I thought it was just ignorance, but you know now, you can feel it, too, and you're still afraid!'

'I do not need this- this corruption!'

'_Corruption?_ Is that how you see me?'

The words seemed to jolt them from their anger, Imoen turning from him, half bent as she brought a hand to her chest to find herself panting, her heart rattling as though she had just sprinted a league. She felt sick. And then that voice behind her, just as breathless.

'You're not corrupted, Imoen. I am sorry, you know I have never thought that.'

A hand on her shoulder and she turned into the embrace that was waiting for her, avoiding his eyes to press her face into his chest.

'No, I know.'

She let him hold her for as long as it took to gather the will to break away, her gaze back on her sagging pack as she stepped back from him.

'Look, maybe it would be best if you stayed here with Solaufein, and Minsc came with Jaheira and me. I love you, Vals, you make me feel happy and safe, but at the same time there are things I don't feel I can share with you, and I know you feel the same about me. We could use the space apart to, I don't know, work out who we are and where we want to be.'

He said nothing at first, the silence finally forcing her to look at him. He was staring into the low fire, though he glanced up as he heard her move, a tired smile pulling at his mouth.

'When did you become so wise?'

She shrugged, sending him a wry half grin though there was little humour behind it.

'I'm supposed to be the Saviour of Saradush; I suppose I'd better start acting the part.'

xxx

They had turned off the main road half an hour back, avoiding the churned dirt track to walk across the fields instead. Fritha's shoulders were screaming, two empty milk churns dangling from her bent arms to prevent them from dragging on the ground. Their would-be host, Melvart, was a milkman, trading his wares with the local villages in return for produce. Indeed, on the tarp that was being carried between the man and Anomen, a dozen apples, a few yards of wool and a basket of assorted vegetables were growing steadily wetter, the mule plodding along beside them under a sack of flour.

'There,' gasped Melvart, nodding to where a small red mountain was peeking up from the grassland before them, 'you can just see the roof of the barn. Once we get there, we put this lot in the shed to dry.'

They followed the man's lead in silence, Fritha had no energy for talk and he was more than making up for it with his constant merry chatter about the state of the roads and the day's weather and the repairs he needed to make about his farm before the winter set in. The goods safely installed in the small shed, it was only a short march across the muddy yard to the squat stone farmhouse.

'Here, we are, home at last.'

The heat hit Fritha in a suffocating wave that left her feeling sluggish and sticky in her wet clothes. Melvart had bustled into the room, her and Anomen lingering before the door as he fussed over his muddy boots. The room looked to serve as kitchen and dining room both, two curtained doorways set in the two corners opposite. A fire was dancing in the hearth, the only source of light when the storm outside had brought an early dusk. The flames licked about a smoke-blackened cauldron, the flickering light giving only hints at their surroundings: the sparkle of jarred preserves against the right wall, a long rack of cloaks and a bushel of firewood beneath to the left.

At the table before them two girls were standing, dark-haired and tanned, the younger shelling peas into a small bowl, while the elder was kneading dough next to her. They glanced up at their entrance, their father sending them a friendly smile.

'Ah, and here are my girls. This is Petoni, she is eight and her sister Kaila is fifteen. Where is your mother, girls?' he continued, throwing off his dripping cloak, 'Harra, I'm back!'

At last, the woman herself swept through the leftmost curtained doorway. Her hair was greying like her husband's, two neat buns almost covered by the green scarf she had tied over her head. She was halfway to the hearth before she stopped to take in her _guests_. Her lined face puckered at the mouth, dark eyes snapping to her husband. She wiped her hands upon her apron with the same brusque movements one might draw a sword.

'So I can see. And who are _these_ with you?'

'The cart got stuck,' Melvart continued blithely; if he noticed her tone he was deftly ignoring it. 'They were passing by and helped me carry-'

'Fool man,' she cut in, 'can't you see they're mercs!'

Melvart threw a look back to them, as though trying to decide which side warranted more caution. 'But, Harra, I said they could stay the night.'

'Well, they can't! Go on,' the woman continued, sending a stern nod to them, 'the door's right behind you. We want none of your trouble here!'

Fritha considered that if the woman really believed they were mercenaries, she could stand to being a bit more polite. Melvart was still trying to press his case with his indomitable wife.

'Harra, I made a deal! I am the man of this house and-'

'Their kind only bring trouble! You heard about those poor fools who took in a band of _travellers_ in over at Esanje village – come the morning, it was found they'd stolen a dozen goats and made free with their daughters!'

The older girl was giving Anomen slyly appraising look. Fritha stepped forward.

'Please, madam, we are not mercenaries, these arms are merely for our protection. Iorwerth, here, is a cleric of Helm; we are on our way to Watchers Keep.'

'That right, Helmite?' Harra snapped haughtily, 'And just who are you then, his servant?'

The storm outside had nothing on Anomen's expression. 'This is my _wife_, Malal.'

'Oh, well, I see.' Harra pursed her lips, but had decency enough to look a touch embarrassed as she turned back to the hearth. 'Well, I've only food enough for my family and we've no room to sleep you in here. But the barn is dry, and warm enough with the cattle stalled. Melvart can see you out there.'

A glance to Anomen's thunderous expression and Fritha dipped a quick half-bow to her back.

'We thank you for your hospitality.'

**…**

'The _barn?_' exploded Anomen, as soon as the Melvart drew the door shut behind them, and likely loudly enough that the man heard anyway. 'This is more of an insult that refusing us outright!'

'Come now,' Fritha sighed, 'it's better than camping out.'

Melvart had left them with many fervent assurances that the barn was dry and warm, even in the winter months, and he had been true to that, at least. The man had failed to mention the smell though. It was not unpleasant, but it was strong, a heavy, earthy smell marked here and there by the tang of cow dung. The farm's dozen pale dun milk cows were stalled in berths divided by low fences down both sides. A few lifted their moist noses from the mangers to watch them pass, Fritha leading the way to the opposite end where a ladder ascended into the waiting hay loft that covered half the roof. It was a dim, dusty space, the piled hay making a surreal landscape of light and shadow in the glow of her werelight.

'Here,' she sighed dumping her pack upon the bed of hay and immediately setting to stripping off her wet clothes, the girl hanging them over the bare beams that were now just above them, 'pass yours over too – gods willing, they'll dry overnight.'

She glanced back in time to see Anomen hesitate, seemingly ill at ease by the rate and candour with which she was throwing off her clothes. Fritha merely laughed.

'Why so shy, _husband?_'

The man snorted, turning his back to her to haul off his tunic. 'What was I supposed to tell the woman? That you are my servant?'

'Ha! I doubt any would believe that; I'd be a terrible servant – far too wilful.' They stripped to their relatively dry underwear, Anomen pulling his blanket about him like a cloak. His hair was rain-slick, clumped and curling about the woollen folds at his neck. It was getting long; perhaps she should offer to cut it for him. She watched as he leaned forward, one hand securing his blanket while the other attempted to comb out the worst of the water.

'I feel half drowned.'

'You look it,' she quipped, the girl hauling her own blanket and clean-ish pair of stockings from her pack –her feet were freezing- before she was back and rooting for what was left of their rations: a half round of cheese and some dried sausage. 'Here.' She broke what was left of the sausage in half, handing him the larger piece along with the cheese and a knife with a smile. Anomen received his share with a frown.

'You don't want any of the cheese?'

'No, I'm not hungry.'

'Fritha-'

'Just eat it will you,' she sighed, tersely biting the end off her meal and, at last, moving to wring out her hair, 'I couldn't sleep last night for your stomach gurgling.'

'Hunting in the forest was poor,' offered Anomen over a reluctant slice of cheese. Fritha shrugged, swallowing a squeak as icy hair was shaken down her bared back before her blanket was hurriedly wrapped about her to spare one from the other.

'It's my own fault; I should have gone with Minsc on more hunts. I was too lazy, it was too easy to sit by fire and wait for dinner to arrive.' She finished her sausage with a sigh, brushing the few crumbs from her blankets to settle back into the yielding hay. 'Ah, a fire and this place could be quite cosy. I suppose we should lay our bedding out before we get too comfortable.'

Anomen said nothing, slicing off a wedge of cheese to pass it to her. 'Go on,' he pressed when she hesitated. She tutted at him, but took it anyway, the strong cheese making her mouth water as she nibbled along the edge.

'I wonder what the others are doing.'

'Do you miss them?' he asked. She felt rather surprised by the question.

'I don't think _miss_ is the right word, but I wish we hadn't had to part again. Not so close to, well… You?'

He shrugged. 'We are all friends after a fashion, but it is different from the friendships I shared with those in the Order.'

Fritha smiled; she could do nothing else when reminded of the _lovely_ Simon.

'You will see them again –if I have any say in it.'

'You intend to descend, effulgent, from upon high and demand the Order take me back?' he offered sceptically. His expression alone made her laugh.

'Count on it.'

Anomen snorted, finishing the last of his meal to settle back into the hay as she had. 'As for the others, I imagine they are fine. The rains will have missed them, and all will be reconciled and seated together about a firepit while Solaufein plays for them the new composition he has learnt upon your lute.'

'Now I know this is fiction – he hasn't played a note since we left Amkethran,' Fritha laughed. But Anomen did not share it, faded blue eyes suddenly intent upon his scarred hands.

'He will now… Do you miss him?'

'Yes,' she confessed simply, trying to ignore the sudden swell of longing the admission had invoked. 'Solaufein… He makes me feel as though I am not alone in this. As much as he hated keeping the secret of it, he knew from the beginning and he was my ally in it. Ah, he was right, I did ask too much of him. Awful isn't it, that I took comfort from a thing that brought him only misery.'

Anomen could make no answer to that, awkward in himself as he shifted to the loft's edge and made to knock the mud from his drying boots.

'It is none of my business, and you do not have to answer, but what Imoen said before, about Solaufein and you. I-' He glanced back to her; perhaps her face betrayed some inner distress for he suddenly shook his head. 'No, I am sorry, Fritha, it really is none of my concern.'

'Ust Natha.' The words came quiet, almost a whisper and it took her a moment to realise she had spoken them. 'It happened in Ust Natha. I was… broken, and I wanted to prove it didn't matter, that nothing mattered. I do not regret it, but, well…'

'As I said, it is none of my business.'

He turned away, fussing over returning his boots to their place next to his pack, and she could not tell if it bothered him or not. A moment to lay out their bedding and the pair settled down once more, Fritha letting her werelight dim to leave them in murky darkness, listening to the rain and the snuffling cows beneath.

'This reminds me of home, the drum of rain upon tiles,' said Anomen at length. Fritha glanced to the body laid out a pace or two from her – she could just make out the profile of his face in the half-light, gazing up to the rafters. 'My sister and I would play under the covered walkways when the rain meant our nurse would not let us out into the garden.'

'Rain is much more pleasant when you don't have to travel in it,' Fritha offered practically. Anomen breathed an amused sigh.

'I remember you and Nalia dancing out in it in Imnesvale. You were good friends.'

And for an instant, she was back there, breathless with laughter, delighting in the tantalising sting of the cold on her wet cheeks and that warm swell in her stomach as she gazed at her friend. Fritha pushed it away with only a pang of regret.

'She is happy now, with a home and husband, happier than I ever could have made her. I'm glad she left. Haer'Dalis and Aerie, too, wherever the planes find them now. They got out just in time; if only the rest of you had been so sensible.'

'I thought you agreed you could not do this alone.'

'Not this, no, not fight against the Fates, but sometimes I half wish I was still her, the girl they would have raised in the temple. Everything would be so much simple now. I would be powerful, the priestesses would have seen to that, and I would be looking forward to the moment when I would give birth to my Lord. Melissan would have been thwarted as soon as she had emerged, her Five cast down like the heretics they were – for who could stand against the might of Bhaal's Chosen? Perhaps Gorion would have even raised another in my place, and I would have met you, travelling in the company of another Bhaalspawn, set to ruining my plans. In the midst of a battle we would have met, my sorcery against your faith –and you would have cracked my skull with your mace.'

'Not according to the prophesy, I would not,' he offered evenly. Fritha laughed.

'Ah, a prophesy is like a river: you dam it here, and it will find another route past there. It must always flow onward, it must reach course by whatever means. I am the one the prophecies spoke of, because I have undertaken that role. I have _made_ it me. But if I die tomorrow, another would take my place and suddenly it would have been _them_ all along. Prophesies are always so wonderfully vague, so we can all look back after its over and say, _ah-ha!_ They're never specific, it's never _and __a __girl __will __be __born __and __the __gods __will __name __her __Fritha, __she __will __be __a __short __and __fretful __child __prone __to __melodrama __with __an __overactive __imagination __which __will __never __quite __leave __her._'

A fond chuckle in the darkness.

'I like your imagination. Goodnight, Malal.'

Fritha smiled. 'Goodnight, Iorwerth.'


	49. Of Things Past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: Sorry, sorry, I know it's been forever; it seems the closer I get to the end, the hard it is to write. Thanks to everyone who's left feedback on the last couple of chapters. The continuing support really helps keep me motivated -or at least makes me feel guilty enough to stop playing Skyrim for a few hours. _^_^

**Of Things Past**

The wool beneath him was far more yielding than any mattress – and _much_lumpier- and Anomen drew back with narrow-eyed confusion before he recalled just where he had slept. The barn was as dusty as it had been the night before, though not quite as dark, narrow shafts of light making a glowing edge around the large doors opposite. There was no sign of Fritha -not even her pack had been left, and the clothes she had hung last night across the bare roof beams were gone, too. The cows were absent; Melvart's herd must have long been put out to the pasture. With little else to do, he rummaged in his pack for a pair of trousers –they were not clean, but nothing he owned was by this point- and headed down into the barn proper.

Outside, the weather had cleared in the night, the rich green plains swaying under acres of glorious blue sky. A slight breeze was stirring across the drying yard, rippling puddles where clouds hung in mirrored image, and carrying with it the scent of the drying fields, and Anomen found himself filled with an incongruous sense of hope.

Beside the barn, a water butt left overflowing from the day before provided him with a bracing wash, the man splashing water across his bared chest and up through his dusty hair with a breathless satisfaction.

'Morning there, Ior!'

The cry came from clear across the yard, and Anomen whipped up in time to see Fritha round the back of the farmhouse, his clothes from the day before piled in her arms. He had been about to reply, water mopped from his face as he drew the breath, when he noticed the swarthy young girl who stood much closer, Melvart's elder daughter loitering at the edge of the well just behind him -and for much longer than she had needed to by her brimming pail.

'It seems you have an audience,' Fritha laughed, as Kalia herself started and hid her blush behind a sullen pout, the girl raising her chin, defiant to their amusement.

'If you please, Ma says said the Joahin sons will not have time to help Pa fetch the cart until this afternoon, so if you agree to help him carry some things over to Ambril for market, you can have breakfast here.'

Fritha smiled. 'Tell your mother we'd be glad to help.'

Kalia nodded, turning to trip back across the yard, her pail swinging, the girl dancing over the lingering puddles as best she could.

'You rose without me,' Anomen offered as Fritha turned back to him.

'I woke up when Melvart came to take the cows out to pasture -you must have been tired, you slept right through. Our clothes still felt damp, so I borrowed Harra's washing line for a few hours. Here, put your tunic on, before you make the woman _swoon_.'

He caught it with a snort, feeling alive and good-humoured from his wash. 'Do you worry for our hostess or merely for yourself?'

Fritha laughed with what could have been an insulting heartiness. 'You forget, we're married now: I am _more_ than immune to your charms.'

Inside, the table was already set with dishes, cups and a large teapot. Melvart and his daughters were seated and tucking in to the basket of warm breadcakes Harra had just placed there, a large pot of honey and pat of butter being passed between them. It was a decent spread, even if their hostess's welcome left much to be desired, the woman turned back from the bubbling stove to set a dish of boiled eggs upon the table.

'There's tea in the pot, help yourselves -there's only one egg each mind. Melvart, elbows.'

Fritha seemed determined to set the example of uxorial devotion. 'Let me pour your tea for you, dearest. No, no, you have my egg, we have to keep you fed – you've been getting so thin of late.'

Anomen was clearly torn between amusement and discomfort by this _adoration_. Harra watched the girl fuss with a purse-lipped frown, Melvart cheerfully slathering a spoonful of honey over a small breadcake.

'So, how did you find the barn?'

'It was fine, thank you,' offered Anomen shortly. Fritha sent him a sunny smile.

'Even a tent becomes a palace when sleeping with your husband. Honey?'

'Er, yes, dear?'

'I meant for your bread, dearest.'

Melvart's daughters were giggling, while Harra looked as though her roll had been slathered in a sharp lemon curd.

'And how long have _you_ been married?'

Fritha made a show of considering it. 'Ooo, it was six years this spring.'

'Good grief,' laughed Melvart, 'you barely look old enough.'

Fritha let her smile broaden, her face glowing. 'We began courting at sixteen. I moved to Athkatla from my home Beregost to take a position as scribe at the temple to Oghma. Our library stored many texts for the local faiths, and the brothers and sisters of Helm were always back and forth between our two temples. Iorwerth and I met there, and began our courting. He used to hide love notes in the returned books.'

Anomen was scarlet, Fritha and the two girls all pink and rather giggly and Melvart chuckled along with them.

'Ah, that takes me back. Here, Harra, remember that time I snuck out one night and hared over to your father's holding to put flowers in the hen coop for you where you'd find them the next morn?'

'No, not at the table I don't, now eat your egg before the yoke sets.'

His wife's admonishment went blithely ignored, Melvart barely able to continue the tale to his giggling daughter for his own laughter.

'Your uncle Estaf thought one of the wild dogs was back for another hen. We scared each other half witless when we met in the yard.'

'Aye, that would account for much,' snapped Harra, 'now eat your egg!'

**…**

A last wave from Imoen and the girl turned back to the dirt road that snaked its way through plains which still glittered with the morning's dew, Minsc and Jaheira either side of her as the three set out on the two day journey north to Ferhl.

Imoen had been in a better mood that morning, and when she had even managed a friendly farewell to Solaufein, no one had been more surprised than the drow. The girl had taken her words the night before to heart. Valygar could see it in her eyes that morning as the others had turned away on instinct to give them some privacy to their goodbyes, something in the solemn, slightly sad way she had smiled and kissed him. There had once been a time he had wished her to take life more seriously. The sages had it true; there was nothing worse than getting what you wanted.

Behind him, Solaufein was waiting on the edge of the ruined village, the man turning as he did, and there was a good few yards between them as they headed back to pack up what was left of their much reduced camp. He and the drow had never really been what Valygar would have considered friends. He did not appreciate the way the drow followed Fritha without question -and the way it made _him_ feel guilty for questioning Imoen, both out loud and in his heart.

No one had bothered pitching tents last night, the group bedding down in the relative shelter of the open stall they had found, and he and the drow packed up their few belongings without speaking. Valygar did not care; if there was one thing he was used to, it was solitude. With the others gone to find what allies they could, he and Solaufein had been tasked with picking across the village, preparing one of the houses as a base of operations and scavenging anything that had been left which could be of use should a large body of people arrive.

'Minsc and I found a suitable house last night,' offered Solaufein as he buckled his pack closed and leant it against the crumbling brickwork of the stall, 'A larger place, a street over.'

They crossed the small, packed earth square. The way the whole village seemed to cluster about the large communal well put him in mind of Croadalta, the small village where lived those who tended his family's almond groves. It was well on into the growing season now – back north the weather would be cooling. Would Nentat have made the trip out to inspect the almond harvest yet? He had wanted to show Imoen the groves once, and she had spoken of him meeting Winthrop, plans for a life that seemed to be slowly escaping, swept away by the storm that was building about them.

The house was larger than those about it, standing at two storeys with the peaked window set in the roof likely making it three, and all in the same dun clay brick from which the rest of the village had been built. A small fenced area was before it, one side covered by a wooden awning, a chopping block, woodpile and well-made rocking chair set beneath, while on the other side, neat rows of herbs had curled to sunburnt kindling. The building had perhaps been the headman's or maybe what served as a guesthouse for any travellers who had made it to the village.

'The door will need to be replaced,' offered Valygar to the splintered gate of wood that hung miserably from the lower hinge across the doorstep, shards where an axe's blade had smashed through scattered across the brick path. Solaufein nodded

'Let us search the inside first.'

The room beyond was the kitchen, a large, airy space that had once likely been the heart of the house, and perhaps, in a way, it still was. Valygar let his eyes travel the smoke-blackened walls. A hearth dominated the right wall, the whitewashed stone chimney black with soot. At some point during or after the raid, the fire had escaped the hearth, the burnt remains of a table and chairs still standing in amongst charred cupboards and chests, all thrown open and stripped or anything of use. In the corner, stone stairs ascended, wooden banisters singed but still whole – it seemed the fire had died without spreading from that room.

'I will search the ground floor,' said Solaufein, debris crunching underfoot as he headed for the doorway opposite, and Valygar walked alone up charred and creaking stairs. At the end of the central landing, a narrower flight of wooden steps, little more than a ladder, rose, likely leading up to an attic space, while before it, four doorways opened onto opposing pairs of rooms.

He stepped into the first, dust swirling in the thin shafts of light that filtered through the shuttered windows. Aside from the smoke damage, the fire had left the place untouched. On the large bed, linens stood in crumpled peaks, as though they had been thrown off in a panic. The chests under the two windows were open, clothes strewn to the floor –someone had been searching for something- the drawers of the wooden dresser against the far wall in similar disarray, though the counter had been left undisturbed. Upon the pitted surface, a simple rosewood comb was all that was left of the woman who had once straightened out the bed linens, neatly folded away her clothes and threw shutters wide in welcome to the dawn. A few long black hairs still clung to it, snarled in the teeth, the roots of a couple just beginning to show grey.

Imoen had changed her hair. She had said she would not, had refused when he'd suggested it, but she had, and it had been the least of the changes in her recently. There was a seriousness to her now, which seemed to both stem from and feed her growing powers. Against all he would have believed he was capable, he had agreed to teach her what he could remember of the long suppressed lessons. But there had been more given in the offer that its result; she had already outgrown his tutelage and his attempts to give her a grounding in the basics had been seen as him trying to hold her back. With the magics he had seen her exhibit of late, perhaps he had been.

Above the dresser a simple mirror of polished bronze hung, and for the first time in his life he saw the man he was: a coward. Was there a single problem in his life he had not fled from? He had left home, killed his mother, avenged Suna – each time avoiding the harder course – confrontation, rehabilitation, grief.

And he had been the same with Imoen, ignoring her magic and his growing fears, in favour of trying to curb her powers with lessons and admonishments.

He gazed down at his clawed hand, the swollen knuckles looking harder than oak knots –his injury that had come between them in a way he never could have anticipated. This change in Imoen, the sudden serious focus on her magic, had come after his injury. That one incisive moment to impress upon the girl what was at stake had given her the drive she had once been lacking.

And, worse, still, what had it awoken in him?

'Valygar?'

He started, suddenly back in that gloomy bedroom, Solaufein's voice carrying up from the kitchen. Downstairs, Solaufein was in what looked to have been the parlour, the man standing before a large solid door, and in the gloom beyond Valygar could make out the, chests, shelves and tool-laden benches of a workshop; in a small village, any craftsman would have to be joiner, leatherworker and smith all in one.

'This door,' continued Solaufein, swinging the heavy wooden panel back and forth appraisingly, 'as a replacement for the front?'

'It looks too wide as it is,' Valygar answered, a cursory glance thrown back through the house to that aperture of light.

'We will need to find a saw?' ventured the drow uncertainly. Valygar snorted.

'I think a plane will suffice. This workshop looks well stocked – there may be one here. We will need a mallet, too,' he added as they stepped into the room, Solaufein moving straight to the nearest workbench – he needed no light. Valygar unfastened the closest set of shutters. 'We can use the same pegs and hinges that are in this door.'

A quick search of the room yielded what they needed -mallet, chisel and a plane – though the latter had proved the hardest to find simply for the fact the drow did not know what such a thing looked like.

'First we need to take this down,' said Valygar, the pair back at the door. Solaufein eyed it with a wary frown.

'You know how to do this? I thought you of noble blood.'

'I spent my youth watching the workers all across our lands – I know enough for this. Brace the wood for me.'

Solaufein set his body against the swinging weight and Valygar turned his attention to the upper hinge, the chisel and mallet swapping hands more than once as he tried to force stiff fingers to grip one or the other with any dexterity.

At last he settled on a position, chisel in that clawed grip and wrist pressed against the framed to steady it, the mallet drawn back for that first blow and –

The chisel hit the stone flags with a cheerful chime.

'Damnation!'

Solaufein was wise enough not to stoop for it, Valygar snatching the chisel up and letting the anger simmer down before trusting himself to try again. Two more attempts ended the same way before he turned to the drow in furious resignation.

'I cannot. You will have to.'

And with a swallowed curse and barely controlled frustration, Valygar relinquished to Solaufein the tools, his weight now braced against the door. Solaufein sent another wary scowl to the wood.

'I have never-'

'It is simple,' cut in Valygar, angered at his own inabilities and not wishing to dwell any longer on them. 'I will talk you through what is needed. You must force the chisel under the metal hinge- Have care!' he snapped, as a clumsy blow took a chunk of door frame with it, 'you will damage the pegs! Make the angle of the strike flatter – gentle taps, a bit harder. No, not like –you're splitting the wood!'

'I can do no else!'

'Stop! You have not the skill!'

'And neither have you!'

One last blow saw the pegs suddenly free, though at the cost of the shattered door frame. Valygar was unprepared for the shift in weight, the rough edges of the door sliding down his palms before he could catch it to twist the lower hinge in the agonising crack of splintering wood.

'I told you to stop!' he roared.

'And you were supposed to support the door! Here, hold it while I free the last.'

The drow crouched, a few quick strikes freeing the last pegs, though the damage had already been done.

'Only one survived,' Solaufein sighed, rolling the solitary peg between thumb and forefinger, 'the other three have snapped off in the frame.'

Valygar just resisted throwing the door with all his might. 'Hells Teeth! I could have _smashed_ it from the frame myself!'

'I told you I had never-'

'I said to stop!'

The chisel clattered to the tiles for not the first time that morning.

'_Xsa __rivvil_- Abyss take your slaves' work!'

Such an aberrant outburst seemed to shock them both from their anger, Solaufein ill at ease as he stooped for the tools. 'I am sorry. I am- These last few days…' He pinched in the bridge of his nose, looking more strained than Valygar had ever seen him. 'I am doing all I can.'

'You are worried about Fritha,' Valygar concluded shortly. The drow sighed.

'Of course, but what can be done? There must be some more pegs about here,' he reasoned turning into the workshop.

'Why must there? A _skilled_ hand could fashion them as needed.'

Solaufein glared at him, though Valygar was not sure if the insult was for the drow or himself by then. Valygar sighed deeply and hefted the door under his arm. 'Come, bring the plane -we can cut this down out the front.'

Outside, the sun was higher, the meadows to the north a marbled sea of green and gold. Solaufein stared out to the horizon with narrowed, pale eyes.

'It is hard to imagine, that somewhere across those plains armies gather.'

Valygar's voice was so wistful it did not even sound like his own. 'And somewhere past them, men shake trees and women in gathered skirts dance under a hail of almonds.'

'That sounds like something Imoen would enjoy.'

A twist of bitter anger. 'If you and Fritha had not left Suldanessellar, she would have.'

Solaufein merely sighed, a frail amusement to the gesture. 'And if you and yours had not come to Saradush, Fritha and I would be as far as Sespech by now.'

The drow turned, marching back into house with renewed purpose. Sespech, a land at least as far east again as the whole length of Tethyr. Valygar followed to find him in workshop, the drow sweeping about the room scrabbling through every drawer and box he could find.

'You had planned to leave?'

'Yes, I had promised Fritha I would take her beyond even Bhaal's reach. Until your arrival, she was as eager as I to escape here. But when she was presented with those who would be left to her burden, she refused to abandon it.' Valygar watched him pause, turning back from the footlocker he had been rifling. 'So if any here should feel resentment in this, it is us.'

'Us. You pair yourself with her.'

Solaufein straightened with a shrug, setting the pegs he had found onto the workbench above. 'We were a pair… at the time.'

'Yes, and now she walks at Anomen's side.'

It was a not so subtle attempt to rile that cool façade, but the man merely shifted his focus to the pegs where his fingers played with a weary melancholy.

'Fritha will not survive as she is to see the leaves turn – I do not believe it matters who stands at her side.' He fixed him with a sudden, defiant glare. 'At least, I acknowledge it –see what it could have been. I would have done anything to save her had she allowed it. The only things which keep you from heart are your own self-imposed restrictions.'

'So I must put aside all I believe-'

Solaufein cut him off with an impatient snort. 'I used to believe surfacers were lesser creatures – that their place as slaves and sacrifices was justified. You once believed your mother was beyond saving, that Lavok was a monster. You changed your mind. Perhaps now is time for another such evaluation of your beliefs?'

The drow turned from him – the question required no answer, at least not one that needed to be vocalised, and Solaufein had already stepped back into the parlour, Valygar left alone in the dusty workshop.

So it was not merely her own secrets Fritha had been happy to share with the drow; their honesty seemed only to highlight the lack of trust within his own pairing.

He had lied to Imoen just as she had lied to him, yet he did not feel anger, merely relief, as though not only had he always known it was so, but that he was comfortable with the distance it had put between them. Suna had used to say he was hard to know.

He moved back into the kitchen, pausing at the doorway to watch as Solaufein braced the door against the listing fence and made the first few clumsy sweeps, pale curls of wood falling like leaves about his feet, the scars on his face twisting with that frown of concentration.

'You are doing well.'

A glance up to see if this praise hid an insult. It did not, and perhaps the drow saw, too, the peace offered there as well. Solaufein nodded, attention back on his work

'No, not yet, but I have a lot of door to get it right.'

Valygar stepped from the doorway, moving to set his bulk against the teetering wood.

'Here, it will be easier with two.'

**…**

'I think I preferred the rain.'

Anomen merely nodded to the girl's sigh and puffed hair that was getting too long from his eyes, the man glad for the shade of his hat under the beating sun. It seemed they had become too used to the relative cool of the forest, the plains returned to their usual blazing sunshine of the season after yesterday's storm. There was a slight breeze across the rippling grassland, and it could have been quite a pleasant day were it not for the fact he was trudging along the same wide, gravel road they had been travelling the day before, bent under the weight of everything he had, and arms straining about a sloshing milk churn. Next to him, Fritha was burdened similarly, her blue travelling robe slung over the back of her pack and sleeves rolled up in the heat, one arm raised and checking the basket of apples and eggs she had balanced on her head.

'Does that not hurt?'

'No,' she answered, very careful to move only her mouth, 'and it keeps the sun off too.'

Ahead of them, Melvart raised a hand in a friendly greeting to another passing neighbour, the gentle tap of a switch keeping the laden mule walking at his side.

'At least someone is enjoying the sunshine,' offered Anomen.

'Perhaps he's just glad to be out of the house, with Harra slamming everything she laid her hands upon.'

Harra had ended Melvart's tales the only way she knew how, rising to begin brusquely tidying her kitchen before the rest of her family had even finished eating, and she had not turned from the hearth when her husband had made his farewells.

'Where did you come up with all that?' asked Anomen, casting back to her tall tales of romance and courtship, 'At breakfast, I mean.'

A pause as she considered the question, her shaded face hidden beneath that wicker crown.

'I don't know. I've always had a knack for stories –the start just comes to me and then they flow from there. Besides,' she continued, and he could hear her sudden smile, 'it sounded nice, didn't it? Exchanging notes in books, the gentle thrill as you're leafing through a dusty tome, hoping to glimpse some scrap of parchment in his hand.'

'You speak from experience?'

Fritha gave an embarrassed giggle that rumbled all the way from her stomach.

'Perhaps. Back in Candlekeep, when I was sixteen and Imoen was fourteen, sometime between her fourth and fifth fortnightly romance, I realised no boy had ever paid such attentions to me, and I began to lose myself in daydreams of a lover, shy and warm, who would watch me from afar, but whom I could never catch. I was always susceptible to my own imaginings and I made my tale so rich and dwelled on it so long it began to feel real. He would always be about the next bookcase, or one of the dipped hoods sat behind me in the scriptorium, and if I became scared, I would calm myself with the thought that he was near.'

She eased her own embarrassment with another laugh. 'I always was an odd one! I took to walking the archives of an evening, pulling out any book that looked recently disturbed and flicking through looking for the love notes he had left. Eventually, I gave it all up as nonsense and just asked one of younger scribes if he wished to be my sweetheart. One _excruciatingly_ awkward stroll about ramparts later, and I decided my romance was best only found in tales and left it at that. What about you?' she continued, 'Who was your _first __love_ – outside of Helm, of course.'

'Of _course_,' he agreed with a wry smile, casting back for the memory. 'I suppose it would have been in the seminary when I was newly arrived. Ciara was older than me by a couple of years and served as one of the lay sisters at the temple which adjoined our order.' And for a moment he was back there, lingering in the last row of pews under the painted-glass gaze of saints and paladins, his heart thudding in his chest as he watched those silken waves of dark hair escaping the ties to frame rose-flushed cheek as she scrubbed the altar steps. 'I was rather shy of ladies when I was younger, but my friends convinced me to offer her a token of my regard -as would any _aspiring__knight_- so I made to leave a spray of lilacs within the alcove outside her room.

'I thought her in lessons, but she opened the door as I was stood there and I was so embarrassed to be caught I told her I had found the flowers on the floor outside her door and was placing them there lest they be trampled by some careless feet. All at once she was smiling, but it was not at me -though she made sure to thank me for my trouble- and tripped inside without a backward glance. I could hear her singing all the way down the corridor. I still wonder now who she believed they were from.'

Anomen started from his wistful reverie to find Fritha sending him an appraising smile. 'So mine was not the _first_ flower you handed out?'

'No,' he conceded to her teasing, 'but at least I managed to admit it was from me that time.'

'That you did, however unobservant you were of the discomfort the confession was inducing.'

'I was quite observant of it actually: you're very pretty when you blush.'

A peal of delighted laughter. '_Oho!_ You are wasted here, Anomen, truly. We need to get you back to Athkatla and the _ladies_.'

It was as though a cloud had just passed across the sun, the smile fading on his face. 'I imagine I will be returned home much sooner than I would wish.'

'Never regret a homecoming, Anomen,' she warned, light-hearted and grave in the same breath, 'there will be too many here who won't be blessed with one.'

'I know of one for certain,' he sighed, adding after a pause, 'Does it bother you?'

She made no answer at first, her shrug looking unnatural when compared to the rigid stance in the rest of her body. 'That the apple blossom must fall is part of its beauty.'

Before them, a mountain range of distant peaks in red and grey were cresting the horizon, Melvart glancing back to them with a cheerful shout.

'We've made good time – just over two hours and we can already see it.'

The journey was easier with a destination to focus upon, the way becoming busier as they closed upon the small walled town. Melvart found room for their burdens in a cart whose driver he had befriended, and they moved through the open gates with a small group of similarly laden farmers.

He and Fritha could not have asked for a better cover; the guards barely spared any of them a glance. Before the gates was a small square where stalls crowded the gutters and citizens hurried about their business, avoiding the eyes of both the guards -_and_ the mercenaries who seemed to swarm about the frontage of every inn. The farmers made a wary note of them, Melvart turning to make his farewells as the group prepared to part, those with goods taking the leftmost street where, above the thronging heads, Anomen could make out a bustling market square.

'Well now, thank you for your help and safe journey to you both. I hope you make the keep soon,' Melvart enthused, a brief bow seeing him turn to step back into a pair of armoured men who were elbowing idly through their group.

'Watch it, fool!' snapped the warrior. Melvart stared at him as though he has never seen someone so grizzled up close.

'I- Well, I'm sorry, of course.'

'You'll be a mite more than sorry,' snarled his friend. Melvart was floundering, his fellows suddenly looking anywhere but at him. The guards stationed at the gates had noticed the altercation, too, but were so far happy to see how things would pan out – the farmers were not locals after all. Fritha had sidled behind him, attention from either group highly unwelcome by the way she was shrinking under her hat, and Anomen felt torn as Melvart hastened to appease them.

'It was an accident, friend.'

'I ain't your friend, and you're going to-'

The finger jerked him forward a step, Anomen not even sparing a glance for the girl who still sheltered behind him as he laid an eloquent hand upon his mace. 'You are going to leave.'

The mercenaries seemed surprised to find him there, the one nearest to Melvart closing the gap between them. Anomen felt a glimmer of satisfaction as they both realised he needed to look up.

'And just what makes you-'

'_Now._'

For an instant, Anomen thought he would press forward, a narrow-eyed glance sliding between the pair before the men sloped off without another word.

'Well, now, seems I owe you my thanks again,' laughed Melvart nervously and though his gratitude was enthusiastic, it was made very quickly and he was soon hurrying away with the other farmers. Like only attracted like, after all, and perhaps he had finally realised they were no simple travellers. The two mercenaries were heading towards the inn opposite, the girl making sure they'd left inside before stepping from his shadow to puff a deep sigh.

'I never thought I'd say it, but I'll be glad when I can act like a merc again and it can be me kicking off rather, than playing the distressed damsel.'

'It is best we don't draw attention to you in that way.'

'Yes, I know,' she pouted dramatically, 'I'm just a scared little kitten.'

Anomen snorted at her scorn, scanning the bustling square and the many roads that led from it. 'Where now?'

Fritha shrugged.

'Tavern?'

**…**

Anomen peeled his sleeve from the wet counter, the spilt slick of ale instantly rushing in, flowing down gullies and gorges to flood again across the scarred wooden surface. The common room was busy, more people bustling through the doors every moment as across the square, the town gates closed for the night. They took tables or hovered against the walls in small groups, waiting for rooms to be prepared, and the room felt all the more cramped for the bulk of cloaks and packs they brought with them. A familiar peel of laughter warmed the air somewhere behind, though he turned to check anyway.

Fritha was sat at a table playing cards with large group of men, though the game was seemingly coming second to this opportunity to drink and flirt with an aptly named member of the _fairer_ sex. The damp of the previous day had left Fritha with mane of curls that no comb could have tamed, and she had not bothered to try when they had arrived in their room in the early afternoon. The best wash a basin and jug of tepid water could afford them, and Fritha had taken their clothes over to local washhouse couple streets away, though little could be done for the clothes they were stood in.

Not that her present company seemed to mind, the group of rough looking men hovering about her. More mercenaries, Anomen concluded grimly as he noted their weapons – the contrast between them and the girl reassured him she would not be recognised from any bounty, though that was not his main concern at the moment. A wiry man with a long, lean face and lank hair to his chin was leaning over the back of her chair, fingers gripped about the frame likely a perched vulture. The scar across his cheek twisted unpleasantly as he smiled – if Fritha thought the same she did not reveal so in her shining laughter.

'Another there, sir?'

Anomen turned back to nod at the address, the serving woman refilling his cup and pouring out another for the man who had just taken the empty stood beside him, stuffed pack dumped on the floor beneath as he likely waited for his room. He was a few years older than Anomen, his tanned face weathered, though his dark hair showed no streak of grey yet, his chin bearing the scrubby half-beard of too many days on the road. They raised their cups as one and shared a grimace as each drew a mouthful of sediment. The ale was low in the barrel – they should have left their cups to settle. The newcomer was thinking the same, the man shrugging off a cloak of good quality wool to lay it across his pack as he spoke.

'I can't get on with these pale, clouded ales. All wheat and wait.'

Anomen recognised the accent immediately; foolish as it was, he had been so long from home, he could not help but feel an instant kinship for his countryman.

'Yes, I always preferred the bitter ales –Purskul Dark and the like.'

A glance of pleasant surprise, the weathered face opening in a smile as the man, too, noted the shared accent. 'You are from Amn, friend? I am of those fine lands myself. What brings a fellow Amnian south into the eye of such troubles?'

'I am headed to Watcher's Keep.'

'You are heeding their call for mercenaries?' the man questioned with more than a little uncertainty – perhaps he and Fritha really did just look as any other travellers those days.

'So they are hiring - it was not merely a rumour.'

'No, indeed, and they have apparently hired many mercenaries already. There is a notice in the barracks if you would know more -though if you need me to tell you of this, you must be heading there for your own reasons.'

'I am a brother of the faith; my studies take me there.'

The man shrugged, and winced through another mouthful of ale. 'It is as good a place as any to ride out this storm.'

'You are heading that way as well?'

'No, I am heading west, I plan to get to the coast and take a boat back north -I merely hope I can make it in time.'

'You have passage already booked?'

'No, but can you not feel it? This whole land is set to explode around us. I am sourcer by trade, working out of Athkatla. I was in Darromar when all this began, trying to forge a contract with some fine furniture-makers. I took to the road a tenday after Saradush was liberated, thinking I could ride out the worst back west, but war is set to drown this land. The Silver Chalice is camped back east at Ferhl, ready to march wherever the danger rises, divisions spread all across the plains from the Apagis to the Stormantles. Then there is the Tethyran army. They've been slowly fortifying all the towns south east of the capital since Saradush and every day the rumour mill comes up with some new tale: dragons in the Calim, giants in the Marching Mountains, armies gathering the length and breadth. I swear, there are that many there would be no citizens left for them to pillage were all you hear true.'

A roar of laughter behind them that seemed to shake the very rafters, more than a few patrons glancing about at the noise, though none ventured a word against the group. The man next to him snorted his loathing.

'Damn mercenaries -they are the worst of it and they are everywhere. The roads from the east are choked with them – them and those gods-forsaken refugees. At least the army and their ilk are doing what they can, even if it has cost every household from here to Riatavin some goods or livestock in _war-tithes, _but those sell-swords fester in this land like a cancer. Allies to whoever can pay and falling to banditry as soon as the gold runs dry. They set any town on edge, but none dare refuse a blade now.' His eyes lingered on the girl that glowed in their midst. 'Pretty, that one.' A glance to Anomen confirmed his suspicions. 'You know her?'

'She is…' Anomen doubted the man would believe she was his wife, and he hardly wished to offer a lie that made a cuckold of him. 'My travelling companion,' he finished evasively.

'Another Helmite?' the man offered, though the inquiry was not a serious one from his grin. Anomen laughed.

'No, she is not. She is my scribe.'

'Well, she has adapted well enough to the road.'

'Your room is ready, sir.'

The man nodded to the stout girl who had halted behind his stool, draining his cup to send a final smile to him.

'Well, best of travels to you both and if you head north, try to keep to a group – there are many bandits on the road nowadays.'

Anomen turned to watch him disappear up the stairs before returning his gaze to Fritha. The cards had been abandoned now, that vulture of a man holding the table, if not the girl's interest, with a story. Fritha caught Anomen's eye to send him a wink before her attention was back on her group and nodding eagerly as someone moved to top up her cup with the local clouded brew. Anomen returned to his own drink with a smile.

_Adaptable_ –that was one way of describing it.


	50. The Furled Banner

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

_Author's note: best wishes for the New Year to everyone and thank you for your ongoing support!_

**The Furled Banner**

Anomen was not sure which he became aware of first - the grey light that was filtering in hazy lines through the closed shutters or the sound of the sparrows greeting the dawn in the eaves. So far south, glass in the windows was deemed a luxury most places could not afford, and their inn was no exception. The small room was cool, dawn light opening the plain whitewashed space to which he had paid little mind the evening before. The door was opposite, a dented washstand crammed in behind it and wooden chair next to that, the two narrow beds they had paid for set either side of the drafty window, and heaped with quilts and blankets in various faded shades. A sigh from the bundled bedding but a yard from him; so Fritha _had_ eventually made it back to their room last night. He had left her in the tavern when the vesper bells had sounded across the city, laughing over cards with those drunk sell-swords. He had not wanted to leave her, but his options were limited. He could not make the girl retire, but, equally, he had not felt up to staying down there with her and walking all the next day with a hangover.

Anomen shifted, burying his shoulders under the quilt and weighing the temptation to sit and grab his tunic from where his clothes were neatly folded over the chair, Fritha's piled much less carefully about its legs. The others would reach Ferhl any day now, and he wondered if any knights he knew were stationed there. It felt strange to consider they could be, that his friends would be standing ready for a battle when he, who knew more of what they were to face than any of the Orders, would be far away. But this was his path now, going with Fritha to seek the aid of the only allies he could still claim.

Anomen lay still, watching the light creep across the dusty rafters as, outside, the town slowly stirred to life, roused by the chime of the temple bells. Everything was different now. For the first time that he could recall, he wanted nothing. He was not worried about his fate within the Order, or the coming war or if Brieanna could have been saved. Even Fritha, who had once been his soul's desire now slept but a yard from him and the thought stirred nary a flutter. And it was wonderful -in a quiet, sombre sort of way- not having to be that man anymore, so rash and insecure, always hungry for something more to banish the barren sense of worthlessness that had seemed to hang ever in him.

Complete: that was how he felt now, as though parts of him had always been empty, but he had tried to fill himself with all the wrong things. But, at last, no longer…

He knew his course: he would walk into the future with Fritha and ease her path however he could – even with where it was to take her. Perhaps it was as the girl said, that, for all their regrets, it felt right when they accepted their destiny. In the bed just across from his, something stirred.

'Fritha?'

A muffled mixture of groan and yawn, and a tousled mop of amber curls slowly emerged, a pale hand pushing them clumsily from bright, black eyes.

'Morning, Anomen.' A pause as she shifted onto her back and let her eyes grow accustomed to the wan light. 'What time is it?'

'A little after sunrise – I heard the lauds bells not long ago. How are you feeling?'

'All right,' she murmured tightly, jaw locked for an instant as she stretched under the quilt, 'just a bit tired. I was mostly sober by the time I came to bed.'

Anomen doubted her assessment of the thing, but she did look well enough and he tried to keep the censure in his tone to a minimum.

'And what time did you come back? You were quite reluctant to leave your _friends_ when I retired.'

A dry snort. 'I've have stayed down there even if I was sat on my own – it was barely sun down when you went up to bed.' She glanced to him.

'You disapprove my… socialising?'

'No,' he lied, 'it is merely that you have so little time left, I am surprised you wish to waste every other day on a hangover.'

'Yes,' the girl mused to the dusty beams above, 'it must seem a bit daft to you but, I need this, now and then, to remind me what I'm doing it for. A couple of ales and people are nicer, everything's shinier - the world is worth saving. Speaking of which…' She heaved herself upright, settling in amongst the crumpled blankets to gather them about her against the chill.

'Our journey to the Keep,' Anomen supplied, ready with his investigations. 'As it stands, it will take another tenday on foot. Normally, I would suggest obtaining horses, but once into the mountains we would have to carry our own feed. I doubt Watcher's Keep usually gets more that a few bands of pilgrims a year, but it seems many are headed there at the moment.' He watched her watch him, a moment searching the bright eyes that stared back at him and feeling an unnamed worry stir low in his stomach. 'They have put a call out for mercenaries, though I do not know why. I was speaking to a trader last night. He told me the roads west are teeming with mercenary bands and other groups we will likely wish to avoid, so it would be better if we could travel with a group.'

'Yes, I heard as much, too.'

'You did?' he exclaimed; he did not think she would have bothered with anything outside of the usual bawdy flirtations over cards.

'Oh yes,' she nodded wisely, an oracle in quilted robes, 'And, what's more, I may have the solution.'

**…**

Anomen paused on the inn's empty wooden porch, the tables and chairs of the night before not yet set out at that hour. It was fortunate Fritha had insisted they forgo breakfast, the girl racing over to laundry as soon as she was dressed to collect their still damp clothes.

She was standing beside him now, cloaked against the morning's chill and bent under her pack just as he was. The group she had been eager to catch was obvious in the teeming street, a cart and covered wagon parked side by side across most of the road with little care as to how they blocked it, while two horses waited patiently within the shafts, too old to be bothered by the people that surged past them. Two men were loading supplies onto the cart, the dark outline of their fellows seated in the gloom of the covered wagon. One man was standing on the step at the mouth. Both his skin and hair were of the same earthy brown, the short stub of his bound ponytail wagging above the collar of his cloak as he talked animatedly to someone within.

'You are sure of this?' Anomen hissed, 'If they realise it is you on the bounty notices-'

'They won't. I told you, they think I'm your servant. To be fair, they really weren't that interested in getting to know me – at least not in a way which involved _talking_.'

'_Fritha…_' he warned, but she had already batted at him to hush, the girl stepping from the porch and patiently waiting for someone to note them. An older man who had been heaving sacks of feed onto the cart was the first.

'Here, Jarrhe.'

The lean figure on the wagon step started at the address and, as he turned, Anomen recognised the long-faced vulture from the night before. His eyes found Fritha immediately; his smile was only an instant behind.

'Malal, my pearl, what brings you here?'

'As you said last night, it's best to travel in a group in these dangerous times –you lads still have room on the wagon?'

'Of course,' he cried, 'I'd have you along even if the rest of us were forced to walk.' Dark eyes narrowed a fraction as they fell upon Anomen – the smile did not waver. 'And who's this?'

'This is my master, Brother Iorwerth – the one I told you of last night.'

'Oh aye, the Helmite? I was expecting someone _older_.'

But any more to this grim appraisal was cut short by the arrival of two men, packs across their shoulders and weapons at their hips, their clothes crumpled and soiled from days on the road.

'All right, Jarrhe, we still good for a place?' came the first. He clearly assumed he was, the man moving to dump his pack in the cart beside them. Jarrhe's façade of friendship vanished.

'No. Sorry, turns out we've no room.'

'But you said-'

'And now I'm saying there ain't room, so clear off!'

Anomen watched the pair share a dark look and reluctantly slink back into the crowds. Jarrhe had returned his attentions to them, all smiles once more as he reached a hand down to Fritha, 'Here, girl, let me help you there.'

He hauled her up the wagon step, his free hand finding happy purchase on her rear. That Fritha pretended not to notice, did nothing to quell the displeasure that was slowing coiling in Anomen's chest.

'What? You'd prefer to walk?' she hissed to his scowl, trying to hide the obvious discomfort as they found places on the empty bench directly opposite the wagon mouth, the two rows of men that lined each side nodding to Fritha as they recognised her.

'We all aboard, Jarrhe?' came a voice behind them, muffled by the thick canvas wall – the driver was ready for off.

'Aye, move out.' The wagon sprang forward with a jolt, Jarrhe finally moving from his place at the mouth to sidle his lean frame onto the bench between Anomen and Fritha.

'Now, isn't this fine? Kajal, pass over some of that wine – we have guests.'

Through the streets of Ambril they clattered, the wagon's mouth an open window upon ever-changing scenes of people, hurrying to work or to the market, that cart of men bustling through lives they would never know, and their rumbling passage was a match to the building disquiet in Anomen as Fritha summoned a smile for their host and accepted the bottle.

xxx

The breeze was stirring through her short hair, Imoen raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glare that seemed to reflect off the swaying grassland about them in great shimmering waves, the field of blue above so bright, she could hardly bear to look upon it. A day and a half of walking had finally brought them to their destination, and the walled town of Ferhl was barely visible for the sprawling camp of pale dun pavilions, each blotted here and there with some coloured house banner which likely served as a means to identify as much as decorate.

The Order's camp was to the south of the town, and had been there for a while by the staked paling that surrounded it. Jaheira was the first to see the break in the eastern wall, and their approach was quite overlooked in the tide of traders, laundresses and runners from Ferhl itself, the three reaching the gate to be finally halted by a young Tethyran squire. He was no more than seventeen winters and standing at ramrod attention in a plain blue tabard that Imoen fancied he was trying too hard to fill.

'Hold citizens, you have business with the Order? Sir Gant is in charge of hiring mercenaries, though I warn you, we hire only groups of a score or more men. He holds station in the temple to Torm within the town itself. Seek him there if you wish-'

'We are not here to sign up,' cut in Jaheira, 'We need to speak to Lady Amaniti; we bring a report from the Apagis.'

'I am sorry,' he dismissed and so promptly that Imoen wondered if he had even listened to them, 'but the Knight Commander is a very busy woman. Perhaps I could relay-'

'Look,' sighed Imoen, more than tired of his blustering, 'we've walked all the way from Alhali. We have important information about Sendai and I'm only telling Knight Commander Amaniti.'

The lad was frowning, pulling himself up to his full height and trying to ignore the fact that Minsc still stood over a head above him.

'As I have already said-'

The squire glanced back at the sudden presence behind him, two older men of the local colouring stepping in.

'Stand down, Squire Benevell,' offered the first, the amount of silver braiding on his blue surcoat ranking him highly within his order. Dark eyes came to rest upon Imoen in stern but polite interest. 'Sendai… Not just anyone knows of that name, my lady. Who are you?'

'I- well, we-' Imoen faltered, not sure she should be announcing her heritage so openly when the local army still had a warrant out for her brethrens' arrest. 'We were at Saradush. We helped fight Yaga Shura and we're here with news of Sendai.'

A glance between the two knights, the first continuing evenly, 'I understand you wish to help, but-'

Imoen had had enough, the furious urge to tell them both to 'stuff it' fought back in her desire to present the leader she knew she was supposed to be. 'Listen, I know you'd like to know more, but please believe me when I say lives are at stake – if Amaniti doesn't think so, she can soon throw us out again.'

The knights eased the tension with a reluctant chuckle. 'I suppose you have that right. I am Sir Caryl and this is Sir Willam – come, we will escort you.'

Squire Benevell looked more than a little deflated as he returned to his post. Sir Caryl led the way as they moved through the neat rows of tall pavilions, men and women in the blue livery of the Silver Chalice and the occasional red of the Radiant Heart stood outside, some talking, others overseeing the work of their squires.

Lady Amaniti's tent looked little different from the others that surrounded it despite her position, the plain, bleached canvas bearing house banners in grey and green as well as those depicting the goblet of the Silver Chalice. Sir Caryl speaking to the knight who was on guard at the entrance, before both disappeared inside. There was barely enough time for Sir Willam to send the three a reassuring smile as he remained outside with them, before Sir Caryl had emerged once more with the guard.

'The Knight Commander will see you now.'

Jaheira offered him a deep nod as they filed past. 'Our thanks.'

Inside, the relative gloom of the pavilion was warm, stuffy even, and Imoen realised how much the heat of the day must have been tempered by the cool breeze. There was little by way of furniture in the room –the commander must have slept elsewhere. In the centre was a table, while behind was a large standing board covered in a map of Tethyr and freckled with many coloured dots which a young aide was hastening to cover as they entered. A woman of the local colouring was sat behind the recently cleared desk, dark hair silver at the temples and brow, her olive skin lined heavily across the forehead and less so about the mouth or eyes – this was a woman who had spent more years in frowns than in laughter. She wore the blue surcoat of the Silver Chalice over her mail, a pair of leather gauntlets and a neat collection of styluses and inks the only things left upon the desk before her.

'Please,' she began, gesturing to the three seats that had no doubt just been unfolded for their arrival, the woman dismissing her young aide with a nod. For a moment, she said no more, keen, grey eyes scrutinising the dusty clothes and mismatched armour.

'So, I am told you bring news of the Bhaalspawn, Sendai.'

'Sendai,' began Jaheira gravely, 'is dead.'

Whatever Amaniti had been expecting, it had not been that, greying eyebrows darting up her tanned forehead. She leaned forward with a rasp of mail, weathered hands planted upon the wide desk.

'Dead? You have proof of this?'

'No, but she is,' pressed Imoen, 'and if you don't believe us a lot of people in the east are going to suffer before you can reach them.'

Amaniti caught her with a critical frown. 'I see. And who, exactly, are _you?_'

'Me?' Imoen confirmed, wondering briefly whether she shouldn't be announcing her presence with a little more pride. 'I, well, I'm Imoen -what is it they call me?- the Saviour of Saradush.'

The woman opposite cast over them again, as though she was suddenly seeing something very different from the three wayworn mercenaries who had first arrived, her gaze coming to rest on the girl.

'Imoen… one of the Children. Yes, I can see why you were reluctant to merely announce your presence. So you are the mage who removed the enchantment on the giant, Yaga Shura.'

Imoen snorted, not tired or defeated, but heavy with a wry amusement at how wrong everyone still had it.

'No, I'm not. Someone else did that, and I'm no more the saviour of that city than anyone else who took up arms to protect it. But people need a figurehead for these things, a banner to rally under, and this time it has to be me.'

Amaniti eased back in her chair once more, something intense about her gaze that made Imoen wonder just who, or _what_, was judging her. Slowly, the woman began to nod, and Imoen was surprised to see a certain respect ease the hard lines on her face.

'I believe you.'

'So you agree then?' Imoen pressed eagerly, 'That Sendai's dead and your troops don't have to be here anymore.'

The knight commander's lined forehead creased in a pained frown. 'It is… not quite as simple as that.'

'Really? And how much simpler does it need to be? Because there's a Bhaalspawn as bad as Sendai back east raising an army, and we need to stop them!'

'You speak of Fritha, leader of the Five,' confirmed the commander wearily. 'I could hardly believe it when I heard, but I suppose when she killed the deceiver, Sarevok, her own selfish ambitions were well hidden behind the altruistic façade of sparing the north from war.'

Minsc was shaking his head, Jaheira looking like she was just suppressing the eye roll as Imoen heaved an exasperated sigh.

'Fritha's not leader of the Five. Fritha's well, she's _our_ leader. She's-' The sudden swell of almost forgotten affection made the words come hoarse. 'She's our friend. Fritha just wanted to help -the other Children and Tethyr. I don't know who put about that rumour of her having command of dragons and drow, but it's all lies.'

'And spread by those who wished to keep her from raising an army to face them,' added Minsc wisely.

'Worked, too,' muttered Imoen, adding determinedly to the woman opposite, 'Look, Fritha was the one who killed Sendai, and took the enchantment from Yaga Shura, and killed Abazigal-'

'Who?'

'This mage,' the girl offered dismissively, 'the one who had the dragons. The only Bhaalspawn we killed without her was Illasera.'

A pause as Amaniti performed the calculation in her head. 'So, there is only one member of this Five left.'

'Yes,' agreed Jaheira, 'a monk called Balthazar from the monastery at Amkethran. He believes it is his duty to murder all the Bhaalspawn, and he will plunge this land into war to do it.'

'It is he who raises an army to the east,' added Minsc, 'and we must stop him. We came here to rally men to fight with us.'

On the desk, olive fingers formed a tense steeple. 'I understand… but I cannot help you, at least not with men. The town of Ferhl and its routes to both the coast and Hegir's Fort make this area strategically vital. Until something visible draws us away, we must remain here to protect it.'

'From what?' snapped Imoen, 'The threat's at the other end of Tethyr!'

'As it may seem to outsiders, but…' Amaniti drew a deep sigh, seemingly weighing up how much she should divulge and the breath was released with an air of frustration - very little would be held back. 'This province borders the land of a Duke Sihdus Farn, the head of a very old, very respected Tethyran family and a known opponent of the Queen. Though he would never act openly against her majesty, his family finances a moderate but well-trained force of soldiers who have protected their lands from the time when Tethyr was still embroiled in civil war. The lands around Ferhl need protection – were not the Silver Chalice stationed here, then the Duke would have every reason to move his troops in to take our place -for the good of Tethyr. And the people, as fearful as they are, would likely welcome him.'

'Only, you do not believe he will remove himself so obligingly once this threat has passed,' supplied Jaheira. Amaniti's mail winked with her shrug.

'_I _do not know, but the Queen clearly holds it as a concern, and has spoken to the Prelate thus. In one bloodless move, Farn could lay claim to the most profitable third of Tethyr's coastline, farmlands _and_ the old capital… I am sorry,' she added at the assembled frowns before her, 'I know it must seem petty, but I have my orders and our presence here is not in vain – between the Queen and the Duke, Tethyr could be split by a civil war as bloody as the last. But that said, the Duke _is_ loyal to Tethyr and its people, and he has an army at his disposal; why not ask of him what you asked of me? If he agrees to send men with you, I may have a case to put to my superiors to allow some of our own forces to move further east. And, what is more, you will have what aid I _can_ afford you. You will be given horses for the rest of your journey, and I will provide you with what supplies we can spare for any men you manage to gather. Where should I send them - where do you plan to raise this force?'

'Alhali,' said Minsc.

'Alhali?' the woman repeated, 'The ruined village?'

Imoen nodded. 'We wanted those who missed Saradush to see what a Bhaalspawn army's capable of.'

Amaniti drew back in her chair with a sigh, looking for the first time as old as her lined face suggested.

'Yes, it is not something to which anyone should be able to turn a blind eye. I will have my aide prepare a letter confirming your… _station_ and purpose for the Duke – it will be with Sir Caryl at the gates whenever you wish to depart. And,' she added as the three of them rose in their cue to leave, 'may you walk in Tyr's Grace.'

**…**

After the stale warmth of the tent, the breeze across the plains was especially pleasant.

'Well, that was-' Imoen breathed a sigh, clearly fighting back the _waste of time_ to something more fitting to her new position as leader, 'Less promising than I'd hoped,' she ground out at length.

'You did well to get us inside the palisade,' praised Jaheira to the girl's surprise, 'you can be charming when you wish it.'

'You needn't sound so surprised!' Imoen laughed, her mood ebbing as she added grimly, 'Besides, I think we might have to be a bit more than charming to get what we need before Balthazar's on the move.'

'Boo says we must speak with this Duke. If he truly wishes to aid his homeland, he will help us.'

'I wish I were as sure, Minsc,' Jaheira muttered, scanning the activity about them, 'many people are blinded to these simplicities by their own selfish agendas. You may find this man's idea on how to best aid his land is by having _him_ rule it. In any case, we must speak to-' She paused as her eyes caught on a familiar flaxen-haired knight who had just appeared from the sprawl of tents about them. 'Is that not-?'

'Simon!' cried Imoen. Every man in the surrounding ten yards whipped to them, including the suntanned Lathandite she had called to, the frown easing to a beaming smile as he finally recognised her.

'Imoen?' he laughed, bounding over to them to catch the girl in friendly embrace, 'Imoen! Look at you! I barely recognised you with your hair darker. And Mistress Jaheira, and-' Simon stopped, surfacing from where he had been furiously thumping Minsc's back to glance over their meagre three, 'where are the others?'

'They are well,' said Jaheira, assuaging the worries written plain on his face, 'but could not attend with us. We left Valygar and Solaufein at Alhali. The last two…' She trailed off, sending a pointed glance about them to the half dozen or so men within earshot. Simon perceived her fears.

'Ah, how my mother would be scolding my lack of manners,' he laughed, 'Come, I have a pavilion over in the east of the camp –we can take some refreshment there and continue this at our ease.'

His pavilion was small, but serviceable, a young squire as blond as his knight hastening to his feet from the pair of boots he had been polishing, the footlocker set at the end of the bed serving him as a makeshift table.

'At ease, young Pars,' greeted Simon kindly, 'these are some friends of mine from Amn. Why don't you go and see if Sir Donnel needs any help with the horses.'

A nod and the boy was off, the tent flap slapping cheerfully closed behind him.

Simon insisted Imoen take the only chair while he sat next to Jaheira on his narrow folding bed, Minsc alone on the cot opposite.

'You know of the warrant for Anomen then,' Simon confirmed as they settled into their seats, 'Ah, my friend, Helm did not give you an easy path to walk. And I have denied these rumours that Fritha is leader of the Five since they first came to light – to little avail. You say they are well - where are they now?'

Jaheira was frowning. 'If we tell you, will you be obliged to tell your superiors?'

Simon snorted. 'Obliged or not, I won't be.'

It seemed this was enough for Imoen. 'Anomen has gone with Fritha to Watcher's Keep.'

'The Keep? Have they gone into hiding? No, neither of them would accept that-'

'You need not guess, Simon,' cut in Jaheira. 'They have gone to consult the libraries regarding the prophesy for Bhaal's return.'

'They seek a way to circumvent it?'

A glance between their trio - Imoen's answer came unusually quiet. 'Something like that.'

The slap of the tent flap saved them from any more questions though, Simon on his feet to greet the dark-haired man who had just entered, the once-pale skin now almost as tanned as Simon's.

'Erick,' the Lathandite nodded, something strained in his manner that Imoen did not miss.

'What's happened between you two?'

Erick flushed as he sank onto the bed next to Minsc. 'Ah, nothing. We merely-'

Simon would not let him finish the lie. 'After Anomen left and we returned to Amn, Sir Ryan Trawl questioned us regarding Anomen's departure. Our reports were the same in content,' a dark scowl was thrown to Erick, 'if not in _spirit_.'

'Anomen deserted!' Erick burst out in frustration.

'Anomen did what he thought was right and it was! Look at us, the Order is down here now and if we had stayed when we had first heard of this threat at Saradush we might have ended this war before it even began!'

'You do not know that, Simon,' Erick retorted, 'and it is not our decision to make.'

Simon sighed and shook his head, but was not willing to pursue the fight further it seemed, Erick turning to their three.

'I just spoke to Sir Caryl; so you have met with the Knight Commander?'

'Yes,' said Jaheira, 'we hope to gather men to march upon the Bhaalspawn army which is being raised in the east.'

'Lady Amaniti is sending troops?' cried Simon, 'I will volunteer-'

Jaheira raised a hand to forestall the eager young man who was already halfway from his seat. 'Stay, Simon, Amaniti is not sending anyone. The situation here requires your presence more.'

'You mean the Queen would rather keep us here to protect her throne as the east burns!' snapped Simon. Erick's jaw dropped.

'Simon, you speak treason!'

'She is not my Queen and this is not my land! I serve Lathander and the Radiant Heart – in _that_ order- and I came here to fight those who would ravage these people, not to stand guard against a political land grab.'

'If an army marches in the east then we will have to mobilise, Simon, you know this. Until then,' Erick sighed, 'we must just be patient.'

Simon slumped back, looking tired. 'Sweet Sunrise, I cannot wait until all this is over and we are returned to Amn. I will want to see you all at the family estate,' he added, suddenly smiling once more as he rested his elbows on his knees, 'homecomings are always to be celebrated. Oh, and tell Fritha my sisters are still eager to meet her.'

Imoen's face had frozen in the smile she was wearing, not even a hint of hesitation to her tone as Jaheira watched the girl realise how easy it was to lie about some things.

'Yeah, course. I'll tell her.'


	51. Second Stage

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Second Stage**

The air pressed about her ears in a constant roar and, somewhere in her memory, a young girl -breathless and barefoot, the sand drying on her thin legs- listened with utmost delight to the muted roar of the sea within that horny pink whorl, an echo of the waves that crashed up the beach but a few yards away.

But yielding sand was not beneath Fritha now, her shoulders aching where two bone blades bore the brunt of her weight against the smooth, chequered tiles. Above, the green sky boiled as it always did, winds tearing through her hair with turbulent fingers, as Jaheira had done when she had been upset, the girl curling with her head in the woman's lap, like a child coming to find forgiveness after a scolding.

There was a body next to hers in that wasteland, but not laid out as she was, and Sarevok's presence provided little shelter against the cold that crept under her clothes like the insistent hands of a lover –and she should know. Camped out in the swamps west of Trademeet, it had been so bitterly cold. Only days later Nalia had finally admitted that life was not for her, and the morning had found her ill-rested and miserable. Fritha had pulled her close, clinging on despite the inevitable, and she had barely flinched as Nalia had place those icy hands on her stomach, the girl's face buried in her neck -all warm breath and cold nose.

'You do not wish to talk, sister?'

'What about?' Fritha murmured, wondering if he could even hear her over the howling winds. Sarevok did though, and her words inspired quite the tempest of their own, the girl feeling the tremor of outrage all through the body next to her.

'_About?_ Your quest! The reason for all you strive!'

'I've nothing new to report.'

'And when did that ever stop you?' he huffed, and she felt him pause, his tone almost cajoling as he pressed, 'You do not want to know more of my past? Or perhaps my thoughts on your progress? The outcome of this war? The _clouds?_'

'No.'

'Then, why-?'

'Sarevok,' she sighed, both impatient and piteous, 'I just want to _rest_.'

That silenced him for a time, and for a while, she could lose herself in the dark red clouds behind her eyelids. Her heart was keeping a slow, heavy thud –the building apprehension tingling through her body as it had ever since they had reached the Stormantles.

No, no, none of that- she had retreated there to escape the torment of it, and in the darkness of her mind she was back on the flies of her theatre. The stage was bright below them, the girl sat in the shadows above with Haer'Dalis, skin alive with his nearness and heart thundering with feelings she was not quite ready to admit. She had delayed too long in the end though, and Aerie had taken him – only for the elf to lose him herself and find him again on better terms.

They were stronger for it; wherever they were now, Fritha wished them well. A sigh pulled her back to the present. Sarevok's limited patience had been exhausted, at last.

'Where are you?' he asked bluntly, not bothering to clarify whether he was speaking of her material self.

'On the Svegerd Pass, travelling through the Stormantles to Watcher's Keep. Melissan was there last,' she added at the curious frown, 'we think.'

'And Balthazar?'

She shrugged where she lay and succeeded in rucking her tunic up to expose a good half foot of her lower back to the cold air.

'The others are preparing for him – at least, I hope they are.'

'So you plan to confront Melissan at the keep?'

'I doubt she'll still be there,' Fritha sighed, struggling to right her tunic and, in the end, giving up to sit as he was, 'But if she ever was, there will have been a reason for it – I want to know why.'

'So you are chasing after speculation when you should be hunting your enemy,' concluded Sarevok, that temper rising once more as he slammed a balled fist into the opposing palm. 'You must _get_ to Balthazar, take his life and-'

'And Melissan will find me and _what?_' Fritha demanded, not waiting for the answer she knew neither of them had. 'Because the closer I get to this, the more it becomes _glaring_ apparent I don't have a clue what to do! If I kill Melissan will I just become Bhaal, just like that? Will I be stood there in some field with people around me, all soaked and panting from battle, and just explode into Him? Will there be some struggle in me I must prepare for at that instant of Melissan's death? Or do I have to kill her and then reach the Throne? And will I have to seize the power there? Will I get a chance to take a breath, say goodbye and accept it, or will the power grab me as soon as I reach it? And if I must reach the Throne, does that mean I am giving something else the chance to take the power while I'm discovering how to get there?'

'Who?' Sarevok scoffed, though it could not hide the tremor to his voice, 'There will be no one left with the means!'

The fear lashed out from her heart like a whip crack. 'Don't be a fool! A god other than Bhaal could easily take it, as could some demon prince, or any other denizen of the planes, good or ill, who is powerful enough! For all I know, there is a whole multiverse watching my efforts, and rubbing their hands together like a Sembian moneylender!'

'The gods would not allow it!' announced Sarevok with too much certainty. Fritha laughed – learning that he was as frightened of what was to come as she was, made her feel strangely braver. 'A belief, brother, or a hope? I suppose you are in an even worse position than me. I become Bhaal, you're back in the Abyss. _Melissan_ becomes Bhaal, you're back to the Abyss. Melissan becomes a _god_, you're back in the Abyss. _I _become a god…'

She paused, and even the raging winds seemed to lull in the tension that followed, Sarevok hanging on her every breath. Fritha snorted and reclined back to rest her head upon her hands once more.

'Well, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.'

xxx

It seemed so long since he'd been that cold, Anomen was surprised by the feeling. The way his nose and cheeks stung, feeling each breath deep within his chest to be released in a cloud of mist that was soon stolen by the breeze. After two days travelling across the plains and another two in wooded foothills, they were in the mountains proper now, the cart leading the way up that steep, scree slope. A wall of dense pines either side hemmed them in, and a glance back revealed the distance they had travelled in all its glory, the sinking sun drawing rich hues from the golden plains, where rivers snaked in ribbons of silver, and here and there were clustered the tawny mosaics of settlements. By comparison, the mountains seemed steeped in permanent shadow, mists hanging over the dark forests of the lower slopes, flocks of birds occasionally breaking from the canopy to rise in black confusion only to reform in the air, swooping down as one with an arrow's precision to be lost in the trees once more.

Behind the cart rumbled the covered wagon, the men who had once ridden within now trudging beside and behind in a effort to spare the horse any further burden on that incline, though Fritha made been made an exception to this rule. The girl had complained of a headache earlier in the day, and Jarrhe had insisted she ride in the relative warmth of the wagon since. She was there now, on the bench opposite the old wagon driver who was also snoring through his break, her lolling head bobbing with the wagon's shuddering passage over the uneven track.

Behind him, laughter, Anomen turning to see Jarrhe leaving a small knot of men to quicken his pace, and the cleric was alarmed to see he was making his way towards him. Compared to the other mercenaries, their leader was fairly young, only a few years older than himself, the tanned face lean and weathered, dominated by a large aquiline nose and keen, black eyes. He was not handsome, but rather, striking, and he put it to good effect, ordering his brothers about with an easy, but brusque camaraderie that seemed to soften only for Fritha's benefit. He looked the part even now, the confident merc captain, his brown waxed cloak flapping out behind him with every step. The man reached Anomen's side with a nod, and they continued on their path in silence long enough that his mind had just begun to wander once more when-

'So, not long now till we reach this Keep of yours.'

There was something about Jarrhe that Anomen could not get along with, something outside of the way he leered over Fritha. Confident as the man was about his men or even others they met upon the road, Anomen found something twitchy to him when they found themselves alone together, a nervy rodent-like quality that put the cleric on edge.

'We've not had much chance to talk before, have we?' the merc offered evenly. With the amount of time the man spent pestering Fritha, Anomen was not remotely surprised, Jarrhe continuing at his silence, 'Of course, young Malal talks a lot, but she doesn't know much – about this Keep, I mean – Do you know why they're hiring all these mercs?'

Ah, so now they had the root of it. Anomen kept his gaze upon the bobbing horizon and ignored the worry such questions stirred.

'No, I do not. As servants of Helm, they should be able to handle any martial needs themselves.'

Jarrhe barked a laugh that could not quite ring clear over that nervous edge. 'Aye, I don't doubt it, if they look anything like you. I thought you'd be more bookish when Malal first told me who she was in service to.'

_Hoped_, was likely closer to the truth, Anomen considered ungenerously. At his side, Jarrhe was oblivious, the smile lingering as he mused, 'Still, you Helmites must be hot-blooded men enough – hiring pretty little things like that to serve you.'

Anomen chose to ignore the nod to Fritha who was still dozing in the back of the wagon, her wealth of bright copper hair loosed in the cold and spilling over the blanket she had wrapped about her shoulders.

'A follower of Helm should be able to defend himself and others,' rumbled the cleric coolly, 'I am surprised the Watchers have requested outside aid – though I am more staggered by the fact you have allowed us passage with your group without any speak of _remuneration_.'

Jarrhe shrugged, a twitch quirking his crooked beak of a nose. 'Some of the lads asked me same, but I see it this way – we're not the first group of mercs to respond to this summons, if we're competing for a job, it'll look better for us if we pitch up with some brother of their faith and his servant.'

'And here I had been thinking it mere altruism on your part.'

A burst of loud and surprisingly genuine laughter, Jarrhe grinning. 'You know, you're all right –for a cleric.'

'Here, Jarrhe!' came the shout from somewhere before the wagon and the men parted with a nod, the lean figure pulling away with easy strides to address whatever problem required him at their head, Anomen unable to help a smile as a particularly violent jolt stirred Fritha from her sleep.

She seemed for a moment disorientated, the girl physically relaxing when she found him just a few paces from the wagon mouth. Reassured, her attention turned to her hair, fingers raking through to tidy it back into the collar of her travelling robes as Anomen timed his jump and stepped up to settle on the bench next to her.

'You feel better for your sleep?'

'Yes,' she murmured, her face turned from him as she rummaged in her bag to produce a paper-wrapped, half-eaten loaf of spiced bread. He watched pink-tipped fingers tear off a chunk.

'Who gave you that?'

'Who do you think?'

Fritha proffered the piece she held to him. Anomen shook his head. 'No, thank you –and I do not think you should be eating it either.'

'Why? I've been given it now…' She sighed and took a half-hearted bite, as though she was not so happy to be singled out for this _generosity_ –and Anomen could make a guess as to why.

'And what is expected in return, I wonder?'

'I don't know,' she murmured, voice lowered with a wary glance to the old mercenary sleeping opposite, 'but he expected it from the moment we joined on. Jarrhe didn't seem so… _persistent_ that night in the tavern, or I wouldn't have suggested we travel with them, but we're here now.'

Anomen snorted grimly. That they were, and every evening since Ambril he had watched the girl evade each firm advance with laughter, smiles and excuses where she was needed to perform some task for her 'master'.

'Yes, and I note _you_ do little to discourage him.'

Her temper took him by surprise, words hissed over flashing black eyes. 'I do as much as I can without wounding his stupid _man-pride_ and getting us left on the roadside! Finding this group was a god-send! How many Order patrols and guard checkpoints have we rumbled past hiding in here? Not to mention the time we've saved -only another day or so at this rate and we'll be there.'

'And then…' Anomen prompted quietly. The girl seemed to slump where she was seated.

'I don't know. The closer we get, the more I worry it is a wasted journey. We'll see if Melissan ever even _been_ there and look in the libraries, I suppose. They must hold something: about the Throne, Bhaal's return… perhaps how to tame the power or… I don't know. I feel I know so little I'm not even sure of the questions. This can't just be a waste of time,' she pressed, the heel of her hand she was holding to her forehead making it more of prayer, 'it just can't.'

His fingers closed about the cold hand that was still resting in her lap. 'I know it sounds empty, Fritha, but please don't worry; we must just keep faith.'

The girl snorted, but did not pull away, her gaze moving past him to the wagon mouth where the wide gravel path snaked down to be lost in those rolling valleys of pine trees, the dark spears of an army that thrust upwards into acres of faded blue sky.

'Only another day and we'll be there… I've never wanted anything so much and been so scared of it, not since those few days on ship before we docked at Brynnlaw -waiting to see if Imoen was even alive after all the efforts we made to reach her.' Fritha started back to him, perhaps recalling his presence then, too, that pale face marred with a determined frown as her hand tightened about his own, 'You are a _good_ friend, Anomen.'

'Ah, is that Malal I see awake?'

Anomen darted back from her before he could check himself, his hand suddenly cold as hers left it. Jarrhe was behind the wagon once more, though if he noted anything overly familiar in their behaviour, it was not touching his smile, the man pressing cheerfully, 'Come, take the air with me, lass –if your master can spare you.'

A glance between them that was shielded by the cleric's bulk -Anomen could hardly say no without some task for her. Fritha offered him a small smile and made to rise, the brush of her robes waking the wagon's other occupant with a snuffled start while, outside, the girl prepared for her next scene.

'All right there, Malal, not so tired now?'

'Yes, fine, thank you, Jarrhe.'

Opposite Anomen, the older man was smacking his lips tiredly, watery eyes peering out the wagon mouth. 'We passed the wayshrine of Shaundakul yet?'

'About an hour back,' Anomen muttered, eyes fixed on the pair outside – a companionable arm had already been draped across her shoulders.

'No really, Jarrhe, I'm fine. I just have trouble sleeping at night in the cold.'

'Well, now, you should have said, lass – I'm sure I could have found some way to warm you up.'

'We'll make The Eyrie by sunset,' came the voice beside him, over that strained laughter. Anomen muttered some unintelligible assent, too intent on the scene outside as Jarrhe passed Fritha a bottle, the girl upending it to wet her lips and the man received it back with a grin.

'There, that should keep you warmer in the meantime. We'll be at this inn before nightfall – I hope it lives up to its fine reputation: hot baths, good food, sturdy _beds_-'

'I _said_,' cut in the old driver impatiently, 'you been to this Keep _before?_'

'No,' snapped Anomen, 'I have not,' his attention promptly back on the scene outside and the old driver went back to his nap, rearranging his blankets and grumbling about _someone_ having a pole lodged _somewhere_. Anomen hardly cared. Whatever Fritha's reply had been, it had done nothing to discourage Jarrhe, an arm now casually encircling her waist.

Anomen glowered at the pair – another few moments to allow her to 'take the air' and he'd enact the only rescue he could – the girl called back to the wagon to darn a particularly worn pair of his socks.

xxx

How dare the day be so bright, the sky the same glorious cornflower meadow that had always meant days lazing in gardens behind the kitchen back home? How could the world betray her like this – when birds sang and the breeze caught playfully at her hair, and Imoen could take joy in none of it with that sick twist of worry gnawing at her innards, and the ache that pulsed all through her saddle-weary legs?

The caramel mare beneath her gave a gentle snort and shook a fly from her nose, the tug on the reins causing a flicker of panic even after so long. Amaniti had given them horses as a gift – how could any have known they would be a _torture_.

Well, perhaps torture had not been quite the word for it, but Imoen was still failing to see the enjoyment in the thing, _unlike_ Jaheira and Minsc. The pair were ahead of her, bobbing with the gait of their mounts as they chatted and took pleasure in the lush farmland the dusty road north had been winding through since the mid-morning. They had attempted to give her some pointers yesterday afternoon once they had realised she had never mounted anything bigger than a donkey before. However, it had soon become apparent that practise was the only true teacher here, and though she had only fallen off once that first day and it hadn't hurt, something about being sat, ridged with nerves and waiting for the beast to bolt from under her, just added to Imoen's growing feelings of inadequacy.

She was a _mage_, she could tear the veil between the planes and summon behemoths from the very ground! She wasn't made for politicking with stuffy, self-serving nobles – not unless threatening to level their castle unless they took your side was to be considered the height of diplomatic manoeuvring. Why hadn't Fritha named one of the others leader? No one knew who was a Bhaalspawn or not these days. Or someone else could have pretended they were Imoen – Jaheira would have been much better as long as no one asked for a magic trick.

As though summoned by her growing fears, the road began to curve and slope downward, and from around the hillside, just above the floodplain of the wide river Ith it stood: a striking grey edifice of towers and ramparts, bright purple banners streaming against the sky. As huge square buildings of plain stone, Imoen supposed it was quite a nice one, the upper levels of the keep decorated by spires and small windows of differing shapes, and making it look more like a temple than a castle. The walls though were the same dull boundaries she had seen around every keep and city from there to the gate – she wondered distractedly if they had been added later.

Jaheira pulled the group to a halt at the crossroads, one road leading onward to the local rope-ferry, while the other branched off to follow the hillside.

'That is Castle Ithian. Are we ready?'

Imoen barely suppressed a groan, raking a hand up through her dusty hair, her horse twitching under her.

'Ready? Ready for what? We just ride in and ask the Duke for his army? This seemed much more reasonable when Amaniti was saying it.'

'Imoen-'

'I mean, she could have least come, too, or sent someone with us!'

'Young Imoen-'

'How do we look, just pitching up with some note from-'

'Imoen,' snapped Jaheira; within the girl, a tenday's worth of worry snapped back.

'Don't _Imoen_ me! We're arriving at some castle stinking of horse and week-old clothes, I ache all over, and some Tethyran noble is just going to give us an army because we ask nicely? This is mad!'

'Young Imoen, calm yourself,' soothed Minsc with that serene melancholy he seemed to have found of late.

'Indeed,' agreed Jaheira, 'Amaniti would not have sent us here if she did not believe there was a chance. The political situation is convoluted at best – some charm and subtlety, and perhaps we can turn this to our advantage. Now, shoulders back, back straight and,' a sharp nudge of her heels into her mount's sides, 'walk on.'

The guards met them at the gates. One look at Amaniti's seal and they summoned the captain, who, at the main doors, summoned the steward, their group passed from man to man, each wearing the same fixed frown – whatever the Silver Chalice meant for Tethyr, it clearly meant trouble for them.

Down lamplit, stone corridors they were led, their rattled passage muted by the thick carpets and drapes furnished to diminish both the echo and the chill, hangings and tapestries broken here and there by some statue or fresco painted straight on to the plastered walls. The steward halted before a large pair of embossed wooden doors. The lattice pattern put Imoen in mind of prison bars – she did not appreciate the comparison.

'Wait here.'

He left the doors ajar as he swept inside, and the gap gave her a view of the large hall beyond, the stone floor and walls covered in the usual rugs and hangings, through seemingly for decoration this time by the huge fireplace that yawned like a fiery gate to the Hells on the rightmost wall. A mismatched gathering of men were standing and seated about it, though two groupings first caught her eye.

On one side, two Calimshite men were sitting together on a bench, merchant princes by their silk kurtas and the arrangement of guards that hovered just behind. Opposite them, a corpulent, grey haired man looked to be the most important of the Tethyrans assembled. He was lounging in an overstuffed armchair, a man of wealth by his clothes and station by his mien, a tall, dark-haired gentleman who was less richly dressed leaning on the backrest and making sure to keep the man's wine cup filled. Closer to the fire, a more martial young man was sitting, scabbard across his knees. His colouring marked him as a local, as well, though he looked less comfortable in that company in his plain tunic and sturdy leather boots. A bodyguard perhaps, he watched the conversation about him with great interest.

'I am telling you,' began one of the assembled Tethyran nobles tersely, 'more refugees pour into the west each day, and yet the Queen still does not act.'

'Indeed,' agreed the shorter of the Calimshites, 'we have even had them braving the desert to reach our own cities.'

'And what do you expect Zaranda to do exactly?,' laughed the dark-haired gentleman, 'Patrol the province borders herself?'

'To take charge!' cried another, 'To quash these rumours and restore order! Saradush is still reeling from that giant attack – it would make an easy target and a mighty stronghold for a foreign army.'

'So you still believe the aggressors here are Amnian?' chuckled another.

'Of course, who else would have the coin and the mind for all this – they are taking revenge for Riatavin.'

'If we can accuse any with the coin and the mind I think we can look a little closer to home,' laughed the dark-haired man. His stout companion snorted and drained his cup.

'Let the east fall if Zaranda is not competent enough to save it, only then can the people look to a _true_ saviour.'

At this, all seemed to turn to face someone still hidden behind the doors - so Duke Farn was not the overstuffed Tethyran as Imoen had first assumed. The voice when it came was unhurried and cool.

'This land has seen war too recently to wish to see it again –the Queen would never be so… _unpatriotic_.' A murmur of appreciative laughter, the voice breaking his own applause with a curt snap.

'What? Well, send them in then, Marid.'

Imoen did not wait for the steward to return to usher them forward, the girl stepping in to face that room of scheming stiff-necks. If they were to be thrown out, she wanted to get it over and done with. The man she now realised was the Duke was seated further back from the others on a high-backed, ornately carved armchair, a greying wolfhound sprawled at his feet. Imoen could see a lot of resemblance between them, his master's hair just as pepper grey and coarse, though it appeared he had tried to tame it with a brush and liberal use of wax. Beneath, his tanned, lined face was long and predatory, wide-set dark eyes coming down into a narrow, squared-off jaw.

'So who is this?' began Farn, a polite inquiry with the tone of a demand. The steward hastened to answer him.

'The party of Lady Imogen, my lord, they bear the seal of the Silver Chalice, as well as a missive from the Knight Commander, and wish for an audience.'

Narrow nostrils twitched, as though he had just caught the scent of something distasteful, but was too polite to mention it.

'The Silver Chalice? And are you allied to those fence-sitting knights?'

'We share a goal,' provided Jaheira evenly, 'to see Tethyr safe.'

'That is as much as anyone here,' offered the dark-haired gentleman. 'It is merely the difference in _how_ that divides us, dear lady.'

The Calimshites were muttering amongst themselves, the taller of the pair turning to them with a broad smile.

'As you can see, the Duke Farn already has all the assistance he may need – or perhaps it is _you_ who comes to beg for aid, yes?'

Imoen could feel her face growing hot

'You are foreigners,' added the fat lord, 'why should you care what happens to Tethyr?'

'Why _shouldn't_ I? Look-!' A glance to Jaheira just caught the explosion; Imoen drew a deep breath. 'The war that's coming won't care which land it destroys. Tethyr will be the beginning, but it won't be the end – not unless it's stopped and soon. I've a letter here from Knight Commander Amaniti to vouch for me,' she continued, turning back to the Farn, 'Please, can we speak in private?'

'My lord,' cried the shorter Calimshite, 'you would put yourself in such danger? At least take a few of my guards-'

'That will not be necessary, your highness; Tybol will accompany me. Your associates,' he added to Imoen, 'will remain here.'

This raised protests from both sides.

'But-'

'My lord-'

'I am sure I can handle one girl,' Farn chuckled amiably over them. '_Stay_, Hirant –good dog.'

Imoen was too worried to take amusement in his misconception. '_Jaheira…_'

Two firm hands landed on her shoulders, hazel eyes holding hers, and for one exalted moment, Imoen felt like she could do anything.

'Just keep your temper and you will be fine. Remember: we all believe in you.'

Then the hands left her and the tanned, proud face was gone, and Imoen was quite alone as she followed Farn and his guard through the doorway behind.

The room was small, the same width as the hall though much less deep and used as an office judging by the furniture. The walls were lined with rosewood bookshelves which glimmered in the light of the small fire that licked below the ornately scrolling mantelpiece. Farn had moved behind the desk at the opposite end, his guard taking up position before the door.

Imoen wondered briefly if he meant to intimidate her, but it seemed Farn did not even think her presence worth that, the girl not spared a glance as he dropped promptly into his seat. The letter-knife flashed in the dim light and the wax was broken with a snap and an impatient sigh. They were an inconvenience, something to be indulged and dismissed, and which such alacrity she was not even to be offered a seat. Imoen swallowed the building anger as she watched dark eyes flick back and forth over the paper – she was gaining an increased sympathy for Fritha's recent outbursts, if this was what it had been like.. Either Amaniti's note had been very short or Farn read quickly, his old face dropping slack as distracted fingers folded the parchment back along the creases and placed the letter on the desk before him.

'Tybol, you are dismissed.'

The guard bowed and left without a word. Farn seemed to realise all at once he had not offered her a seat.

'Please.' He gestured to the chair next to her. Imoen lowered herself down with a wince that Farn did not register, his eyes like black stones in the half-light.

'You are Imoen, the Bhaalspawn mage who saved Saradush.'

'Yea- ah, yes. I am,' she corrected, laying her hands politely in her lap. 'What else did Amaniti tell you?'

Farn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease back in his chair. 'Only that you are a neutral party in this, allied to neither the Order nor the Queen, and that you bring news from the east.'

'All true, and I came here for your help. You have heard of the Five?'

'An alliance of evil Bhaalspawn set to killing all the rest.' He nodded slowly, 'So they exist; there were – and I suppose still will be- doubts among some here.'

'_Doubts?_' choked Imoen. The duke smiled; he looked weary.

'Yes, that this whole _war of the Bhaalspawn_ was merely some royalist plot. Saradush was a centre of trade to rival Darromar, and has always enjoyed a certain autonomy, not unlike the city-states of the western heartlands -Baldur's Gate and such. There have been rumours since last winter that the city's ruling council were to vote to declare their independence. How convenient then, that the Bhaalspawn army chose there to strike first.'

'But-but the Silver Chalice were there, too, they fought Yaga Shura!'

'Men can be bribed,' scoffed Farn, 'others can be tricked -you have likely heard yourself the rumours: armies being raised at every corner of the map, a _plague_ of dragons coming to destroy us all! I haven't seen a single one!'

'But Yaga Shura was invincible!' cried Imoen.

'Yaga Shura is _dead_. It is not that I do not think you believe it and speak the truth to me now,' he clarified sternly, 'But who is to say that army of vagabonds and giants was not stirred up by the Queen or her supporters? And for all this talk of Five, there has been confirmation of _one_ so far and the giant struck only _once_.'

'You believe the queen would do that?' cried Imoen, 'To her own people?'

'Why not?' Farn chuckled bitterly, 'Is what she is allowing now any better? This supposed threat of Bhaalspawn had everyone looking inward, men accusing others for fear they will be charged themselves. You say an army is building to the east, something the Queen must know by now, but she would rather keep the Silver Chalice here to guard against _me_,' a slam of his fist made the desk rattle, 'a loyal subject of Tethyr, rather than risk losing her own power! I know of the rumours from court -I would not give it a day before she advanced into my lands, should my own army withdraw! You must understand,' he added more calmly, 'ever since the civil war, the political situation here has not been as stable as it once was. The war left many grudges - among the people _and_ the ruling houses. Queen Zaranda may claim sovereignty, but it is only with the support of the nobles, and not all agree with her rule.'

'Including you!' accused Imoen hotly. Farn's narrow shoulders bobbed a shrug.

'I make no real secret of it. Do no misunderstand me, I do not wish to see this land torn apart again by civil conflict, but the queen does very little to inspire my loyalty with her panicked decision and weak leadership. After Saradush, Zaranda made a decree that all Bhaalspawn should be detained for the safety of themselves and the kingdom, but how the ruling nobles choose to interpret this varies from province to province and is left entirely up to their own discretion. Within my lands, all Children are asked to report to their local watch post from which they are sent to be sheltered within a number of temples and monasteries who have agreed to offer them sanctuary. Yet, from other provinces, I hear tales of labour camps, soldiers patrolling the roads and cities, using the panic to round up anyone they think looks suspicious – I understand from my allies that some nobles have used the opportunity to remove political enemies. And,' he sighed, 'as with all things, it is the common people who suffer.'

Imoen stared back at him, heart quivering as she saw that deluded man as he saw himself, a powerless victim of his own elevated station. Her hands gripped the desk's edge to keep them from slamming on to it.

'I don't _care_ about politics or plots, or whatever else you nobles dream up to make use of your time, but unless you act now there isn't going to be a Tethyr left for you to fight over! We have already defeated all but the last member Five, the monk, Balthazar. Even now he raises an army to march across Tethyr to kill the rest of the Children, and when he has finished here I do not know where else he will turn – perhaps he will not need to, enough deaths and Bhaal Himself will rise to take his place! We need to unite to stop him: you, the queen, the Chalice, there's no way he could stand against all of us. But if you all wait for another to make the first move, Tethyr's going to burn! Send your men east -either with us, or with another at their head but, please, just _send_ them!'

'I-' the old man wavered and in his eyes she could see every fragile worry for a future that could not be seen. 'I cannot… not yet. I know there are rumours from the east, but there are rumours everywhere and I have my own people to protect. Until there is some clearer picture of what we face or those knights withdraw, I will not send the only true protection the west of Tethyr has to the other side of the country on the word of one girl.'

Imoen collapsed back in her chair and, for one awful moment, she thought she might cry. 'So you'll do nothing?'

Her voice came in barely a squeak. Farn looked, for a moment, deeply disappointed.

'I am sorry and, if you are who you say, then doubly so, but my hands are tied. Please,' he continued, making to rise and reach for the bellpull, 'remain the night here as my guest – it is the least I can do.'

**…**

Imoen could not even imagine what the duke's room looked like –with the huge bed, Calimshite silk hangings and nacre inlaid furniture, her room would not have looked out of place in the Ducal palace of the Gate. Not that she was in quite the mood to enjoy it then. The mattress sagged as she slumped, defeated, onto the canopied bed, Minsc and Jaheira sinking down on either side to offer the expected commiserations.

'You tried, Imoen.'

'Yes, Boo says, you did your best.'

'And how does he bloody know?' Imoen threw herself backwards, the blue velvet counterpane crumpling in rich folds about her. It wasn't their fault; Imoen patted the Rashemi's arm.

'Sorry, Minsc, I'm- I just keep going over that conversation. What if there was something else I could've said, some way I could have convinced him.'

'I have no doubt you did all you could, Imoen,' soothed Jaheira. Her choice of words could have used work.

'Yeah, all _I _could,' muttered Imoen sulkily, 'I bet Fritha could have had him marching east before breakfast.'

A frown was shared above her; Jaheira sighed.

'Imoen, this is not a competition, and it is not over yet - when is dinner?'

'And what happened to _charm and subtlety_?' she cried, propping herself up on her elbows she could better see the look on her face. Jaheira was, as ever, quite serious. Imoen flopped back again with a laugh. 'Fine, you want to harangue the man over his roast potatoes go ahead, but don't blame me when we're kicked out before the dessert. Go on, get off to your own rooms, we've a few hours before dinner yet.'

'Why?' demanded Jaheira, standing as Imoen shifted further up the bed, 'What are you planning to do?'

Imoen laughed. '_I'm_ going to get some sleep in a bed while I've got the chance.'

xxx

They reached the inn in premature twilight, the dark grey peaks that loomed to the west rising liked jagged teeth that sheared clear of the forests, haloed in lucent glory from the setting sun behind.

The inn and its various buildings had been built on a flat outcrop next to the road where even the study pines could not gain purchase on the rocky plateau. But the forest closed in again as soon as it was able, a wall of trees fencing in the back of the inn and all along the road's edge, while the mountain itself rose in impenetrable stone along the western side, the clearing left within cast in perpetual shadow. A faint trace of sulphur hung in the air, cold mists creeping up from the valley below to wreath the trees about them. Next to Anomen, Fritha pulled her scarf up and huddled back into her travelling robe.

From the barn, a few stable hands had come out to greet them, the young men working with the drivers to stable their horses as rest of their group took their belongings from the back of the cart and slowly trooped across the open yard.

Inside, the main door opened onto a well-lit common room, most of the light thrown out from the huge stone fireplace that dominated the rightmost wall, the air dry and carrying waves of heat which made his cold cheeks ache. Around the room, a handful of patrons were scattered across the tables, all travellers by their look who had been heading over the mountains and likely the inn's usual custom, though the stout Tethyran man who was feeding the fire did not seem surprised as their more martial company entered, firelight glinting on his bald crown as he straightened to welcome them in.

'Welcome to The Eyrie, friends, the highest inn on the Stormantle Crossing. Another troop of mercs, is it?' he confirmed, as more men continued to pile through the doors behind, 'I thought that last group would be the last of them.'

'There have been more then, recently?' came Jarrhe with a frown.

'Oh, I'd say. I've never had so good a season before, what with this talk of war driving people west and all your sorts heading up to the Keep.'

'Do you know why they have put out the call for men?' asked Anomen, but the man merely shrugged, such matters outside his direct concern.

'Couldn't say, sir, but they must be building quite the army up there – we've not had one group stop in on the return trip. Still, I suppose them Helmites could be sending them onward, down the Seaward Pass towards the coast – plenty over that way to keep them busy.'

'Yes,' muttered Anomen, 'but doing what?'

'Well, I surely couldn't guess,' the innkeep dismissed easily, 'Now, how many rooms will it be?'

Jarrhe had his answer, Anomen quickly ordering a room for himself and Fritha before the captain could act on the false chivalry of getting her a room to herself – somewhere easily _accessible_. The innkeep was nodding, a younger man and woman of the same colouring already appeared behind to show them to their berths.

'Now, half of you go with Anuj, you can take the open dormitory on the first floor. The rest -you as well, sir,' he added with a nod to Anomen, 'can follow Jemma. She'll take you up to the second floor rooms. If any is hungry, you can order a meal at the counter, along with tokens for the baths-'

'Baths?' exclaimed Fritha, 'There's a bathhouse? _Here?_'

'Aye,' the innkeep chuckled, 'there's a reason we're still the most popular stop on this range. Hot springs flow right under this spot – why the baths in the basement were the first thing my great-great grandfather built.'

'This place just gets better and better,' laughed Jarrhe with a decided lewd smile to the girl before him. Fritha could not even make the pretence of a blush in her eagerness to get down there, the maid, Jemma, nodding to the pack that was resting by Anomen's feet.

'Would you like any help with your bag, sir?'

Fritha beat her to it. 'That's what he has me for. Why keep a dog and bark yourself?' she laughed, throwing her pack over her shoulder and grabbing up Anomen's to make for the stairs. 'Lead the way then -I'll take these to our room, sir, then if you have no further need of me…'

**…**

Anomen stepped out of his trousers and moved, naked, to the wash stand, where a bowl of tepid water awaited one brave enough to face it. He could have been downstairs now, where steam hung in the air in a delicate veil and intoxicating heat seduced every limb. But he imagined the rest of their ignoble company would have been tempted down there similarly and no bath could be glorious enough in the face of making small talk with _them_, so there he was. That first splash of water was not cold enough to steal his breath, but it set his skin bristling in protest all the same and he scrubbed the washcloth over his torso and down each limb with hurried hands.

At least their room was pleasant, with a small fire set burning in the grate by the maid who had shown them to it. The two beds were opposite, a dresser on one side of the fireplace, while the washstand stood on the other beside a small window which overlooked the gravel yard and, beyond that, the darkly verdant valleys north. His wash finished, he moved over to the dresser where he had laid fresh clothes, his reflection coming washed out and freckled in the old mirror. His beard needed a trim, but that could be a task for the morning, and he was just stepping into a clean pair of shorts at the sound of the door.

He whipped them over his hips, Fritha breezing in with hair dripping down her back and wearing only her blue travelling robe from the way she was holding it firmly closed with both hands.

'Fritha!' he scolded, pulling on his breeches to haul a tunic roughly over his head, 'You could at least knock.'

'Why?' she laughed, supremely unconcerned as she gathered the pile of clothes from her bed and headed behind the screen, 'You're not hiding anything I haven't seen before.'

'I did not realise you and Solaufein had dispensed with your… _modesty_.'

'Not Solaufein,' she giggled, '_you_. When you were killed by the vampires and we took your body back to Imnesvale, Jaheira, Aerie and I had to wash you… _anoint_ you.'

'Really as though I care,' he scoffed, the heat building in his face; he cared. And Fritha could likely tell, too, from the way that smile was playing at her mouth, the girl peering around the screen to eye him appraisingly.

'I can even things up, if you like - do you want to see me?'

'No,' he snapped. Fritha laughed richly and ducked back behind the screen. 'How rude; I'm quite offended. Oh, bother - here, pass me my red tunic will you, I left it in my bag.'

Frowning, Anomen rooted through the layers of clothes, unearthing treasures as he dug: the leather bound journal, her rope of jade beads and the dull blue gem Haer'Dalis had once used to summon a planar conduit. So the tiefling had made a gift of it to her – it figured. He folded the crimson fruit of his search over the top of the screen. An instant later, and it was whipped from sight.

'You could not have dressed down there?' he continued, making to repack the chaos of her bag.

'No, I hate struggling to pull clothes on when you're still all damp. Trying to keep your stockinged feet from the wet floor unless they get all soggy – yuk!'

'Still, I am surprised you walked all the way up from the basement in just your robe – especially with who we know is about.'

'So? It's not like it matters,' she sighed, at last stepping from behind the screen in her burnt orange trousers and dark red tunic, the gold of the oak leaves she had embroidered around the collar glinting in the lamplight. It had been a while she had gone to such trouble – the acknowledgement of it made Anomen sad in a way he could not describe. Her comb was laid ready upon the dresser, the girl taking a seat there before the mirror to begin brushing out that tangled mop of damp hair. Anomen sank onto the bed behind with a sigh.

'It _does_ matter. These things you dance about, Fritha, they do matter and you pretending they do not, will not make the other things that matter, matter any less.'

But the girl shook her head, the comb still in her hand, her eyes fixed unseeing on her own image. 'No, it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Nothing ever did.'

'Then why are you bothering with all this?' he burst out angrily. 'Fighting the Five, hunting Melissan?'

In the mirror, he watched her pause, a look of contemplation in her grainy greyed reflection. 'Just because I know it doesn't matter, doesn't mean the rest of you believe it. And perhaps that vain hope is worth preserving.' She smiled suddenly, slight and faintly downcast. 'Your chest has healed well. I meant to say the other day.'

'My chest?' unconsciously raising a hand to hover over his sternum.

'Where I stabbed you, when you were a vampire,' she clarified, resuming her combing once more. 'Your abduction, our fight in the catacombs only to find we were too late, and then that mad dash to the ruined temple; it was all so torturous at the time,' she mused quietly, and Anomen wondered if she was even just considered their encounter with Bodhi anymore. 'But we are stronger for it now. I was dreaming of the past earlier –or, rather, thinking of it while I was asleep. Perhaps that is what life is, not a journey but a series of challenges, tests to sculpt who you are until you are ready for that final purpose.'

The rattle of the door cut off any reply Anomen could have made, Jarrhe's voice clear through the wood – at least someone bothered to knock.

'Malal, you coming down?'

'I'm brushing my hair – I'll not be long.'

Footsteps retreated down the corridor, Fritha turning back to the mirror to take up her kohl stick. Anomen watched her line each eye with a practised hand.

'You are going downstairs tonight? We can have food sent to the room if-.'

'I'm not going for a meal,' she countered, humming blithely as she rooted in her bag for her vial of scent. For an instant, panic seized him.

'Fritha, don't go down there tonight –not to be leered over by that cur. We're only a day from the Keep now; you don't need to humour his attentions any longer.'

'But I want to go down,' she countered simply. 'Come, too, if you're worried.'

'No, and I do not see-!'

His frustrations were cut dead, her hand slammed onto the dresser to set her reflection trembling.

'I am _not_ spending the night staring at these four walls! Anomen,' she sighed in the stung silence that followed, turning to offer him a weary smile, 'I just want to have a few drinks and a round of cards, all right? I'll be fine.'

He said nothing and, at length, she returned her attentions to the dresser. Anomen reached for his pack and the prayer book within, though it was just a cover and he pretended to read for the next quarter hour, all the while listening to her fuss and preen until, with a muttered 'goodnight', she left him in silence.


	52. The Hidden Knife

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Sorry, I know it's been _forever_. I got stuck, and then I got distracted, and… well, I'm sure you know how it goes. As for what managed to keep me occupied for the last month or so, I have been _obsessed_ with the most excellent otome game I've ever come across. Please, whether you're a fan, or you're curious about the genre, please go and check out 'Lucky Rabbit Reflex' – it is funny, entertaining, the most accurate representation of UK school life I've ever seen, and packed to the gunnels with cute boys! What more could you ask for? Go on, go google it –no, don't bother reading the chapter– go now! _;-D

_PS – OMG it's nearly time for Mass Effect 3, ahhhhhhh!_ ^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Hidden Knife**

Imoen straightened the bright orange sash, the girl in the full length mirror opposite mimicking the movement and then stooping as she did to brush the last few creases from the deep fuchsia skirts. The grained silk rasped against her dry hands –she should have taken more advantage of Fritha's offers of balm while she'd had the chance.

A bit of nipping to put a glow in her cheeks and a moment to refasten the blue stone pendant which she never went without, and Imoen gave up her preening to reach for the dresser. Two noisy gulps downed a goblet of the wine the maid had appeared with when she had arrived to help her dress an hour ago, the girl bringing within her a cream gown in an older style, all puffed sleeves and ruffles. It had probably been found in haste in the clothes hamper of some long departed family member, the maid looking relieved as she had walked in to discover Imoen's own dress hung over the wardrobe doors letting the worse of the creases drop out from the good couple of months it had spent squashed at the bottom of her pack.

Dinner would be called by a bell – it would not be long now. Imoen resisted the temptation to refill the dull silver cup, the mellow taste of a more expensive wine than she was use to lingering on her palate as she turned back to the mirror. She had once thought nothing could have looked better than her old hair -a match to her dress in sunset-hued pink- but the halo of dark chestnut curls suited her, muting the fuchsia silk and drawing the green from eyes which had once been overlooked in the vividness of her hair. The revelation left Imoen suddenly heartsick – her hair had once been such a part of her and now it was no longer even missed.

A knock at the door behind. Imoen turned to meet the two that entered, Jaheira and Minsc both in their best tunics – Imoen wondered if the maid had bothered to even try and present a dress to the druid.

'You two look very smart.'

'Indeed,' dismissed Jaheira, 'Are you ready?'

Imoen thrust a hand upon a silk-swathed hip 'No, I've actually got a whole other dress to put on -what do _you_ think?'

Jaheira heard the nerves behind the terseness. 'Do not worry, Imoen. Farn is not the last noble in Tethyr with men at his disposal. That is the bell; come, we should not be late.'

A maid met them as they filed into the hallway, the young girl tripping lightly at the head of their procession as she led them along labyrinthine corridors back down to the main floors of the keep.

The room they finally arrived in seemed a sort of foyer, a set of large polished wooden doors carved with two coiled wyverns, the keep's heraldry, dominated the opposite wall, while four couches were making a neat square about a low round table set with flowers. A few of the men Imoen had seen before were seated there, the rest milling about talking, or receiving drinks from the servants at the long oak sideboard which lined the wall next to them. The thick rugs yielded pleasantly underfoot as they entered the room; Imoen half wished she take her shoes off. Those assembled all seemed to turn as one at their arrival, her appearance provoking the obligatory compliments, though their words were as insincere as the smiles on their faces.

'Well, is this the same young woman as before?'

'Indeed, and you are just in time. No banquet is complete without the company of a fair young lady.'

Imoen suspected the fact she was a girl, fair or not, hadn't much to do with it. Most likely, they just saw the dress and the protocol kicked in. Certainly no one had yet dared make a similar fuss of Jaheira, the woman stood at the sideboard wearing her best tunic and a frown.

'Why yes,' added the barrel-like Tethyran lord Imoen had seen earlier, 'I would have attended Farn sooner had I known we would be _graced_ with such _breathtaking_ beauty.'

His language was so flowery as to make a mockery of the sentiment and he likely knew it from the snide little smile he was sharing with his aide. Imoen resisted the urge to tell him to 'stick his compliment up his oversize arse' and did what any proper lady would; she demurred and dipped her face. Jaheira and Minsc were already in talk with a couple of the local nobles and Imoen's solitude was not missed, the two Calimshite men, now dressed even more splendidly in silk kurtas of blue and green, their many jewelled rings and broaches glinting as they made their approach.

'Greetings, Imogen of Beregost, was it not?' began the taller of the two. His beard came to point on his chin, and he wore a large creamy pearl at one ear, his blue kurta covered in gold thread work and turquoise beads. 'You do not look as martial as I would have expected,' he added with a nod to her much less extravagant gown. Imoen was heartily sick of comments about her appearance and it left her brusque.

'Expected from _what_ exactly?'

'Why, from your arrival earlier,' he clarified with a laugh. 'Though I understand the roads are dangerous enough in these times to warrant it. I am Zaphir and this is my partner, Alzeen.'

The pair bowed and Imoen dipped the expected curtsey. 'Nice to meet you.'

'Indeed,' added his friend, his thick moustache waggling as he spoke, 'it is most pleasant to meet with you as well. Such pale northern flowers are rare here and rarer still in Calimport.'

'Calimport, is that where you are from?'

Alzeen nodded, his pearl necklaces rattling. 'Yes, it is where the house we serve is situated.'

'Serve?' Imoen exclaimed, 'I thought you were both princes in your own right!'

'Oh, no,' laughed Zaphir, 'we are but humble emissaries to a great merchant-prince of that city.'

Humble might have been pushing it a bit – between them they were wearing equivalent to the crown jewels of Tethyr.

'I suppose our appearance must make us seem more than we are,' conceded Alzeen, 'indeed, we travel much more simply. Though we have guards, it is best not to tempt banditry.'

'So what are you doing so far from Calimport?'

Zaphir smiled. 'Our prince sent us to strengthen alliances between our two lands – this trouble with the Bhaalspawn affects us all.'

Imoen snorted; subtlety really wasn't for her. 'Why haven't you gone to court then and spoken to the Queen?'

The men shared an uncomfortable glance, Zaphir offering after a pause, 'You must understand our house does not act on behalf of the Pasha – we have no official capacity to approach the royal court.'

'But Farn is well reputed as a man of means and influence,' added Alzeen. 'It was decided our aid could be best used by him.'

And Imoen could just imagine what they wanted Farn to do with their aid, and how much fertile Tethyran land would be relinquished as payment once it was his to bestow.

'But what of you,' continued Zaphir, seemingly glad to change the subject, 'you carried a missive from the Silver Chalice yet you are not their allies? What was it that brought you to the Duke?'

'I wanted to ask something of him,' Imoen offered evasively, 'but he refused.'

'Well, I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps our house could be of aid? As I said, we are here to strengthen ties.'

Something in his manner, in the way both their eyes watched her so carefully gave her pause. Imoen put on her best smile. 'You're too generous, but Farn has the influence here to better use your help.'

'Well then,' smiled Zaphir, 'perhaps we can be of service in other ways. Our house deals in fine jewelleries and we carry a few pieces with us for trade – perhaps you would like to visit our apartments before you leave to view them?'

Alzeen was suddenly nodding. 'Many of the ladies here, we note, do not adorn themselves as much as we are accustomed, though I must say I find the austerity pleasing in a way. It lets each piece shine on its own merits.'

'Indeed,' added Zaphir, 'I notice you wear a fine pendant of your own.'

'Oh, thank you,' Imoen answered, a hand moving self-consciously to the cool stone disk.

'Is it lapis lazuli?' added Alzeen. Imoen shrugged.

'I was never sure.'

'And it is inscribed with a symbol,' he continued, peering closer, 'it has a meaning?'

'The rune means twin, it was given to me by a friend – she has the other half.'

'Ah, a rune,' repeated Zaphir wisely. 'There is power in runes.'

'There is power in _friendships_, too,' came a gruff voice just over her shoulder, 'Though perhaps you do not feel you find such here.'

The tall Tethyran who Imoen had first assumed was someone's guard had stepped up to join them. He was clearly a man of some importance in his own right, his tunic plain but of a good quality red linen that brought out the lustre in his dark hair and eyes, though he was not looking at her then, his scowl focused on the two opposite. 'I see you haven't brought your guards with you this evening.'

'Ah, no,' faltered Alzeen, adding jokingly, 'a banquet is a time for talk and they do not speak Chondathan so well as to add to the affair.'

'You felt they were needed earlier? Or perhaps you just like having them stood about the place – a less _gaudy_ show of wealth for our host?'

The three men scowled at each other a moment longer before the Calimshites made their farewells and left, the warrior finally turning to her. 'Don't mind them, Calimshites are all the same – they could look at a corpse and see only the gold in its teeth. I served with enough of them in the war.'

'They aren't all like that,' Imoen reproached. He snorted but seemingly decided not to argue the point, instead thrusting a hand out for her to shake. It was rough but firm, rather like him.

'We didn't speak earlier, I'm Dethan, the Crown's Justice based out of Castle Tethyr.'

'Imogen of Beregost.'

'Yeah, I'd heard you were from the north. You've come to see if you can get Farn to dance to your tune just like everyone else here?'

Imoen saw little point in denying it. 'His army makes him powerful here – I just wish he'd use some of that power to help Tethyr.'

Dethan gave a great bark of laughter.

'Ha! Spoken like a true foreigner and a naive one at that – since the war, Tethyr's main trade is politics. Zaranda and the nobles would debate water over sand as Castle Darromar burned around them. Farn is one of the better ones, but even he won't act until something forces his hand. Then you've got Lord Balliano,' continued nodding to the stout Tethyran and the handsome young man at his side, 'that great fat swine, he'd see Tethyr fall just so he could pick over the carcass, and his aide, Cariean, is too charming by half. Plus a loads of other lesser nobles all jostling for favour. Throw those bloody Calimshites into the mix and I'd say a war is on its way whatever happens in the east.'

'And why have you come here?'

'Me? I came to ask Farn if he could spare any of his men for the additional patrols that are being raised for the Crown's highways. All over Tethyr mercs roam the roads, and bandits pick off the refugees as they flee, and now I hear stirrings along the edge of the desert. But the Duke refused me and won't send patrols outside his own borders. Says the queen will view it as an _act of treason_. Tyr's Severed Hand, they are each as suspicious as the other-'

The sound of the doors opposite cut him off, a tall servant appearing to clear his throat self importantly.

'My lords, dinner is served.'

The dining room was very similar to the hall where they first met Duke Farn, though the walls were panelled in dark wood and the fireplace was in the back of the room. The flames were low and they cast an almost sinister glow about the high-backed chair on which Farn was already seated at the head of the table.

They all took their seats with a minimum of fuss, the stout Lord, his aide closest to the head, while a collection of minor nobles took their places at the other end. Minsc, Jaheira and she had been directed around the middle, opposite the Calimshites and the frowning Dethan. Servants were sweeping back and forth from the doors, each leaving a bowl in a seemingly endless procession of dishes. Olives in green and glistening black, snails in vinegar, anchovies in oil, pickled artichokes and a variety of different breads.

Those about her were eating heartily, but Imoen was having a harder time of it. She had tried a small green parcel which turned out to be a pickled vine leaf stuffed with rice, but the flavour was both sharp and bitter and she had never been keen on olives, and her plate ended up piled with assorted breads flavoured with saffron, tomatoes and rosemary.

At the head of the table, a chair screeched back, Balliano heaving his blue velvet bulk up as he took to his feet, his cup in hand.

'I should like to offer a toast to Duke Farn: a great host, someone _I_ have the privilege to call a good friend.'

Dethan caught her eye across the table and Imoen had to work not the laugh at his grimace as she raised her cup with the rest of them, the man's eyes falling on the cup of the man next to him.

'It's not much of a toast with only water, Serrah Zaphir.'

'Ah, we do not take wine,' said Alzeen, hastily swallowing his mouthful to reply, 'alcohol clouds the mind.'

'Is that common in Calimshan?' asked Jaheira, though from her tone Imoen could tell the woman already knew it was not. Bhaskar and the rest of the Amma had certainly been happy enough putting it away.

'Ah, no,' explained Zaphir, 'but we are outside our lands on an undertaking for our house – we are expected to maintain readiness at all times.'

'Readiness for _what_ exactly?' pressed Dethan. Alzeen drew back, a glance travelling between the two Calimshites.

'Why, whatever maybe required of us – If we have caused offense…' Alzeen ventured, his attention now on Farn. The duke smiled and inclined his head.

'No offense was meant in this, I am sure, Dethan, and none was taken, serrahs.'

Dethan turned his scowl back to his plate and the conversation turned to the murmured pleasantries with one's neighbours that usually accompanied such dinners. Imoen did not even have that, with Minsc and Jaheira sat on either side and she let her eyes drift along the table. Balliano and Farn were laughing over something Cariean had said, while at the other end of the table, local nobles dissected the rumours they had heard most recently and dismissed them all with ill-informed confidence. And she was not the only one watching these exchanges. Jaheira was scanning the table too, above the bland smile, the woman waiting for a break in the conversation to address Balliano in mild tones.

'My Lord, I am told you hold lands to the south west. We have friends journeying to the Stormantles, how are the roads that way? Will they face much trouble?'

'No, no more than the usual,' he dismissed over his cup, 'but once they cross the Ceylan River they will be outside my rule.'

'And it is well known, the adjoining province has not the men to patrol all the roads,' added Dethan in a snap. Balliano seemed to swell his already ruddy complexion almost glowing.

'Something which, I _regret_, is outside my capacity to remedy.'

'Well,' offered Zaphir, an olive held halfway to his mouth, 'in Calimshan, it is said that the man who protects his home first will always have something to fight for.' He popped the olive into his mouth with a satisfied finality as many heads about the table began to nod. Dethan's was not one of them.

'I am sure there are many who'd agree with you - the tribes stirring along the north edge of the Calim desert being one of them.'

Sighs and snorts along the table, the two Calimshites looking more concerned as Alzeen ventured, 'I have not heard of this. You have proof?'

'There have been _reports_ of raids across the border,' conceded Dethan mulishly as though he knew what reaction this admission would provoke. 'More rumours!' snorted Balliano, Cariean's laughter brightly derisive.

'Who knew that as the Queen's Justice you had to investigate every tall tale – why you must be run ragged at the moment.'

'I am the _Crown's_ Justice,' Dethan corrected sharply, 'not the Queen's and I have a duty to the citizens of this land to investigate all reports of banditry, from wherever they may arise.'

'I am surprised anyone can sift the fact from the rumours in these times,' sighed one of the nobles at the other end of the table, his older companions instantly seizing on this.

'And that is exactly what those Amnians want!'

'Oh, Rachid,' chuckled Farn, 'not this again.'

'You mark my words – I hear they've even let the Radiant Heart enter our lands under the guise of aiding the Silver Chalice. They probably work now, undermining our cities ready for the invasion. We all know what happened to Saradush.'

'Well,' smirked Cariean, leaning back in his chair, 'our newest arrivals should be able to confirm that. What say you, Imogen? You were at their camp last.'

Imoen glanced to Jaheira and nodded once.

'Yes, knights of the Radiant Heart are here. I am friends with some of them actually, though if they were going to take Saradush would it not have made more sense to do so when they'd just fought battle on the field before it and the city was defenceless?'

'Oh yes,' scoffed Rachid, the man gaining momentum as he remained the centre of their interest, 'the _giant_ these knights claim to have fought. Honestly, every time I hear this tale something new is added. There is chaos in the east and refugees flood the west all for some fantasy regarding a war between the Bhaalspawn.'

Minsc was frowning, clearly try to comprehend such wilful blindness; Imoen could feel the heat building in her face.

'We do not understand, you do not believe there was a battle there?'

'Oh, there was a battle,' the man dismissed easily, 'but it was no Bhaalspawn behind it. Ha, we all know how those knights like to brag; I bet it was little more than a skirmish before the walls, not a _real_ battle.'

Imoen's hands hit the table in a chime of cutlery 'Well, it felt pretty fucking _real_ when I watched my friend burn on a pyre afterwards!'

Silence. Balliano even stopped chewing. Farn cleared his throat.

'Yes, well…' he turned slowly to the older maid standing ready against the wall behind him. 'We'll have the next course now, Sofina.'

**…**

'Short-sighted, self-serving-' her sash was whipped off and dashed to the nearest chair, and, for an instant, Imoen felt within her stir a power that could have plunged that castle into screaming anarchy. And then it was gone, allowed to fade and shrugged away; they had come there to find allies, not add another front to their war.

Perhaps a visit to the Queen herself would prove more fruitful, though they would have to return to Alhali empty handed first. The thought held a bitter taste. Imoen made to pour herself a goblet of wine and ended up taking a swig from the jug instead, a whole night of having to behave making her even more inclined to bite her thumb at pointless decorum. People were going to die, could be dying right at that moment, and the nobles sworn to protect them were there playing stupid games. The door was too heavy to rattle, the knock resounding deeply through the thick polished wood. Imoen prepared herself for the imminent lecture, and stalked over to pull it wide.

'Yes, Jaheira, I know. I shouldn't- Cariean?'

The handsome Tethyran sent her a feline smile. 'You were expecting someone else?'

'Well, whatever I was expecting it wasn't you lurking outside my door like an escaped deviant.'

He did not condescend to laugh. 'Very droll. May I come in?'

Imoen folded her arms. 'What do you think?'

'I _think_ a young lady such as yourself is more than capable of taking me should my intentions prove less that noble.'

'_Taking you?_' She repeated archly, even as she stepped back to allow him past. 'Yeah, cause that phrasing's setting my mind at ease. All right, you're in,' she sighed, nudging closed the door behind him, 'what do you want?'

Cariean smiled up at her from where he was now lounged in one of the two padded chairs, idly playing with her orange sash. 'The same thing as you: for Duke Farn to send his men east to meet Balthazar's forces.'

'So you know about Balthazar, huh?'

'Oh, yes,' he smiled knowingly, 'and I know more than merely his name. For one thing, I know Balthazar has a half-sister on his father's side, who plans his downfall even now, _Imoen_.'

Imoen snorted, wary but not yet afraid – after all, one wrong move and the man would be nothing more than a charred spot on Farn's fine Turmish rug. 'And _how_ do you know _that?_'

Another satisfied smile. 'Because, acting on my suspicions, I just snuck into Farn's office and read the letter you brought him.'

'He just left that _lying_ _around?_'

'No, no,' the man assured at her outrage, 'it was quite securely locked in one of the drawers.'

Imoen felt her eyes narrow. 'Who _are_ you?'

'Well, fair's fair, a secret for a secret, I suppose. _I_,' he offered grandly, rising with the word to sweep a deep bow, 'am Aridian Da'Zuze, a spy in the employ of her Majesty, Queen Zaranda.'

'You're an agent for the Queen? And I'm just supposed to believe that, am I?'

'Well, unfortunately, carrying the proof of such is a little risky in my profession. But does it really matter?' he offered, falling back into the chair, 'The queen needs Farn to aid in the fight against Balthazar, and so do you.'

'And what about afterwards? Farn is worried the queen will use the chance to usurp his rule here.'

Aridian laughed amiably, 'Really? And what concern would that be to you?'

It was like dinner all over again: that flash of unrepentant rage.

'We didn't come down here to stop one conflict only to pave way for a civil war, you smirking _bastard!_'

The man paused, the smile he wore fading and it was as though he was suddenly seeing her in a whole new light. 'You truly do care what happens to Tethyr, don't you? I had thought you merely here to preserve your own brethren, not normal people.'

Imoen took an involuntary step towards him, hands planted firmly on her hips.

'My brethren _are_ normal people.'

'I am sorry,' he hastened, 'a poor choice of words. Please, will you hear me out?' He gestured to the bed opposite. Slowly, Imoen sank down upon the velvet counterpane. 'We agree that Balthazar must be stopped, and Farn has the means to do this. The Queen may have asked the Silver Chalice to remain here, but only because her forces to the east are stretched as it is keeping order in the panic that grips the cities and towns who are waiting to be the first target, and she knows enough of Lord Balliano and his ilk to know they will be waiting for any sign of weakness to betray her. Believe what you will about the Queen and her methods, but she does not want to see her people embroiled in another civil war.'

'Well, neither does Farn!' snapped Imoen, 'And he'd send troops east if he wasn't worried about her!'

Aridian nodded gravely. 'No, and I believe it, but his allies are not so noble and plan to manipulate a situation where his hand is forced to their advantage – and Tethyr's ruin. Lord Balliano works even now with those Calimshite emissaries. They plan to orchestrate an attack between them on the lands which border the Calim desert, with all evidence pointing to the tribes who dwell within it. The excuse will be given that they are merely taking advantage of this war in the east as a distraction to acquire better lands.'

'The tribes in the desert don't want Tethyr's land or anyone else's,' snorted Imoen, 'the desert is their home.'

Aridian looked mildly impressed. 'I am surprised to hear you speak so – you have had experience of the desert peoples? Either way, it is an excuse most citizens, the other nobles included, can believe in. As the only noble who kept a standing army after the war, the southern provinces will beg Farn for aid and he will rally his men against this _obvious_ threat. With Farn's troops south, I doubt anything will keep the Silver Chalice from the battle lines. They will move east as I know Amaniti has been petitioning her prelate for a while. In the meantime, Balliano will move mercenaries in to occupy the villages which border Farn's province in the guise of Tethyran soldiers who, by all appearances, would be under instruction of the Queen. All Farn's fears as to Zaranda's treachery will seem proved by this. He will be in the south with his army – this force suddenly free as the _attacks_ on the southern provinces are easily quelled. Balliano and the Calimshites will offer what support they can, and this alliance will take the west, almost bloodlessly I imagine, while the queen and Silver Chalice is still occupied with Balthazar to the east.'

Imoen leaned back from those intense black eyes. 'You know a lot about this…'

'I should,' he shrugged, 'I have shared Balliano's bed for the last few months.'

Her freckled nose creased. 'Eww, with that fat slug? I hope Zaranda pays well.'

'She does, though I do not act here for that, but for my country.'

'Indeed, a _whole_ _country,_ which begs the question: why would Calimshan risk war with Tethyr in this plot?'

Aridian frowned. 'My investigations into this have proved unfruitful, but I doubt these men represent those who rule that land – they are merely opportunists seeking wealth and power outside their own borders.'

Imoen stared at him, trying to find the truth in his words. She risked so much on nothing more than a tale.

'I'm sorry, but you could be anyone, with any agenda – for all I know you could be working for Balliano himself. Without some proof…' she trailed off. Aridian sent her a weary smile, the man reclining back to cross one leg over the other.

'The same problem you have likely been facing for a while, as well, I imagine. I suppose, in the end, someone is going to have to take something on faith.'

Faith – everyone seemed to speak of it lately. The Children had had it in Melissan. Her friends had it in their assorted gods. And, it seemed, by naming her as leader of their ill-fated resistance, Fritha had it in her. Imoen shook her head, defeated.

'All right, what do you need?'

'This,' Aridian smiled, withdrawing a large gold medallion from his doublet, a curled wyvern etched in relief upon its surface, 'this is the Duke's seal – another of my acquisitions of the evening. I need you to plant this, as well as a few letters I have forged in the bureau in Balliano's rooms.'

'Forged? You don't have any _actual_ evidence?'

'Plenty,' the man grinned, 'but this is something different. The letters are by Farn – these with the seal will make it look as though Balliano has been forging Farn's support. Something to guarantee he _never_ gets it.'

'All right,' Imoen muttered, weighing the bright gold disk appraisingly, 'And what will _you_ be doing while I risk my neck?'

'I plan to be with Balliano keeping him _distracted_ and assuring my alibi once this comes to light.'

'Good plan,' Imoen snorted, 'I can see why the queen picked you for this.'

'I know,' he laughed. 'The seneschal is already suspicious of me, I have made sure of that. In my perceived guilt, Balliano's rooms will be searched, the evidence, both false and true, found and the plot discovered.'

'But how will any of this make Farn send his troop's east?'

'I am sure once his most trusted friend is exposed as a liar who holds no loyalty to Tethyr, the Duke will see reason and ally with the queen for the good of the people.' Aridian smiled, but for the first time it was unguarded, a look of genuine hope. 'So you will aid me?'

Imoen sighed and extended a hand for him to shake.

'I will.'

xxx

Outside, the echoed howl of distant wolves was just enough to bring Anomen round again, his body jerking from the cusp of sleep. In his lap, the book still rested, though it had been a while since he had turned a page. He had lost interest in the account of the northern campaigns hours ago, each page from there read only as a bargain with himself –after this page he would retire whether Fritha had returned or not- pages turning into chapters in his futile vigil.

With a sigh, he shifted, easing out stiff limbs to cross to the washstand, but the cool water he splashed across his face only made him feel worse, his eyes like burning coals in his head, hot and gritty. An aura of cold hung about the heavy curtain beside him, a desire to plunge his face within seeing the curtain pulled back. The once clear glass was opaque black marble and he pressed himself to the window, letting the curtain close and block out the light of the room behind to open, at last, the dark landscape outside.

The moon was low, a faint crimson sheen to its usual pallor and its light opened a jagged path across the pines. In the barn across the clearing, a soft yellow light glowed through the fine cracks where the wooden planks did not sit quite flush. He watched the light bobbing back and forth like a wisp, the effort to focus on something making his tired eyes water.

With a sudden determination he stepped back from the glass; Fritha would thank him in the morning.

He marched down the stairs, hardening his heart as he went, readying himself for the drunk cry of _'not yet'_ and the pleas for him to _stay and at least have one_ with them and- He stepped into the common room and stopped dead. The room was all but empty, only one table occupied by men he had spent the last few days travelling beside, the mercenaries looking up as he appeared – Fritha was not among them. The demand, ground out through gritted teeth left none there in any doubt as to his burgeoning anger.

'_Where_ is she?'

A glance shifted between the men; Anomen hauled the nearest to his feet in an explosion of ale and shouting.

'Tell me _NOW!_'

'All right!' choked the man struggling in his grip, 'She went out with Jarrhe to check on the horses.'

The man hit his chair once more, Anomen leaving the chaos of spilled drinks and riled tempers to throw open the main door. The cold hit him like a hammer's blow, lungs burnt and eyes streaming as he cut through the darkness. Across the yard, warm light streamed from the barn doors, Anomen assaulted by the jumbled imaginings of what he was to walk in on.

A sudden scream split the night. He doubled his pace, barrelling through the open doors to find them together in a pool of light, the animals stalled there watching the scene with stoic interest. Jarrhe was sprawled on his back in the gravel and scrambling frantically away from the girl who was looming over him, a billhook snatched from the vicinity in her hand.

'_I said, no!_'

She was not shouting at the captain though, Fritha slightly hunched, a hand hovering at her temple as she turned her back on them and continued her fight.

'_No- I told you- I_ _won't!'_

Anomen's eyes snapped instantly to the crumpled figure beneath her. 'What have you _done_, Jarrhe?'

'Nothing,' he faltered, eyes flicking for the briefest instant to the long smoking pipe discarded next to him on the gravel. 'I-'

Anomen snatched it up before the man could grab it. A frail tendril of smoke was curling from the shredded leaves within the bowl, redolent of cloves and burnt leather. He had been there with the Order when the Athkatla guards had seized a crate of the stuff from a ship out of Calimport.

'Black lotus -you _fool!_'

'It was only a bit,' Jarrhe snapped, scrabbling back from them both, 'just enough to relax her!'

'Does she look _relaxed_ to you?' Anomen paused, weighing the risk to their aliases as his attention returned to the girl now muttering quietly to herself, 'Fritha?'

She whirled, the billhook raised. Eye with pupils so large they were almost black darted up to find him, and bloomed larger still.

'_Anomen…_ Are you-?' She touched his arm, unable to stifle the cry as she found him solid. Her face lit and in a heartbeat she went from astounded to elated to suddenly exhausted, her small frame curling in on itself.

'I'm cold.'

She did not even seem to register as he placed a hand upon her back.

'Come on, come back to the inn.'

The billhook struck the gravel with a dull clatter, the rasp of Jarrhe scrambling to his feet following them as they stepped back out into the darkness.


	53. Blood and Honour

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Ah, sorry for the break, I've had course work and it's taken a bit of time to get over the kick in the balls that was the ending to ME3 (sorry to anyone who liked it, but I was _crushed_). I've got the next three chapters written and proofed, and since there are only about ten or so left, I'm going to be posting regularly now until the end. Thanks, as ever, to my betas and all those people who left feedback. Peace! _

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Blood and Honour**

Imoen saw Aridian to the door, nodding through the constant reiteration of directions and warnings.

'And remember you must wait at least a quarter hour before entering the apartments – I need to ensure Balliano is suitably distracted.'

'Yeah, yeah, you've said twice already -now will you get going!'

She gave him an encouraging shove into the hallway, the man motioning urgently for her to close the door as heavy-soled footsteps echoed along the corridor. Her curiosity had always been greater than her sense; Imoen pressed her eye up to the inch-wide gap she had left and watched Cariean jog to the nearby landing where Dethan was marching down the stairs.

Both men stopped as they saw each other, their paces slowing as they advanced to meet on the landing between them. Dethan had clearly been planning to leave the keep dressed as he was a heavy dark green coat with fine silver buttons glimmering at his cuffs and shoulders and the rising sun of Tethyr embroidered in red upon his breast. Aridian glanced over the taller man with a deliberate smile.

'Justice Dethan,' he greeted, affectedly raising a hand to brush some unseen speck from the man's dark wool sleeve, 'you are looking very smart – I did not know you were abroad on any _official_ business.'

'Save your wit, Cariean. You asked me to attend you in the gardens and this is the only coat I have any need to own. But since I have had the chance to meet you here, what is it you want?'

'Well, the gardens would be a better place for this-'

Dethan cut off his stalling. 'Cariean, I have to leave with the dawn and have no patience for your games. You said you had business with me –speak it now or hold your peace.'

'Fair enough,' Aridian sighed, 'I was merely acting to save your face, not my own.' The man reached into his doublet to withdraw a fat leather purse. 'Here, some coin and assorted gems. My Lord Balliano was moved by your words at dinner regarding the safety of the roads. Though he _regrets_ he cannot spare any of his own men outside his borders, he donates this to further improve the chance of recruiting more men to the local militias for the task.'

Dethan's dark eyes narrowed with a frown; he weighed the purse gingerly, as though it contained something dangerous. 'That is… very _generous _of him… and also quite the change of heart – he has not been overly concerned of the lands outside of his own these last few months.'

Cariean shrugged off his suspicions. 'It is not just you here who wishes to see Tethyr safe – Balliano thought such needed to be conveyed.'

_Conveyed to the Justice or to Duke Farn?_ considered Imoen. Along the corridor, Dethan voiced the same mistrust. 'Aye, and for whose benefit?'

'Well, I would say for _yours_ since you now hold the gold.'

Dethan just snorted. 'Indeed. I trust this concludes our meeting.'

'That it does,' smiled Aridian, dipping a smooth half bow, 'safe journey on the morrow. I doubt I shall be about at that hour to see you off.'

Dethan said nothing, just turned to stomp back up the stairs to his own room further up the east tower while Aridian carried on, following the landing across to continue down the hallway opposite to his lord's apartments.

A nervous quarter hour spent pacing later and before Imoen knew it she was in the hallway following him, the girl tripping along lamplit corridors with only the rustle of her long skirts and the distant sounds of the servants to compete with the thundering of her heart. She had considered changing into something more manoeuvrable, and then decided against it. After all, if she was caught it would be much easier to explain it away with being lost if she wasn't swathed in black with a cowl about her head.

Balliano's apartments were on the same floor, but in the southern wing and far enough from her own to make an excuse hard enough to come by should she need one. In the gloom ahead of her, a door slammed, and for a moment she was frozen as the realisation struck that she risked all they had come there for on the word of some man who had, but an hour before, at the arm of the one she now set out to betray and sneering along with him. With nowhere else to hide, Imoen instantly snuffed the lamp on the wide sideboard next to her and crouched into the shadows beside it. The footsteps were growing closer, and she risked a glimpse about the corner to see the two Calimshites marching along the hallway from the direction of Balliano's rooms, their whispering as furious as their pace, her translation jumbled in her panic.

'_Halij_ do not, Zaphir, wary _telu dhum!_'

'_Farseen pari jilah_ quickly, Balthazar _rezeer_ wait.'

That name and every inch of her skin bristled to match her back that was pressed against the cool stone wall. Did that monk's influence stretch so far as the men of Calimshan or…

And suddenly that petit, dark eyed face was recalled to her, Yemi's gravity belying her scant years as she had regarded the half-drunk mercs gathered outside The Zephir back in Amkethran, coarse laughter echoing about the shout.

'_What are you doing here? Your lot don't approve of the drink.'_

No… and neither had the Calimshites. The men were past her hiding place now, the cloud of perfume in their wake almost drawing her after them, their vibrant silks flashing under every pane of lamplight. At last, they turned a corner to disappear for their own apartments, and Imoen eased herself up, Aridian's letters and the seal making their presence felt with every heaving breath in her tight bodice as though to instil the weight of their importance. Imoen made her decision: Balliano first – then…

The door was not locked – Aridian had assured her it would not be; the room it opened upon was about twice the size of her own and her feet made no noise on the thick rugs. A couple of lamps had been left lit -another of Aridian's courtesies- their soft light bringing out the lustrous sheen of the polished wooden furniture and blue velvet furnishings. From the door next to her, the sound of deep snoring was muffled, but audible –Imoen did not want to contemplate how the man had tired Balliano out so quickly. There was a bureau under the window, the lock simple enough for the picks she had hidden beneath her sash, and her heart was thudding like a blacksmith's hammer as she slipped the bundled letters and seal inside under a jumble of parchment and quills.

Her work done, it was scant moments later when she was out in the hallway once more. Her body was trembling as it had no right to do considering the ease of the task, and as much to distance herself from enormity of what she could have just done as to reach her next target, she set off again at as much of a run as her dress would allow.

The Calimshites had an apartment in the southern wing as well, but that was all she knew, Imoen travelling back to the corner where she had last see them disappear. The lingering scent of their perfume showed the way, and she tripped the length of that corridor to take the only turning left on to a shorter hallway. A large arched window was at the end, the sky beyond the glass changing tones of black and grey as heavy clouds rolled across the moon.

Under the last door of the corridor, a faint glow drew rich hues from the dark red carpet. She pressed an ear to the wood, and then to the keyhole when her first effort proved fruitless, but it was no use, the voices beyond too quiet to make out. Should she wait there for the light to go out and pick the lock? Her loitering outside their room was hardly something she could explain should someone discover her.

Outside, the moon emerged once more from its tattered veil of clouds, pouring stark light through the window to cast the metal catch in finest silver. It drew her as though in a dream, the handle smooth under her fingers as she twisted it loose and the pane swung wide.

The night was breezy and cool, a glance to the left confirming her hopes in stone but two yards along the outer wall. The Calimshites' position as honoured guests had afforded them the luxury of a balcony, a set of huge glass-paned doors providing a likely glorious view over the river in the daylight. Lockpicks were shoved into her bodice and her sash slung over the cornice above, and then it was only a leap from the wide window sill to the stone balustrade an arm's reach away. Light was slicing through the jewel-like blue pane of the curtains, enticing her through the darkness, though it seemed her efforts had been in vain. She could hear their voices a little better, but with the rush of the wind and the difference in language they were still just as unintelligible and the glimpse she could snatch through the gap in the curtains told her nothing more, Alzeen merely seated in a chair at the desk while Zaphir prepared himself for bed. Imoen shivered, the balcony walls providing little shelter as the cold wind cut through her thin silk dress. She should have waited in the hallway, at least then she would have been warm.

It seemed an age later when the light was at last put out, Imoen waiting another quarter hour to be sure before she at last summoned her nerve and slipped through the latched glass doors.

Zaphir was but a lumpy mound of blankets in the large canopied bed beside her, the faint glow from under the adjoining door showing her Alzeen had yet to follow suit. Silence was imperative, though tramping about in the dark was likely to result in the clamorous opposite. Imoen summoned the faintest crumb of light, the last clinging flame of a snuffed candle that barely opened enough of the room for her to see her own feet. She had already memorised the layout while she had been waiting, and she put that knowledge to good use as she took three steps to the right to follow that wall to the desk. None of the drawers were locked – there was no need, they were all empty, the scattered notes upon it in Alzhedo merely merchants' receipts and reports from their guards.

Thwarted, she turned her attention to the large chest beside the bed. The first few layers were the packed silks she had expected, the girl rummaging deeper to uncover the more serviceable clothes they had already admitted to travelling in. Frustrated, she was about to give it up as lost, when her fingers brushed something cold, and she drew into the light a large stone bottle. It was empty and of the usual type sold by shops and taverns, expensive enough that most returned them for the coin, and she loosed the stopper to sniff the inside. Water – not that she had expected anything else, Imoen weighing it dispiritedly in her hand a moment longer before making to shove it back into inside, her fingers brushing on the rough emboss of the brewer's mark that had been stamped into the base. The symbol of the cloud and about it the words that could mean everything and nothing: _The Zephyr – Amkethran. _

The bottle tumbled from her fingers, her whole body tensed as the familiar rattle of a lock broke through the stillness. Someone was at the door, their difficulty indicating they did not have a key, and Imoen had dived sideways before she could think, the sagging mattress but inches from her nose as she found refuge under Zaphir's bed.

The smooth turn of the lock and, on padding feet, the presence entered. Under the bed, Imoen tried to slow her breathing. What in Hells was going on? Who else suspected these men enough to break into their apartments? But perhaps she assumed too much. Perhaps it was some guard in their employ, or even a disloyal servant looking to acquire a piece of the pair's much flaunted wealth.

The presence was creeping closer, the soft footfalls pausing just beside her, so close she could have reached out and grabbed the ankle if she had wanted. Above her, Zaphir snorted in his sleep, only to settle once more with a sigh.

The footsteps retreated, and Imoen was rewarded with an awkward glimpse of silhouetted boots as the adjoining door was opened, dim light flooding through the gap only to be extinguished by the creak of hinges. She lay still, fighting the impulse to make her escape then, when something patted on her forehead. On instinct, she raised a hand to investigate, the limb getting no further than her navel before the confines of the bed above reminder her of her hiding place. At her feet, the side door creaked open again, though no light heralded the movement. Imoen held her breath, another pat of liquid landing on her forehead to roll off into her hair.

And just as abruptly as they had appeared the presence left in the click of a door. Imoen lay there long enough to count a hundred before she was scrabbling from her hiding place, the balcony doors ignored in favour of a more direct escape route. Just an instant to cock an ear to the corridor and she was flying back along it to the safety of her own room.

She had left all three of her lamps burning, and their sincere light was a comfort after the dark prowlings of her evening, the room just as she had left it, familiar clothes thrown over the chair, and pack open and ready for the morn.

Something was happening, something outside her knowledge and-

Imoen stopped dead, frozen where she was bent throwing her lockpicks to land within her open pack as she caught her refection in the dresser mirror, her forehead daubed in red like the anointments of some unholy temple. As though in a dream she moved closer, the patch on her head half-dried to a scab by now to lose its vivid scarlet, though the little that had found its way onto her sleeve was still standing bright against the fuchsia silk.

And in that moment it hit her: the Calimshites, by the monks or merely conspirators in Balliano's coup, were dead. Two men were dead and there was nothing she could say, no alarm she could raise, no witness she could make without drawing attention to her own crimes.

With nothing else to do she pulled on her night clothes, the blood-stained sleeve of her dress left to soak in the fine porcelain wash basin, and Imoen took to her bed to lie unsleeping, waiting for the storm of the morning.

**…**

The plain of chequered tiles stretched about her, green against green like the lawn of a particularly fussy gardener, while the sky above promised rain, grey clouds layered in serene strata so still it could have been a painted backdrop, and everything fuzzy about the edges. Fritha tried to focus, her eyes aching by the time she had realised it was the landscape, not her.

'You know it won't be long now.'

A jolt through her eye and into her skull – three figures were seated about her. Had they been there all along? The gaunt, grey face of the Instinct smiled to her and plucked a card from the fan in her hand to toss it on to the pile before them.

'We have time yet,' countered Sarevok, just as coolly and placed down a card of his own, the pair turning to the spiny, gore-black monstrosity next to them, a frown of concentration on the collection of teeth and spikes that served as his face as the Essence glowered at his claw of tiny cards.

'THIS- WHY MUST WE-? ARRGHH!'

'Yes, yes, I know,' soothed the Instinct, leaning over to assess his hand and make his play for him. 'It won't be for much longer.'

'Sister, it is your play.' Fritha started, gaze falling on a fan of Talis cards that were in her hand. But the deck did not make sense, the suits and faces warped in a way she could not place. She threw down the Tortured Saint to collective sighs.

'You know, Fritha,' continued the Instinct, long amber curls brushed casual back over her shoulder as she leaned forward to collect a new card, 'this would all be over -the torture of waiting, days pining for what could have been- if you just succumb to us now. _We_ will take you on the path to victory!'

'And all she is will _die!_' added Sarevok hastily, as though worried she might be tempted. The Instinct indulged him with a patronising smile.

'She will die anyway; the Blood will take her once Melissan is defeated. All I am saying is, why suffer? Relinquish control to us, Fritha, and you will never have to feel this pain again.'

Sarevok threw a card down with a snort. 'And who would accept such a deal? She has the chance to become a god in her own right!'

The air rang with the Instinct's derisive laughter. 'Ha! Look at state of her! She'll never resist the Blood. A murdered village pricking her conscious and she was half way to Him – risking everything to slaughter and burn in the name of her birthright.'

'YES, BLOOD AND FIRE!'

'So?' snapped Sarevok; he was clearly rattled now. 'She still holds command of you!'

'Is that what you believe?' the Instinct trilled, 'That because she comes here and speaks so sensibly to you, she is somehow in control? She is here because _we_ allow it! She _wants_ the darkness; give her any opportunity, _any_ weakness and she returns to us.'

'I won't-' faltered Fritha, words slurring in the sluggish cant of a drunk, 'I have to-'

Her efforts went ignored, the Instinct splitting the air with another shriek of laughter.

'_She_ will never be strong enough to tame it and you, _brother_, you know you will have to return _there_ once she does!'

Sarevok was on his feet, cards flung down in four-suits of confetti. 'I will never return there, _never!_'

'YES, FIGHT NOW!'

'You and your sister _will_ succumb to us, spirit.'

'My sister will crush you both!'

Fritha's scream seemed to pulse across the very landscape.

'Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_'

**…**

Her eyes snapped open, blind in the piercing light, though the pain was secondary to the heaving wave that was swelling up from her stomach. An instant and Fritha was flipped over and scrabbling under the bed for the chamber pot to disgorge mouthfuls of bitter yellow bile.

'Here,' came the sigh. She peered up through a veil of frizzy curls. Anomen was already awake it seemed, sitting up in the bed opposite, the blankets pulled up to his chest against the cold as he leaned over to hand her his flask. She drew a gulp and spat it straight back into the bowl without so much as a 'good morning' – it was hardly the case anyway. Anomen seemed to understand, his face wearing the sympathetic frown to which she was getting worryingly accustomed.

'Do you recall much of what happened?'

Fritha pushed the pot under the bed to fall back into the waiting cradle of crumpled blankets. Someone had stripped her to her linen underclothes and she was shivering in the morning's cool, but it was too much effort to get under the covers, her shallow breathing hoarse and rasping wetly with the lingering sick in her throat.

'Enough to know I don't want to face you _or_ Jarrhe.'

'You did nothing to shame yourself with me,' offered Anomen sharply, 'and as for that _dog_, Jarrhe, drugging you-'

'He didn't drug me,' she cut in. 'He offered it to me. I knew what it was.'

'Then why-?'

Fritha sighed and fought another wave of nausea. 'Because I was there and he offered and I thought, why not? I've never tried the lotus before, it would have been my last chance… so I took it.' She glanced to Anomen with bloodshot eyes. 'I'm sorry.'

'It is fine,' he sighed, slumping back into the pillows his weary tone making it evident it was anything but, 'I merely do not understand why you are so-'

'Stupid?' she provided tiredly.

Anomen sent her a stern look. '_Destructive_. Do you even care what he could have done if your reaction had been any less?'

'I know… Not what either of us had been expecting, from the look on Jarrhe's face.' She snorted, though there was no humour in it. 'I remember taking a couple of drags and then everything gets blurred. One moment he has me pinned against the barn wall pawing at me and trying to press his kisses, next he's flat on his arse and I'm… somewhere else.'

'It sounded as though you were arguing with someone,' offered Anomen evenly.

'I… I don't remember.'

'Jarrhe knows our names now, too.'

'Does he? Sod it…' Fritha sighed, but made no other movement outside of closing her eyes against the light, their gritty heat a stark contrast to her bristling skin and she could feel the chill almost radiating from the exposed linen sheets around her, any warmth her body had managed to imbue over the night soon lost to the cool air.

'Its cold.'

'Well, then get _under_ the quilt.'

'That's cold, too.'

Anomen sighed deeply, the rustle of blankets forcing her eyes open once more to find him lifting the quilt next to him in resignation.

'Here.'

She padded over and crawled underneath, body uncurling into warm blankets and, for a blissful instant, she was transported to the sultry heat of the baths. Anomen jerked as an extended foot accidentally brushed his leg.

'By Helm, your feet are like ice!'

She giggled wistfully, curling up once more to envelop herself a warm, dark nest. 'Solaufein used to say that. I would catch him sometime by accident and he'd always yelp and hiss something in drow.'

Anomen was looking down at her, she could feel his eyes moving over her profile from the mess of curls at her forehead right down to where her nose disappeared under the blankets. The question, when it came, came quiet and even.

'Do you love him?'

'Does it matter?'

A deep sigh. 'What do you want, Fritha?'

She opened her eyes in time to see that melancholy look and, with great reluctance, she shifted higher, too, so the pair were seated in bed side-by-side like an old, married couple.

'To be happy, I suppose. But it's so much harder to come by than it used to be. I used to be happy, all the time – even when I was upset or angry it was like my heart was happy and just waiting for a chance it could bloom again. Now,' she sighed, pulling the quilt higher as a chill bristled across her shoulders, 'now I have to work at it, and inside, it's not there waiting anymore… But perhaps that's just how most people are, and before I was just fortunate… I'll be fine,' she continued briskly, feeling guilty that all she ever seemed to do with Anomen lately was take, 'once we're at the Keep and have something to focus on. It's all this damn walking -gives too many quiet hours to think.'

An instant to brace for it and she heaved the quilt off with the same tense alacrity one would tear off a bandage.

'Come on, we should get moving - I want this coming confrontation while I've still got a headache to distract me.'

**…**

The air that morning was biting, any exposed flesh nipped and stung, and Anomen's face was hurting as soon as they had left the warmth of the common room. In the mist-wreathed yard, the mercenaries' cart was already being loaded, men milling about it with packs and supplies while Jarrhe stood overseeing things from the step of the wagon, just as he had been on that first morning in Alhali. Fritha was shivering again, though whether from the cold or the after-effects of her night, Anomen could not tell, the girl looking small and pitiful bundled up in travelling robe and two tunics and for a moment he wondered if Jarrhe wouldn't just gather her into the wagon and shout for wine and furs. But the captain glanced up and any worry Anomen may have had vanished under his hard, and satisfyingly wary, scowl.

'Oh, you're here – _Malal and Iorwerth_,' Jarrhe exclaimed with a forced airiness and Anomen merely hope he imagined the emphasis on their names. 'We weren't sure you were still travelling with us. We met a couple of mercs heading up to the Keep last night after you retired, so I'm afraid your places have been taken. You know how it goes.'

'Yes,' agreed Fritha coolly, 'I know how it goes –_you miserable whoreson_,' she added in a hiss as they turned back to the inn, her manner more sheepish as she glanced to him. 'Sorry, Anomen, looks like we're walking after all.'

'Do not look so down-hearted, this is the first good news I have had in days.'

A ripple of irrepressible laughter and the girl dropped her throbbing head immediately to her hands.

'Owwww, don't make me laugh.'

'Come,' Anomen chuckled, still smiling as a large hand gently ushered her before him, 'at least we can have breakfast now.'

xxx

Imoen was ready when they arrived the next morning, dressed for travel and seated in the chair where Aridian himself had sat the night before. Was he still there? Had he fled? Had he even been the one who'd murdered-?

Not that she had any sympathy for two men who, either way, had been planning the deaths of thousands. Still, it was the same feeling as before, that she had entered into something willingly and become a cog in a machine far greater and more malevolent than she had could have known.

Her stomach gave a miserable gurgle at the sharp rap of the door, unrest and hunger churning within, and she found no remedy in Jaheira's worried frown.

'Imoen, thanks be,' the druid breathed, Minsc looking just as relieved as he closed the door behind them, 'I knew you would be fine, but have you heard? Last night the two Calimshite emissaries-'

Imoen gazed down at her hands; they had killed before, but never like this. 'They were murdered, weren't they?'

'Yes, the maid told us when she arrived to inform us breakfast would be sent to our rooms – she asked us to pass the-,' the druid paused, her frown deepening, 'Did she tell you herself?'

'No… I- I was there.'

And the pair listened in pressing silence as Imoen talked them through the night's events, culminating with her gory discovery once she had returned to her room. Jaheira had been on her feet since about halfway through the tale, wearing a trail in the rug as she paced back a forth before the mirror, while Minsc sat upon the bed opposite, the great man almost dropping his hamster as the druid suddenly whipped to them both.

'I do not need to explain the precariousness of our situation. If any of this can be pointed to us, we will not only be in danger, but we could jeopardise any chance of reinforcements being sent east.'

'Did anyone see you last night, young Imoen?' asked Minsc gravely, Boo safely despotised back in his belt pouch.

'No one.'

'And when Aridian was here,' pressed Jaheira, 'were you with him the whole time, was he always in view? He couldn't have planted anything in here while your back was turned?'

'No,' Imoen answered on impulse, drawing back as doubts crept in, her memory suddenly hazy when once she had been so sure. Had there been a moment when she had turned or stooped or-

'No,' she added more firmly. Jaheira held her eye an instant longer and nodded, pressing on.

'And there is nothing missing? You have all your jewellery, combs, bottles, I do not know – anything that was lying about from your toilette?'

'No, I'd already repacked most things before he'd arrived.'

'And your clothes, young Imoen,' added Minsc gravely, 'you spoke of blood?'

'A little on my sleeve, I soaked it clean though – you can't tell.'

Jaheira breathed a deep sigh and sank down next to Minsc. 'Well, that is something, at least, and part of me considers that if the boy meant to accuse us, he would not have taken you into his confidence.'

'So you think he did it, then,' murmured Imoen, 'murdered the Calimshites, or monks, or whatever they were?'

'I do not know. But Aridian was abroad last night and he had plans enough himself. All that matters is that we escape this cleanly.'

A knock at door put an end to their discussion.

'That will be our breakfast,' sighed Jaheira, sweeping aside the few of Imoen's belongings still scattered across the dresser.

But the druid was wrong, Minsc pulling the door wide on a rigid formation of four house guards.

'My lord, the Duke requests the presence of your group in the great hall.'

How different the castle felt from the night before; their three marched down bustling hallways, servants scurrying fearfully about their duties and flattening themselves back to the walls to allow them passage, the rattle of the guards' armour leaving the corridors echoing in their wake.

Imoen's stomach was churning. What if Aridian was dead as well, or worse still, had somehow framed them for this crime? She should have just ran and told Farn last night. Told him everything and let the Fates decide the outcome –_and_ take the blame; the coward's course.

The great hall where they had dined with Farn and his guests mere hours before was the same room, though the air about it could not have been more different. Gone was the easy camaraderie of old friends and vying outsiders. Farn was seated at the head of the table where he had been the night before, white-faced with a cold rage that seemed to focus upon the stout and spluttering man who had been brought before him, two of the castle guards still standing at either arm.

'Give me again your version of events!'

'Farn,' whined Balliano, his corpulent confidence nowhere to be seen now, 'I have already-'

The strike of Farn's fist against the table made them all jump. '_Now!_'

'I- I sent Cariean out to fetch me a light supper from the kitchens. I- I must have fallen asleep before he returned. When I awoke in the morning he was gone!'

'And this letter?' Farn snapped, throwing the offending square of parchment onto the table between them, a single spot of blood blotted on it like a seal. 'Being written to you and found before the seated murdered body of Serah Alzeen?'

Balliano gulped the air like a landed fish. 'I-I told you! I do not know anything about this –this alliance it speaks of!'

Another smaller scrap of parchment was tossed onto the table, its edges curled and black.

'Then why were the cinders of a letter in _your_ hand found in the grate? What correspondence could be so damning as to require its immediate destruction? My seal is missing and the lives of my honoured guests have been taken in my own house, and _I will have answers!_'

Balliano straightened his bulk with a rash indignation. 'These letters were clearly planted, and likely by the murderer who took their lives!'

'And by whom, Balliano? Who do you accuse? As I understood it your aide, Cariean, dealt with all your personal correspondence and he is _unfortunately_ missing.' A sneer twisted Farn's mouth, and it did not ease as his eyes found their trio grouped before the doors.

'Ah, Imogen and her companions.' He made to beckon either them or the guards who still flanked them forward, their group moving to join the sweating Balliano before him. 'Perhaps you can shed some light on the evening's events. One of the servants mentioned seeing you, Imogen, still roaming the castle well past midnight.'

'Me?' choked Imoen; where had she been seen and by whom? She could sense Jaheira ridged next to her, every second she stalled making her lie more obvious. 'I, well, I went to visit the Calimshites,' she faltered; Fritha always said the truth made for the best lies, 'before dinner they had offered to show me some of the jewellery they brought for trade.'

'_Jewellery?_' Farn laughed, 'You expect me to believe-?'

Imoen did not let him finish. 'No… but you know why I have come here, my lord. If I could not get aide from you, then I have no choice but to seek it elsewhere.'

Farn watched her with narrowed eyes. 'And did you find it?'

'No. No one answered at their apartments – I assumed they had retired.'

Farn leaned back in his chair, any further questions forestalled as someone burst through the doors behind them.

'My Lord!'

The duke was suddenly bolt upright to greet his errant seneschal. 'Marid, where in the Nine Hells have you been? I have been summoning you for the last hour!'

'I came from the gardens, my lord. I- last night Cariean found me after dinner, he asked me to meet with him under the southern arbour, that he had something important to tell me, worries about his loyalties being divided between his Lord and Tethyr. He seemed afraid, though he swore he could show me proof of his words. I went last night, but he did not arrive. This morning, after I heard what had happened I returned to the arbour. There are tracks in the gravel paths, as though someone had been dragged towards the jetties.'

'No!' cried Balliano, though Imoen was not sure if from grief or fear. Both Farn and Marid ignored him.

'And this was crushed into a boot print in the dirt beneath the rose trees – there were obvious signs of a scuffle.'

Marid drew something from his robes and the whole room seeming to peer forward to regard the fine silver button upon his open palm.

'It bears the Tethyran coat of arms – most commonly found on the uniforms of those serving high in the army, _or_ the Crown's Justice.'

Two pink spots were rising on Farn's pale cheeks. 'Bring Justice Dethan here _this instant!_'

'I am sure you see now, Farn,' pressed Balliano, 'I have had nothing to do with this.'

Farn said nothing, and they waited in silence for what felt like a lifetime, Imoen desperately trying not to fidget as she felt the old Duke's eyes raking over his four _suspects_. At last, the creak of the door behind them, Dethan's gruff tones holding no hint of Balliano's panicked whine as he marched to join them at a pace his guards could barely match.

'What is the meaning of this, Duke Farn? I understand a murder has occurred here, but I have been confined to the keep all morning and now this? I am already supposed to be on the road!'

'We found _this_ is his chambers, my lord,' continued Marid, dumping a large leather purse on the table with an affluent chink, 'the purse is marked with the seal of Lord Balliano's House.'

Farn took it up, weighing the leather bag in his hand to fix Dethan with a dark glare. 'Where did you get this?'

Dethan spared the fat noblemen at his side a confused glance. 'Why, from Lord Balliano, via his aide Cariean. The lad told me it was a gift to help with the hiring of militia to patrol the roads outside his lands. I did not want his charity, but my pride should not see innocent travellers dead.'

'So you saw Cariean?' confirmed Farn. 'At what time?'

'About a half hour after we left your table. He had wanted to meet me in the gardens, but I caught him on the landing between mine room and his master's suites. Duke Farn, what is this about?'

Farn left his question unanswered, his gaze slowly travelling between the two men, and it was with a sense of finality he nodded to Marid.

'Take some men and search the Lord's rooms – if his guards resist, then you may act with any force necessary.'

Balliano's fury was instant and predictable – such an insult, from one noble to another, demanded no less.

'The _outrage!_ How _dare_ you treat me as some common criminal! I am a Lord of Tethyr in my own right, your equal and your guest! You risk _war_ with this indignity!'

'Guards!' barked the duke as Balliano made to turn and quit their group. A tense moment of standoff, and Balliano slowly turned back to face his jailor.

'Farn, how can you? We were friends! Our houses in alliance since before the war!'

Farn merely sighed. 'Yes. It seems I will have regrets here today whatever comes of this.'

The moments dragged on. Balliano had been allowed to take a seat and was muttering crossly to himself, a handkerchief mopped over his sweating brow. Jaheira and Imoen had been offered a similar courtesy though they had refused, the women instead standing with Minsc and Dethan in silence. Behind, the doors swung back once more, Marid marching through, the conquering general as the threw the spoils of his victory upon the table before the Duke and Imoen felt her heart bob into her throat as he recognised one of the two bundles of letters and a fat gold seal. Balliano sprang from his seat.

'Whatever you have there must have been planted!'

'These were found locked in Balliano's desk, my lord,' continued Marid. 'While this bundle was at the bottom of Cariean's linen chest.'

'_Consider!_' roared Balliano, two guards stepping up to hold him back, 'Had I any damning correspondence I surely would have burned them!'

'Indeed,' agreed Marid coolly, 'Though as you already said, it was Cariean who was responsible for all your scribing. He spoke of having evidence – perhaps letters you were entrusting him to destroy were being saved as his conscience grew heavy.'

'Lies! They are clearly fake, Farn! Forgeries!'

'Forgeries?' snapped Farn, 'And these notes on my troop movements are fake? And this letter from Serrah Alzeen accepting an invitation to your house is fake? _This one_,' he cried, shaking a square of parchments at him, 'is from myself! You think I do not recognise my own hand? And this one-' he paused eyes flying over the script, '…this one _would_ be my hand to any who did not know me well. It speaks of an alliance to drive back Calimshite forces along the southern border, and then to consolidate our new base of power at the old capital.' Farn was suddenly on his feet, the letter flung into Balliano's purpling face. 'That is why you needed my seal – you would show the other nobles you had my support one way or another!'

Dethan was shaking his head. 'You dog – I knew there was trouble along the desert, but I never suspected you would sell out your own people to the Calimshites for more power!'

'How quickly you condemn him, sir,' interjected Marid, the man producing another letter from his robes with that same cool composure. 'I found this one on the floor just behind the door. It seemed someone had slipped it under at some point. When I found it, the seal was yet to be broken.'

Farn scanned over the crisp parchment, his nostrils twitching.

'_Balliano. The Calimshites will not be revealing our secret, nor will they be requiring further payments – I have made certain of both. Dethan.'_

'No!' roared Dethan, 'I never wrote such a thing to anyone, let alone to this dog!'

'I- I-' faltered Balliano, and Imoen could see the cogs within his mind turning, whirring over how to make this revelation work best for him. The shock he affected was almost convincing. 'I cannot _believe_ you would betray our cause like this, Dethan! I am ashamed to say _I_ was blinded by my desire to help Tethyr and may have overstepped the bounds of my friendship with you, Farn, in my eagerness to see you take a stand for this land, but _murder?_'

'You were only ever eager for power!' roared the Justice, 'Do not believe him, Farn, I have had no part in this!'

But Balliano was well into his role now as the dismayed conspirator. 'I thought us agreed, Dethan! The Calimshites were threatening to reveal our plans and I gave you that coin to silence them in good faith. I never _believed_ you would resort to murder and keep the coin for yourself!'

'You lying jackal! I know nothing of this!'

Dethan looked wild and Imoen felt the tremble through her body, the desire to speak out against the injustice she was witnessing quivering through her. Jaheira seemed to sense it, the woman's arm tightened about her elbow as though it could hold her tongue in the same manner. It had not been needed. The girl dipped her head and said nothing. Farn's disgust was audible.

'Guards, remove them to the dungeons. They will be held until there trial.'

'How dare you-! Unhand-!' Balliano was struggling vainly with his guards though Dethan remained silent, and Imoen could not look as he was marched resolutely past them after the still roaring nobleman. Farn slumped back into his chair with a sigh, his gaze finally coming to rest upon their wary knot.

'Forgive my previous suspicions – the stain upon this house to have its guests murdered is more than I can say. You are, of course, free to return to your rooms as you will and depart when you wish. Though-' he added hastily, as they made to heed his dismissal, 'please take a moment to speak with me before you leave. I believe there is something we must discuss.'

**…**

Back in the privacy of her room and sat upon the bed once more, Imoen could not seem to lift her head from her hands, and even the slow rub of Jaheira's hand upon her back felt muted through the numb weight upon her.

'I look back now- oh, why did I trust him?'

'Young Imoen…'

'And why? Why let Dethan take the blame? He had done nothing!'

'Nothing to us,' clarified Jaheira, 'he made it clear he was an ally to Tethyr, but not necessarily the Queen's at dinner. Perhaps this was enough for Aridian. Besides, if he was to be believed innocent through his death, someone had to have murdered him and the Calimshites; I doubt Balliano has either the stomach or the physique.'

Imoen shook her head. 'He used me. I planted the evidence to shift the blame from him to Dethan for the murder of those damn monks, and Aridian knew I wouldn't be able to say a word of it to Farn.'

'You were not to know,' soothed Minsc.

Imoen snorted. 'No, but I know now, don't I? We all do, and we're just going to sit back and let an innocent man be executed.'

'Farn will not kill him outright,' reasoned the druid gently, 'there will need to be a trial – a message to the Queen will have to be sent in the very least. Once we have secured Farn's support and this war is over, there may be time yet to clear Dethan's name.'

Imoen raised her eyes, needing to see the weight of their decision reflected in another's face.

'And what if there isn't?'

The druid winced and turned away, Minsc sighing as he planted a heavy hand upon her shoulder.

'War takes its tithe in blood _and_ honour.'


	54. Alliances

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: Early publish this week as I'm going to Budapest tomorrow, though that does mean the next chapter won't be up until Sunday. Thanks to my betas for their recent hard work (I've been spamming them with chapters for the last two weeks, lol). Viszontlatasra!_

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Alliances**

Anomen took a deep breath, the air cold and bracing with the scent of snow and the surrounding pines. Beside him, Fritha's breathing was similarly deep, the pair crunching up the frosted scree path that had been cut through the forested mountainside. They had walked until well into the darkness the previous day, their progress halted now and then for Fritha to be sick. She had been determined, though, that her hangover would not slow them. After some sleep snatched about a small fire on the edge of the road over the coldest part of the night, they had pressed on with the dawn and another full day of walking had finally found them there. The pines about them were thinning, and through the trees he could see the dark grey keep. Its single tower loomed over the canopy like a great stone spear, the smoke from unseen chimneys hanging about it in a haze against the glary lyard sky.

Anomen shot a smile to the girl next to him, Fritha bundled up in her travelling robe and his spare coat and dwarfed by the pack she was carrying.

'I think we have finally arrived.'

'Good! My legs have been screaming for the last hour.'

The path before them was curving to the right and with each step the imposing building edged into view, the grey stone edifice no more inviting than the snow-capped peaks that rose up behind it, until it was hard to tell where the mountains ended and the clouds began. It had been built on a flat scree clearing in the pine forests with a high wall that extended from the building proper to close off a space to the left where beyond a collection of roofs could just been seen, solid wooden gates obscuring what was likely the courtyard beyond.

As for the building itself, it was tall and serviceable, more a sturdy house than a fort, three storeys in height by the number of windows with the single tower they had first seen at its southern corner. The roof was steeply peaked to shed the winter snows, patches of lichen in yellow and blues giving the walls a welcome daub of colour.

A dozen or so sweeping stone steps led up to the huge arched doorway, the only mark to betray the keep's religious significance: a large Eye of Helm carved into the keystone. Fritha led the way up the steps, their slow elevation above the surrounding canopy giving a breathtaking view down the mountainside.

'Gods, you can see all the way to the ocean!'

Fritha lingered on the edge of the wide stone steps gazing down the mountain as Anomen took up the hoary iron ring to pound upon the doors. He frowned as the silence stretched on without end.

'No answer?' piped Fritha from his side.

'No, wait here,' he muttered, bounding down the steps once more and he was halfway to the gates when the clatter of locks sounded behind and the door was at last hauled open, a youth in pale blue robes standing in the mouth and looking more than a little surprised to find a bundled up young woman standing on his doorstep.

'Oh, ah, hello, my lady?'

Fritha just smiled. 'Hello.'

The lad faltered a moment, regaining his composure as he spotted Anomen further down the steps.

'Ah, yes- All mercenaries are to report-.'

'We are not hired swords,' Anomen cut in, ascending the steps to Fritha's side. 'I am Iorwerth, a Brother of the temple to Helm in Athkatla and this is my companion.'

'Oh, well,' the lad faltered, 'I suppose you had better come inside.'

The hall beyond was the same grey stone as the outside of the keep, two corridors leading left and right while before them a wide staircase ascended, the walls broken here and there with hangings and banners, psalms to Helm and scenes of his triumphs embroidered in silks and gold. The youth was having a whispered conversation with the young sister who had just appeared from the left corridor, presumably to find out what was taking him so long. Her blue robes were all but hidden behind a large floury apron, the girl about to turn and run back the way she had came when a voice halted her.

'What is going on here, Savis?'

And all turned to see an elderly man in the same pale blue robes descending the stairs, 'Why are you not-?' Sagging, dark eyes came to rest upon the newcomers, 'What have we here?'

'They are not mercenaries, sir,' provided the youth hastily, lest the older man think he had been remiss in his duties. The man nodded once.

'I see. Go back to the kitchens, Savis – you too, Lakara – I will see to our guests. You are… pilgrims?' he continued as the pair disappeared down the leftmost hallway.

'Of a sort. I am Iorwerth, servant of Helm and this is my companion, Malal. We seek knowledge we believe is held within the sacred libraries here.'

The man drew back with a clear surprise. 'You have come to _use_ the libraries? Well, you understand-'

'I _regret_,' cut in a voice no warmer than the mountain's climes, and all whipped back to find another robed figure descending the staircase behind them, the older woman's lined face framed by a stark white wimple, 'the libraries are out of bounds at the moment.'

'Out of bounds?' repeated Fritha, 'Has there been some trouble? We know you've been asking for mercenaries.'

The elderly clerics shared a pointed looked, the woman continuing, 'Yes, there has been trouble, brought by a woman not of our faith.'

'A woman?' cried Fritha eagerly, 'Not _Melissan?_'

'You know of her?'

'Yes! Did she get access to the libraries? What did she find?'

'I surely could not say,' the woman dismissed coolly, 'High Father Odren is the only who can grant access to the libraries, though a log of her readings was likely kept if she was. All outsiders who enter must be supervised -though I do not know _when_ the restricted libraries have been so popular,' she added with a sniff as though it was of the greatest inconvenience to her.

'So can we see the High Father?' pressed Fritha, 'this is of the upmost importance.'

The woman remained unmoved. 'I am sure, but the High Father is indisposed at the moment, though perhaps…' another glance to the old man at her side and Anomen had the impression she had been thinking something very different as she offered, 'a meeting could be arranged.'

'But where are our manners?' interrupted the man, as Fritha went to press her case, 'I am Brother Pol, Head of the Scriptorium, this is Sister Maura, Keeper of the Chapel.'

'It sounds more like a monastery here than a holy fort,' said Anomen.

Sister Maura made no comment as to this, the woman turning to the stairs with the distinct air she expected them to follow.

'You must be tired from your journey. Please accept our hospitality until such a time as the High Father may see you. This way.'

**…**

It was their third day on the road, and the sun was sinking in the west, when at last that uneven blot of darkness on the plains was spotted on the horizon. Imoen tried to remain straight-backed in her saddle, if only for the sake of the foreign eyes on her. She had been called back to Farn's office before they had left Castle Ithian and promised the army she sought, a small band of fifteen soldiers sent with them now, with another two hundred or so making a very slow march eastward, awaiting proper word regarding where they needed to be and her next task was to tell them.

The distant shape of Alhali was clearer now, the familiar huddle of blackened buildings little changed, though there had been an addition in their absence, a fine paling of tall wooden stakes that made a ring about the village.

'Gods,' she laughed, 'Solaufein and Valygar have been busy.'

'No doubt,' agreed Jaheira, her keen eyes narrowed. 'But they were not alone in that.'

Imoen raise a hand to shade her face, squinting in the dusty light to focus on the specks that moved behind it.

'People?'

'Perhaps they are some of the mercenaries Fritha challenged,' offered Minsc.

And perhaps some of them were, but it was not mercenaries who were patrolling the paling. Imoen was at the head of their company as they arrived at the gates. On the other side, two men -one in ill-fitting leathers, the other in only a tunic and both carrying spears- held a quick conference.

'Halt,' ventured the older, a scrawny man with a scrubby three day beard, his face just peeking over the wall of stakes, 'who goes there?'

'Imoen –of _Candlekeep_,' she added pointedly, 'now let us in.'

The poor man nearly tripped over his spear in his haste to oblige her. 'Oh! Ah, I'm sorry, milady! Open the gates!'

Imoen did not know who he was supposed to be shouting at -it was only him and the other man there, the pair pulling the gates wide and slowly their party ambled through, the troops dismounting to lead their horses to a clear area of meadow just inside the paling to make camp. Imoen remained mounted as much to get a better view as anything else. The village was teeming, every house full, while others had made camp in the fields inside the paling, people hurrying through the streets carrying food or wood for the evening's meal, while others lingered in knots, listening to better-equipped men who Imoen recognised as true mercenaries. And everywhere came the same reaction of wary admiration, people stopping mid-action or flattening themselves back from the street as they rode past.

Jaheira was sure Valygar, Solaufein and an explanation would be at the old headman's house, the druid sending a polite nod to the couple of men in the front yard who were making armour repairs on a bench which had been set up outside. Valygar did not notice them at first, his attention focused on his task as the two men acted under his instruction. It was with melancholy fondness Imoen watched him work, his ruined hand gesturing stiffly as he spoke.

'Right, now fold the leather over and punch the hole –no further in or the stud will just tear loose with wear- yes, there-'

'Hello Vals.'

His braided head darted up. 'Imoen! You are returned.'

He was at her side to meet her dismount, Imoen knowing they should embrace after so long, but at the same time feeling strangely on show, and they settled on a handshake and a smile which remained for the rest of their friends.

'Jaheira, Minsc, it is good to see you all back. You have news?'

Imoen snorted and made a pointed glance about them. 'You first.'

Valygar nodded, leaving the men to continue their work to see them inside, the group finding room around the large kitchen table, Imoen's questions tumbling over each other in her haste for answers as soon as the door was closed.

'What's happened? What's with all these people? Who are they?'

'They began arriving the day after you left,' explained Valygar, the man taking a pitcher of water from the table to pour out four cups. 'There are about forty or so mercenaries – presumably a better sort than were working for Sendai, since they have been paid only in promises so far. And I believe a small group of ten Harpers are here too. Though they have not specifically said as much, they are a well-equipped group from Zassepur, who keep to themselves and made no mention of payment when they arrived. Of the civilian element, some of the people lived in Alhali before Sendai's mercenaries sacked it, while others are refugees from other nearby villages or itinerant Bhaalspawn who heard about this place on the road. We are fortunate the supplies from the Silver Chalice arrived when they did – I do not know how word has travelled, but more people arrive each day.'

'And you let them?' Imoen cried, 'Vals, we can't protect all these people!'

Valygar shook his head. 'They are not here for shelter, Imoen, they came for you, to fight for the Saviour of Saradush – when we quit Alhali to take the battle to Balthazar, they plan to march with us.'

'_What?'_

'Interesting,' mused Jaheira, seemingly unfazed, 'How many have gathered here so far?'

'Of those who can and wish to fight, about a hundred and fifty in all. Plus another fifty or so from families who are here as support only. Many are common people displaced by the war; we tried to dissuade them, but they say they want to fight for their homeland -for all the good it will do. All but a handful haven't even the knowledge of how to swing a sword without injuring their comrades. We handed out the spare weapons and armour donated by the Chalice, and Solaufein, myself and the mercenaries have been drilling them since they began to arrive, but at this early stage, the best we could hope for in battle is for them not to break ranks and be slaughtered as they flee. I am sure of our defeat if _this_ is the army we are to march with; have you had any success in securing troops?'

'Yes,' nodded Jaheira and she related to him the numbers waiting for their word on where best to strike.

'Well,' considered Valygar grimly, 'even with two hundred trained soldiers at hand we will still likely be outnumbered. Those gathered here would bolster those ranks by over half again, though the casualties would be high. They are here now, and train to that purpose, but Solaufein and I made it clear to all who arrived that the final decision on whether they could remain would be up to you.'

Across the table, his dark eyes were grave – Imoen knew what _he_ thought such a decision should be. She sighed, feeling the responsibility ache all through her shoulders.

'They came here knowing what they were to face and many will die anyway if Balthazar's army marches… Arm them, train them, perhaps a few will survive. Besides, by the time we have located the main body of Balthazar's forces and moved east, any still unsure will have slipped away, and perhaps those left will have trained enough to stay alive.'

A shout in the street outside cut off any protest or praise, Valygar opening the door to meet the man from the gate, his scrawny frame practically twitching in his agitation.

'A large group of refugees have arrived from the east, sir – they say they have news.'

In the street behind him, a dozen or so road-bedraggled peasants were gathering, Valygar beckoning to the man at their head.

'You said you have news?' prompted Jaheira, handing him her untouched cup of water as he arrived at the head of the table. The man bobbed a stiff bow and downed it gratefully.

'I am Asein, milady,' he gasped at last, 'formerly of Sefen und Agis. It is a small town many leagues east of here on the river. Barely more than a village –no walls, no militia- many make their livings from farming and have no coin for such things. I was a blacksmith by trade, but…' He faltered, drawing a steadying breath. 'A fortnight ago a force of men came under cover of darkness. They raided barns and homes, carried off goods, livestock, even some people, and cut down any who tried to stop them. Those left remained at first, but after the second night when they returned, those few who survive to see the dawn gave up their homes and left to find safety elsewhere. On the road, we met many others – it seems nearly every settlement without a wall has been raided.'

Silence greeted his words, Imoen the first to break it, the girl trying to mimic that mellow, assured tone she had heard Fritha use so many times.

'Thank you for bringing this to us, Asein.' She glanced to the gate guard still hovering next to him, 'Er, you, ah?'

He looked unnerved he was even being asked. 'Er, Jalund, milady.'

Imoen nodded. 'Jalund, please see they get some food and a place in the village to stay.'

The slam of the door behind the pair released the others from their silence.

'Raiders taking livestock and goods,' considered Valygar, 'they could be opportunist bandits.'

'Or outriders supplying an army that is so far content to remain hidden,' offered Jaheira.

A decision was brewing; all eyes seem to come to rest upon her. Imoen straightened under their collective gaze – it was time to take charge.

'We need to know more. I'll go and take two others… Vals, you can track them, and Solaufein is probably the best at spying on them once we reach our target.'

'Imoen,' sighed Jaheira reluctantly, 'you are needed here-'

'No,' she cut in, never so sure of anything before, 'I'm not. I can't train these people, I'm just a figurehead. But if that's the case and they need me to direct this army we're building, then I need to see firsthand what we are up against. I'll take Vals and Sola and two of the militia here as messengers to relay our findings back here and to Farn's army. Jaheira and Minsc can remain in Alhali and continue preparations. We can do a formal handover tomorrow in the main square – it will be best if those here see it.'

Imoen watched her friends contemplate it. This was the plan, whatever they thought -she had picked up a couple of things from Fritha's leadership style. But if she could convince them she was a force to be followed, then perhaps she could convince those waiting outside, and then maybe, just maybe, she could convince herself. Gradually, the heads about her nodded their assent. One down…

**…**

Anomen nodded to the young acolyte who was hovering next to him, and knocked twice on the heavy door. The youth had been dispatched to the guest wing to fetch them for dinner, and together he and the lad had made the walk further along the corridor to Fritha's room.

'Come in,' came the call, muffled by the wood, and he pulled it back to find the girl they sought, Fritha dressed in her fine white kurti and her linen undershorts humming blithely as she rummaged through her pack, her dark orange trousers and blue scarf already lain out on the bed, while the dresser glittered with vials and boxes. 'Oh Iorwerth, is it time already? I'll just be a moment.'

The acolyte was going pink around the ears, the youth faltering as Anomen made to enter.

'I, ah, will wait out here, sir.'

Anomen just smiled and shut the door behind him. Fritha had leapt into her trousers and was rummaging through the pack once more, Anomen taking a seat on the large bed behind her, the room as his was, simple but comfortable with heavy rugs and drapes to take the chill from the bare stone walls.

'You've settled in then.'

The girl flashed him a smile as she settled before the dresser. 'It's what I do.'

Anomen laughed and he remained on the bed, watching as she put on jewellery and dressed her hair, wondering if that was what life would have been like if they had married. Her in his mother's old room before the dresser, applying ornaments and scent for some gathering, him sat on the cushioned bench behind, smiling and full of love for his pretty young wife. He glanced inside, to feelings he had long ignored confirmed the affection was there still, though it was different now, more muted, the fires faded to a less scorching warmth.

'Oh, isn't that Parsley, one of the mercs' horses?'

And Anomen started back to find the girl risen and at the nearby window. Down in the courtyard far below an old bay gelding was being led into the barn.

'Look at the single white stocking,' Fritha continued, securing her last earring to tap the glass, 'I'm sure that's him.'

'Then Jarrhe and the others must still be here,' Anomen concluded. Fritha's good spirits were on the wane.

'Oh…'

'I do not believe they will be at dinner though,' he added quickly, 'the acolyte told me this invitation was only extended to us due to my being a brother of the faith.'

Fritha was all at once restored, the girl catching up her blue scarf to loop it once about her neck. 'Well, let's not keep them waiting then.'

Through a maze of stone hallways they were led, the young man describing the rooms they passed as they went.

'We have just come from the guest quarters. The acolytes' dormitory is in the same wing, but on the floor below, while the brothers and sisters have their own rooms in the southern tower. And down there,' he pointed to the branching corridor they had just marched past, 'leads to the upper libraries and the scriptorium.'

'The upper libraries?'

'Yes, milady, it is where most of the younger clerics spend their days, myself included. Only the brothers and sisters are allowed to go down into the restricted libraries under the keep itself.' He sighed, suddenly full of longing, 'I would if was allowed – it is said the bones of our own Saint Mailen are interned beneath -She founded our order,' he added at Fritha's puzzled frown, 'there she is.'

And Anomen almost collided into the back of the lad as he came to an abrupt halt at the open doorway to their right, the knight following his raised hand into the room beyond, up the central aisle to the huge stained glass window opposite. It depicted a woman stood in full armour, her pious face raised to the blazing eye of Helm that was hovering above her lance, and all glowing with the last rays of the sinking sun outside. Beneath had been set an altar, the gold of the candelabra, banners and altar cloth all glimmering to match the candles within the gilt alcoves that had been sunk into the walls at the end of each pew and the whole effect was one of radiance.

'This is the chapel,' the youth added unnecessarily.

'It's very beautiful,' sighed Fritha with a warming sincerity, 'would you like to wait a moment and make your prayers, Anomen?'

The youth looked worried, as though he was nervous any delay would reflect badly on his errand, though his fears were in vain.

'No, no, we should not keep them waiting – I will attend evensong with the other brothers.'

Relieved, their guide set out again and it was only the length of another corridor before they were before the doorway of the refectory. The hall was narrow and long, only just large enough for the long table it housed, though considering the wind that was howling against the narrow windows above them, Anomen was glad there was less room to heat. A roaring fireplace covered almost the entire back of the room, just enough space left for a door set to its left that, from the rich savoury scent that suffused the air, likely led to the kitchens. Before the fire, a carved high-backed chair made for an imposing silhouette against the flames, the place left empty, presumable for Father Odren should he choose to arrive.

Anomen recognised Brother Pol and Sister Maura amongst the others at the warmer end of the table, the brothers and sisters diminishing in both rank and age as they ran the length of the room to find the youngest acolytes shivering just before the doors. There were about thirty people there in all and, despite all he had been led to believe of this order, none looked particularly martial. The twisting unease that had been in Anomen's stomach since they had entered gave another heave. Their young guide showed them a space on the benches opposite Pol, before returning to his place nearly at the doors.

Pol sent them a smile as they finally settled. 'Well, I think we are all here now.'

'Fritha glanced to the empty chair beside them. 'But-?'

'Ah, the High Father will not be joining us this evening,' Pol hastened to explain, 'He has much to attend to and will eat in his rooms. However, Sister Maura did speak with him after you arrived and he will have the time to meet with you both just after the noon service tomorrow.'

Anomen nodded deeply, as much of a bow he could make while seated. 'We thank you for your pains.'

Pol just smiled, his hand raised to signal the acolyte who was standing behind him, and dishes began a slow procession through the kitchen doors. Plates of roast meat, likely boar considering their location, steaming caldrons of soup and boiled vegetables that would have had to have been brought up from the lowlands were being set before them – Pol noticed Anomen's surprise.

'Usually, we eat much more simply, but it can be pleasant to cater to our guests – wine?' he added as an acolyte carrying a large pitcher stopped behind their chairs.

'Oh, I never say no to wine!' grinned Fritha, Pol looking mildly scandalised as she eagerly caught up her cup. Anomen allowed himself a chuckle behind his hand. Fritha was the only person he knew who could go from blushing ingénue to confirmed rake with a but a smile.

'Where do the mercenaries who have been travelling here eat?' asked Anomen, if only for something to say as the meal got underway.

'In the kitchens,' provided Maura promptly .

'Are they eating there now?' asked Fritha.

'No, no mercenaries staying with us at the moment,' said Pol. Fritha was frowning.

'None? Only I thought I recognised one of the horses of the group we travelled part of the way with in your stables.'

Pol's sip of wine seemed to go down the wrong way. 'Why, I- I would not know why-'

Maura cut through his spluttering, her iron grey eyes settling a few places further down the table.

'Brother Farrel – would you know why one of the mercenary groups who passed by here recently would have left a horse behind?'

The black-bearded brother had just taken a mouthful of meat and it took him a while to clear it, the man finally swallowing to explain, 'The horse was not faring well by the time they arrived here. Likely the cooler air up here – it had a minor chest infection. Rather than see the beast suffer we bought the creature from them along with the cart it pulled.'

'So Jarrhe and the others left on foot?' asked Fritha. Farrel spared a glance to Pol.

'So I understand…'

'They mentioned continuing the path north down the mountain towards the coast to look for more work there,' continued Pol.

'They did not like the task you have here?'

'No…' faltered Pol, 'they were clearly unprepared for what was required and were encouraged to move on. -But we should not talk of that here,' he added, his voice raised for the benefit of the now whispering acolytes at the end of the table, and pointedly returned to his dish. Fritha glanced to Anomen and shrugged imperceptibly – it seemed their answers would have to wait until the morrow.

**…**

Imoen spent the rest of the afternoon touring the camp, meeting the mercenaries who greeted her with a gruff nod and the refugees who milled about her with respectful awe. Solaufein had been over at the southern meadow holding drills, a group of mercs doing their best impression of an aggressive front line charge as a knot of nervous peasants struggled to hold their formation.

To Imoen's surprise and intense gratitude, it had been he who had given her the embrace she had avoided from Valygar, the man seeming melancholy in himself despite the warm greeting. They had talked about the training –many there were still wary of him, especially those originally from Alhali, though no one had been foolish enough to take it further, and according to his assembled students, he had earned a reputation as one of the more patient tutors. Imoen supposed as a drow everyone must seem clumsy to him, his simple mantra of 'practise leads to mastery' putting all on an even level, where time was the only matter to overcome.

For a whole afternoon she played the great leader, meeting those who had put their faith in her and their stand against Balthazar, asking questions and exuding a confidence she did not feel and it was _exhausting_. The sun set had finally allowed her to retreat into the old headman's house where they had placed their headquarters to share a meal and idle talk in the kitchen with the familiar knot of people it felt like she had always known.

The others were still down there now, but Imoen had nodded off and jerked herself awake one too many times and Valygar had suggested they retire, though she was suddenly more than alert as they stepped together into the dimly lamplit room and the awkwardness she felt at their first meeting returned back full force. The man had taken one of the two chairs which had been placed about the small table, that arrangement and the bed the only furniture in there, and Imoen moved instead to the window. Outside, the night was alive with campfires and glowing windows, the steady lights taking on a dreamlike blur as her tried eyes fought to focus, while behind Valygar offered her an account of their current home.

'This was the first place Solaufein and I repaired – a good house for a headquarters, at the centre of the village as it is. Most of the other houses are packed by now – the last few groups had to make do with the few barns and stalls which were left.'

Imoen let his voice drift about her, merging with the murmur of those still talking in the kitchen below and the soft melancholy strains of a lute.

'The Maiden's Lament – I wonder where Sola learnt such a sad song.'

'They are the only ones he seems to know how to play,' muttered Valygar. Imoen snorted, at last turning from the window to sink gingerly into the chair opposite; barely parted a tenday and yet they felt like strangers.

'So how have things been here?'

The man just shrugged, leaning back in his chair. 'You have already witnessed all I could tell you, we have a small force here, but with this Duke's support secured we at last have an army to match upon Balthazar's.'

'Yes, we just need to tell them where to go – literally,' she sighed humourlessly, 'you know, not figuratively.'

Valygar watched her with fathomless dark eyes. 'I thought you would be happier.'

'It is hard, a lot of people are looking to me now… I don't want to let them down.'

'You won't.'

'Yeah…' she sighed, feeling no more convinced for all his conviction. 'You led a group once, is it always this lonely? I am beginning to see why Fritha kept Solaufein in her confidence.'

She watched unmoved as he leaned forward, his hand hovering hesitantly at her cheek before clamping in firm, impassive friendship about her shoulder.

'I will always be here in whatever role you have for me.'

Imoen sighed inwardly. No promises of love undying, yet did she even want that anymore?

'And what roles can I find for you, Vals? The stoic general? The unwilling tutor? The hesitant lover?'

'Imoen-' he sighed, as frustrated as she was by his tone.

'Sorry, it's been a long…' She had been about to say day, but in reality this had been hanging between them for as long as she could recall, and all at once she wanted to scream at him. To ask him where he was and what had happened to them and the feelings that used to swell inside at just the touch of his hand. Now it all felt so forced, and when she looked at him to try and see a glimpse to guide her back, she saw only a reflection of her lost reluctance. Perhaps that was it – it was easy to be in love when the world was quiet. She sighed deeply, almost intoxicated with exhaustion as she struggled to her feet.

'Can we just go to sleep?'

And Imoen felt the glimmer of comfort in the contact of another as he nodded and drew her to him. Perhaps all was not lost.


	55. The Watchers

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: And I'm back! Budapest was lovely, but quite hot, so I'm a bit pink around the edges. As for the chapter, I've tried to do something different and give it a bit of a horror-vibe. I don't think I quite managed it, because I am, in reality, a bit of a wuss, lol. _

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Watchers**

Fritha shifted in her seat, a shaft of sunlight from the window next to her warming a bright pane across her knees and bringing to life the vivid frescos that covered the other three walls about her. From the wood-panelled lower half of the room to the ceiling, gruesome demons danced and twisted, locked in mortal battle with knights and priests of every creed, limbs sundered and stylised red blood daubed across all with wanton enthusiasm; Fritha wondered what kind of frame of mind being forced to look at such everyday left you with.

But perhaps this sort of décor was usual in the church; Anomen seemed not to have noticed, and neither had the room's other occupant. They had been seated before Odren's desk just moments ago, but the older man had not spoken yet, being busy tidying away the last of his papers. He was in his late fifties by his look, his grey hair thinning on his crown, while his tanned face was lined and dominated by darting, close-set eyes that did not seem to linger anywhere overlong. His robes were the same as those worn through the keep, save for the single strip of pale gold that ran from each broad shoulder and down the sleeve to cuff. He had been a well-built man once, strong and commanding, and it still showed in his manner as he, at last, straightened and leaned back in his chair to greet them.

'Well met. I am Father Odren, the head priest of the Knights of the Vigil. I understand you both arrived yesterday, a Brother Iorwerth of our temple in Athkatla and his friend, Malal.'

'It is so, Father,' offered Anomen politely, 'and you have our thanks for taking the time to meet with us; I am told it is in great demand at the moment.'

Odren sighed, grey hair falling across his lined brow as he shook his head, his gaze dropping to his very tidy desk.

'Yes, I am sorry to say it is. I have been told you seek information on the Bhaalspawn and their prophesies, the same information sought by a mage who visited here some months back, but I fear, I cannot help you. The library has been sealed and cannot be entered.'

'We heard about your call for mercenaries back down in the plains,' said Fritha, 'what has happened here?'

Odren sighed again and rose, moving from his desk to pace slowly along the wall beside them. 'Long ago, Helm gave us a mission here, this holy order formed to keep watch on a seal holding a demon prince captive far below us, deep within the mountain. We were to watch for any weakness and strengthen the seals when time came. However, we were tricked. We monitored the seals, but all seemed well, the demon within feigning sleep, when in fact it was awake and plotting.'

Odren paused to contemplate the spiny devil that was devouring a pious-looking knight, armour and all, upon the wall next to him. 'A month back now, the creature tore the veil between the planes, and lesser creatures of its infernal kin poured into the library. The secondary wards triggered and everything below the ground floor was sealed. We are not a martial order, and our few attempts to retake the lower levels ended in slaughter.'

'So, you put the call out for mercenaries,' concluded Anomen, 'Would not members of our own church heed your requests for aid?'

'I fear they could not spare the men,' Odren answered as he continued his circuit of the room, 'their arms are needed to protect the citizens they serve in these troubles times. The mercenaries began to arrive soon after the call went out, but I fear none have yet been successful. When many hear what they are to face, they wisely leave once more. We have allowed a few of the more confident groups to enter. None here would ever knowingly allow entrance to someone who had no hope of success, but some speak so haughtily of their abilities, it is hard to sift the braggarts from the true heroes.'

Odren stopped again, this time at the window, the man's words misting the glass as he addressed the soaring peaks below.

'I know why you have come here, following in the passage of the mage, Melissan. I will gladly arrange for you to have access to all she sought here, but I cannot open the library until the wards have been resealed. We have a group of men, arrived last night and strong enough that they wish to stay and face this peril,' he turned, looking directly at Fritha for the first time since they had entered to room, 'I would like for you to lead them.'

'Me?'

Odren's gaze was back on the window. 'Yes… I note the mark of Bhaal upon you and sense the power you hold. I believe of any, you will succeed here.'

Fritha glanced to Anomen and offered him a shrug; it did not seem like they had much choice and Anomen agreed.

'Certainly, Father, we will-'

'Ah, not so hasty, my brother,' the priest cut in, the man on the move again and heading for his desk, 'I was hoping you would remain here; the wards in the upper library are weakening, and we may need a man of your faith to help strengthen them.'

Anomen did not even glance to her for an input that time. 'I am sorry, Father, my place is with Malal. Besides, once we seal the demon, the upper wards can be dropped anyway.'

'Yes,' Odren sighed, finally settling back into his seat, though the window held his gaze still, 'I suppose that is so.'

**…**

They made their preparations in Fritha's room, buckling on armour and packing the few supplies they might need into Fritha's small knapsack. The help of an acolyte had been offered, but at a shared glance, both had shaken their heads and there was a steady silence between them now, broken only by the occasional request. Fritha was shrugging on a borrowed chain shirt, the clinging weight about her body feeling strange after so long. She had just finished negotiating the neck hole over her wooden hairpins, the girl rolling her shoulders a few times to settle the padded lining in place.

'Fritha, could you-?'

Behind, Anomen looked imposing in his full cuirass, the skirted chain undershirt rasping against his greaves, his last vambrace causing him trouble as he fought to buckle it closed.

'Here,' she smiled, tightening it for him. He nodded his thanks, turning to take up his shield while she buckled on her sword.

'Do you want to visit the chapel before we go down?'

'No, it will be fine.'

Anomen belted on his mace, Fritha closing her pack to throw the strap across her body and they were done, the pair looking up at the same instant to find themselves reflected side-by-side in the room's long looking glass. Gone were the hats and light linen tunics they had travelled in, Fritha's sandals swapped for her long leather boots, the dull shimmer to her chain a match to the shine of Anomen's breastplate.

Had they once travelled the whole of Amn dressed so? Who was she fooling? If their disguise had not made it necessary, they would have arrived at the keep looking just the same. How quickly she had become accustomed to looking like everyone else –and how much she already missed it.

'I hardly recognise us.'

Anomen tried a laugh; he seemed nervous and was trying to hide it, a hand landing heavy on her shoulder.

'You have the wardstone Odren enchanted to allow us through the seals?'

'Yes,' she answered, making to hand it to him, but he forestalled her with a smile.

'No, no, you keep hold of it. I would feel better knowing our company's priority is to keep you alive.'

She could not return a smile that rested so ill-at-ease with the worry within his eyes. 'You're frightened, aren't you?'

'No,' he refuted, taking up his mace, 'not in any way I can describe, but there is a repulsion in me. There is something corrupt here. I have felt it since last night, even in the chapel. My soul recoils from it.'

'You could stay up here, help with the wards…' she offered without any real hope. Anomen shook his head.

'No, I could not. That I recoil from this means I _must_ act. Come, we complete this task and we can find what we came here for.'

A robed acolyte met them in the hall to lead them through the keep, down coiled staircases and past locked doors, Fritha feeling the wards prickle as they finally passed through into a small antechamber. They were underground now, she could feel it, the lamps making patterns of gold and black on the stone walls. A single large door was opposite, heavy wood bound with iron, the small room before it packed with priests, the dust tracks on the stone tiles indicating that whatever furniture the room had once held had probably been moved out to accommodate them all. Father Odren turned to greet them with a grave smile.

'Ah, and the last of us. Friends, I would have you meet Warrick, Rook, Param and Faine.' They were the only four men there not wearing robes. Warrick looked to be the oldest at forty or so winters and likely their leader, his face scarred and grim under a mop of curly brown hair. Rook was closer to their age, and likely from cooler climes by his pale skin, his black hair worn long, and the man brushed it as he nodded to them at his name. The man next to him was a Calimshite, bearded and unsmiling, who Fritha assumed was Param, making the tanned, blond half-elf carrying the bow, Faine. They looked proficient, well used to that life, and very aware of their own skills as they cast a critical eye over the two newcomers. Fritha straightened to the inquiring looks.

'Well met.'

'Sirs, this is Sir Iorwerth, a brother of our faith and Lady Malal, his companion,' continued the priest with a glance to her. 'You have the wardstone, my lady? Pray guard it with your lives, for once the wards are back in place, only possession of that will get you out of the main chamber. Here,' he handed her a box-like leather bag of a similar size to her knapsack. 'Within is all you will need to replenish the seals. Be warned, it takes much power to breach the wards here and each time we do we endanger this entire keep – once you are inside, we will not be able to raise the upper wards again. They will only drop once the seals are re-strengthened.'

Odren's throat seemed to close over the words in his emotion, those priests about him slowly lowering themselves to their knees to chant and Fritha felt the wards about them fizzle back with his hoarse blessing.

'Helm be with you.'

Two priests moved forward, the enchantments and protections upon them so thick as to leave a blue glow to their skin. As though in a trance, they slowly opened the door upon the blackness beyond and, one by one, those to enter drew their weapons and stepped into the darkness.

Fritha just suppressed a flinch as the door boomed shut behind them, the rush of cool air bristling the back of her neck. A moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and she found herself in a cramped corridor, the bookcases either side making a narrow passage that ran as far as she could see in a curve along the perimeter of that circular chamber. Here and there runes inscribed for protection glowed in yellow upon the shelves, fallen books, charred and trampled, their pages scattered across the stone tiles, visible in the weak pools of light.

'Who has the lamp?' muttered Warrick beside her. Fritha saved whoever did the trouble, their group suddenly bathed in the pale blue of her werelight.

'You a mage, then?' concluded Rook.

She shrugged. 'After a fashion.'

A distant clatter cut off further comment, all heads whipping to the sound.

'What was that?' hissed Param. No one answered him, all trying to catch the faint chittering that hung just on the edge of their hearing, and Fritha could have sworn she heard a shrill ripple of laughter.

'The priests said the main chamber is four floors down,' continued Warrick, his stern voice cutting through the escalating air of unease. 'You got the map, Faine?'

The half-elf tapped the side of his head with a cocky grin. 'Yep, and it's this way. You're with me, mage, I work best in the light –don't fret, _gallant_,' he added at Anomen's frown, 'I'll keep an eye on her.'

It was cold down there, Fritha could feel it creeping into her bones, the gagging scent of burnt flesh and sulphur stinging her nostrils. Faine was prowling just ahead of her, his bow exchanged for his sword in those close quarters, Anomen just behind with Warrick, while Rook and Param kept a watch at their rear.

'There should be a turning– stop!'

Faine's hiss brought the group to a halt, the man beckoning Fritha closer. 'Here, mage, bring that light, I just stepped on something.'

'Another book?' murmured Param.

'Nah, Calim, something sof- oh.'

He had knelt as Fritha had, her light falling on a severed hand torn away from some absent arm just below the wrist, the fingers curled and set with rigor. It could have been the unfortunate carnage from a battle save one minor detail - the fingernails were missing, each torn from their bloody beds.

'Tortured,' concluded Warrick grimly. 'We need to press on.'

Faine nodded, straightening with Fritha to round the break in the wall of bookcases to their left.

'Through here, the map said- _Fuck!_'

Even with the curse, his cry came choked, Anomen calling for Helm's mercy, while Param gasped a similar oath in his own tongue. All Fritha could do was stare, the sight before her too horrific to turn from. There was an open area before them, a space where once had been placed desks for study and scribing. The tables there still remained, but smashed and overturned, melded together by some unseen force to make a large lopsided cross and upon it, staked out and sagging like an Marpenoth scarecrow hung the body of a man. He was pinned there by his skin, the flesh stretched from the muscle beneath in taut sheets, everything that could physically be removed from a body taken out and used to decorate his corpse.

Fritha lowered her gaze from the empty eye sockets, her stomach churning, as she dropped to a crouch in her fear she might be sick only to catch on some movement behind the jumbled mound of desks.

'Over there!'

The shadow darted right at her shout, squatting at the edge of a bookcase. Warrick's low growl issued the ultimatum.

'You there, come out or we shoot!'

'Don't,' a man's voice quavered, 'I- I'm not one of them.'

'Is it a priest?' muttered Rook to his friend. Faine shrugged.

'Or one of the other mercs they sent in.'

The man was creeping forward warily, the light, at last, falling across his form and Anomen gave voice to her shock.

'_Jarrhe_.'

'Iorwerth?' the merc captain gasped, no sign of the once commanding countenance in that beleaguered face, 'And –and _Malal?_ What are you-?'

'You know him?' questioned Rook. Fritha shrugged, her words sounding as though another was speaking as she replied, 'We made the journey up here with his band – our company parted ways a day ago.'

Jarrhe was still talking, wide bloodshot eyes darting back and forth. '_New mercs- Then, they- they just opened the wards- Fuck! I missed them!_ We've got to get to the door,' he snapped, making to grab Fritha's arm, 'we've got to get out of here!'

Fritha danced back, Anomen pressing, 'Jarrhe, where are the rest of your company? Isten and Harrald-'

'_The rest?_' he snarled, 'Fuck! Where do you think! They're _dead!_ This place – they told us there were creatures, but we never thought- The lower levels are crawling with them, and that demon they've trapped controls them all, talks to them, gives them orders- _We have to get out of here!_'

Fritha slowly shook her head. 'They won't open the wards, Jarrhe. Odren made that very clear.'

He whirled to her, arms flung wide in his desperation. '_Fuck!_ And what would you know? You're just some cleric's serving-whore! Pretending to be a _good girl_ and stringing me along when all the while you were spreading your legs for this Helmite!' Jarrhe was really shouting now, the anger at days lived in terror taking over as he raged to any who would listen. 'You women, you're all whores! You smile and tease, and when a bloke demands his due-'

A hand shot from the darkness, a cascade of books falling about them as Anomen slammed him bodily against the bookcase behind.

'I would _stop_ there, were I you, lest you get your _due_.'

'We need to calm down and stick together,' growled Warrick, 'The wards will rise once we perform the ritual.'

'I- I ain't going down there!' croaked Jarrhe, struggling to pick himself up from the book-scattered tiles.

'Then stay here,' snorted Faine. 'We'll be sure to send a few demons your way.'

'_You mongrel whoreson!'_

Fritha sighed. 'You really aren't helping yourself, Jarrhe. Come, you still have a weapon? Then put it to some use.'

Jarrhe was shaking his head, his dark eyes raking across her face as though he could find the truth he sought within.

'Who _are_ you?'

She smiled weakly. 'I am whoever the situation demands at the time. Now, come on.'

Past the tortured man they moved, Faine leading them through a break in the bookcases opposite and down another narrow aisle, the two rows of shelves ending in the stairs they sought. A flight of seven or so stone steps was cut into the floor, the hinges and handle of an iron-bound door at the foot just glimmering on the edge of her werelight. The young Rook pushed forward.

'Here, I'll unlock the-'

His scream echoed about them, the flash of metal falling across his body the instant it touched the topmost step and suddenly the lad was on his back, blood spraying from his thigh while the rest of his leg was tumbling down the steps, the halberd that had hewn it clean through now lain across their path. Shrill laughter rang across the low ceiling.

'Rook!'

Anomen struggled to push past the wall of bodies. 'Here, let me in, I can help. Malal-'

But Fritha was already at the priest's arm, throwing her light upon the butchery, the place where his leg had once been now a gory stump, the limb cleaved away just below the knee. Blood was everywhere, Anomen fighting to stem the flow as his friends pressed in about them, the young lad whimpering like a child as his consciousness faded.

'My leg… oh, Ilmater's mercy…'

'Rook, stay with us -Rook!'

Warrick's bark seemed to rouse him, the lad jerking upright bloody hands raised from his leg with dream-like wonder, and Fritha saw the unnatural smile twist his mouth before they snatched about her neck.

'Fritha!'

Fritha could not even choke a reply, hands with a strength greater than any man should possess crushing her throat, her clawing fingers ignored.

'_Rook!_'

'_Get him off her!_'

About her, men wrestled in vain. The world was going black, bright points of light fizzing behind her eyes in angry stars.

'_Fritha!_'

A sickening crunch and suddenly she was released, Fritha collapsing in the pooling blood next to the lad's body, and she opened her eyes to find Anomen hastily wiping the fragments of skull and hair from the head of his mace.

'Fritha, are you all right?'

Fritha just nodded, still gulping at the air. The men about her were panting as though they had all sprinted a league, and a tense silence held the group, each waiting for some aftermath.

'What- what that?' gasped Param.

'I told you,' cried Jarrhe, frantic once more, 'I said – we have to go back!'

'Then fuck off back alone!' snapped Faine.

Anomen moved to gently heave her up as Warrick turned to the stairs, the man kicking the fallen halberd from his path.

'Come on, we need to keep moving. Faine, take the lead – and check for traps.'

A floor below and Fritha had to wonder why her breath was not misting in the air, the cold stinging the back of her bruised throat. They were crowded in a darkened entrance hall, just a small half-circle of a room before the two ornately carved doors before them, the scenes of worship and prayers defaced by the gouge of heavy claws. The doors had been left ajar, a slice of bright yellow light cutting through the gloom, and Fritha felt her skin crawl as another burst of shrill laughter echoed from the room beyond; they were not alone.

A grim look travelled the group, Warrick the first to break their silence in an urgent hiss.

'Where are the steps?'

Faine nodded to the doors. 'On the other side of the room.'

Fritha crept forward, Faine at her back, and all but Jarrhe crowding about them, the merc captain throwing longing glances to the door they had just all piled through. She reached the doors, that pane of light falling across her face as she finally took in the large circular chamber but a door's breadth away. It was the sacristy, where once the holy relics of their faith had been kept for the few pilgrims who had the journey up there. No longer were they held in such reverence though. The chests of vestments and scrolls had been upturned, their contents rent, while the vials of precious oils had been smashed, the holy debris scattered across the floor and across them stumbled and stalked inhuman collections of limbs and torsos, torn corpses now jumbled together to make monsters more horrify for their scant familiarity.

Along either side, two long jude screens ran the length of the room, the carved wood wrought with scenes in gold and mother of pearl now smashed and gouged as the doors had been, while in the room's centre was a large marble sarcophagus where slept Saint Mailen's bones. The golden cage about it was smeared with blood and gore, a group of four large imps jostling for room as they worked upon their latest monster upon the table-like surface, the creatures laughing wildly as they sliced and bound four mismatched legs to gaping, eyeless head.

Fritha drew back from the doors, turning to meet with faces just as paled as her own.

'How in the hells are we to get over there?' hissed Param, his dark eyes so wide, she could make out the white around each iris. Jarrhe was already shaking his head wildly.

'I- I'm not- I'm not going in there!'

'Then stay here!' snapped Faine, 'What about those screens either side- the right one looked mostly intact, could we sneak behind them?'

'It's our best chance,' concluded Anomen, 'the only other way would be for someone to provide a distraction and that…'

In his silence, the agreement was made. Fritha squared her shoulders to the doors. Faine was likely more stealthy, but if something went wrong no one could run like she could.

'I'll go first…'

The slightest pressure from her hand and the door swung forward without a sound. She edged through the gap, keeping to the wall, Faine only a pace behind her as the others made to follow. Fritha had reached the first of the screens now, picking her way through the chaos of smashed wood and overturned chests, her heart thudding along with each tentative step. Just four more screens, just three, just-

A screech from the tomb, the imps all turned as one and shrieking in their own tongue. She did not know what had alerted them and she did not pause to find out.

'_Run!_'

Fritha sprang into a dead sprint. Spells were exploding overhead, jars, books and knives suddenly pelting towards them. Fritha ducked a hail of ceramics to kick aside the tangled mess of arms that had just lumbered into her path, the girl rounding the last screen to fly into the door.

A sickening pause to wrench it back and she was through, Faine almost knocking her down the stairs as he barrelled into the narrow stone corridor behind her. Warrick and Anomen were but a pace behind him, Param a good few paces behind them, while Jarrhe-

'Come on!' she screamed, the man drunk on his own fear as he stumbled through the flying debris.

Warrick and Anomen pounded through the doors, Param quickening his pace as one of the imps broke away to flap after him, the others swooping in to surround Jarrhe.

'Quickly, shut the doors!'

'Wait, Jarrhe's not- _JARRHE, RUN_!'

'SHUT THEM NOW!'

The plangent slam and the last thing Fritha saw before the darkness claimed them was Jarrhe, that man who had fed her wine and cake for a tenday, flailing wildly as he slowly fell under a chaos of tearing claws.

The screams faded to leave only the sound of the group's breathing, their broken gasps filling the darkness of that corridor. Fritha could not say later how long they stood there, but it was long enough for the cut on her forehead to clot and dry, before one by one they each turned and continued down into the darkness.

The third floor, according to Odren, housed the archives, and the walls of bookcases they finally stepped out into were similar to the library above them, though the cases were set closer together. The narrow avenue they found themselves within stretched off into in either direction, the blackness lifted here and there by the faint glow of the runes that dried the air and warded against moulds – just like in Candlekeep.

'Which way?' growled Warrick, glancing back and forth along the aisle. For the first time, Faine seemed at a loss.

'I don't know, the map – the bookcases used to be set in rows and the room was pretty much open, but now…'

'Someone has made a maze,' concluded Anomen.

Param adjusted the grip on his scimitar. 'Or a trap. I do not like this!'

'Where are the stairs?' pressed Warrick. Faine's memory did not fail him there.

'In the north west corner.'

Warrick turned west. 'Come on then.'

'Wait!' snapped Fritha, her eyes noting the rune that glimmered against the stone flags too late as the man took a step from them and vanished.

'Warrick?'

'He just disappeared!' cried Param.

Fritha swallowed, leaning forward to examine the faintly glowing symbol where his foot had last fallen. 'More traps… the room has been mazed!'

'And what does that mean?' cried Param.

'These symbols, they will teleport anything that touches them.'

'Well, then where is Warrick?' demanded Faine.

'Another level? Somewhere else in the room? I don't know!'

Param was shaking, anger and fear fighting for control. 'And what are we to do now?'

Faine had his answer. 'Head to the door. If Warrick's still here, he'll do the same.'

'No, we should remain here, he may return!'

'This is no time to argue, Calim! Fritha- Malal- whoever the hells you are, you're in front, I need your eyes.'

They led the way, side by side, Fritha raking over every rune her eyes caught, bringing them to a halt at times when some unfamiliar symbol gave her pause. The faint chittering was back to the air, her heart jumping at every sound as in the distance, crashes and shrill screams of laughter sometimes split the silence.

'It should not be far now,' hissed Faine, 'I think I see a break up ah-'

His muffled cry came at the instant her foot found it too, the marshy squelch of soft tissue making her stomach heave. Behind them, Param's panicked whispering.

'What- what is it?'

Faine hesitated, but it was too late, Fritha's werelight falling on the body at their feet. Warrick had been spared the indignity of most murdered down there only his intestines removed, the slimy ropes strew about him like carnival streamers.

Param was making a choking noise, his sword raised as he backed away from the sight.

'No, we- we are going to _die_ down here! These creatures will slaughter us to the last!'

'Calm yourself,' Anomen rumbled steadily, 'we have made it this far.'

'No, do not touch me, priest – it was your ilk who sent us here to die! I will go back, they will lift the wards for me!'

'They won't, Calim, and you know it! Get a grip on yourself.'

'Please, Param,' pressed Fritha over Faine's impatience, 'we can get through this, we're so close now.'

'_No!_ I will not die down here! You will not stop me! I will see you dead first!'

He raised his blade, Anomen making to grab his wrist and wrestle him back when the man suddenly stopped, the sword clattering limply from his hand as blood gurgled from the arrow in his neck and he collapsed before Anomen could even catch him. The paired turning as one to find Faine shouldering his bow once more with a grim regret.

'He was beyond reason -we don't have time for this. We-'

Laughter cut him off, all whipping back to find that shape behind them, Param staggering slowly to his feet with jerking limbs, his smile a leering slash of white in the darkness.

'_Fools! I will eat your souls!_'

And with a lunge he was gone, shambling wilding off the way they had come. Faine muttered an oath and turned back to their path.

'Here, it can't be far now.'

Through a break in the bookcases to their left and they at last left the winding alleys of shelves, an open space left in the north west corner of the room and on the wall opposite was the great stone door they sought. Beyond that the demon was held behind the adding seals; just a few more yards and that nightmare would be over.

At first she thought it mere decoration, but as they crossed the book-littered space, Fritha could see a seal of seven concentric rings set into the door, each with a myriad of symbols carved upon its curve.

'It's a combination lock,' she provided unnecessarily, 'There is something in the notes Odren sent with us; we need to align- _ah!_'

Her scream was not the only one to ring out, but all were lost to the inhuman roar that shook the chamber, a black shape, all limbs and thrashing tail leaping from the shadows above the bookcases behind them. Anomen was already back and making to circle the snapping jaws, Faine readying an arrow.

'Fritha, get that door open! We'll hold this.'

Fritha whipped back to the stone rings before her, the paper trembling in her hand as she matched the code. Behind, the creature was circling the two warriors, its long claws rasping against the stone tiles.

The rings were heavy, both her hands needed on the iron handles to drag the symbols into alignment. In the corner of her eye, Anomen was behind his shield, catching every blow while Faine was dancing in to worry the creature's flanks, bow swapped for blade after arrows were proved useless against the beast's armoured hide.

A last glance at the parchment, and Fritha heaved the final ring into place, the sound of something within dropping through the gap she had made behind to roll off into the mechanism, locks grinding open with a rumble of stone.

'It's done, it's-'

Her voice was lost to a shriek, the girl whipping back to meet the creature that was suddenly lunging towards her.

'Fritha!'

The men dived into its path, Anomen swept aside with a sweep of black talons as Faine rolled under the blow, the half-elf on his feet again in one smooth movement to find himself a foot from that snarling mouth. He raised his blade with a roar that matched the creature's, a last defiant scream at death, and its jaws closed about his body even as the man drove his sword up through the roof of its mouth. Together, they fell dead.

'Anomen,' Fritha gasped, no time to reflect on Faine's sacrifice in the press of their task and hurrying to the man's side as he staggered upright. 'Are you-?'

'I'm fine,' he panted, his right thigh-guard clattering to the floor and hands clamped about the wound beneath, 'we need to get inside before anything else arrives.'

Through the yawing doorway and Fritha held his arm as Anomen limped down the four stone steps behind her, the room they descended into black as pitch and large enough that her werelight could not touch the walls. Below them, the entire floor was a massive circular keystone, ornately carved with runes and prayers, the All-Seeing eye of Helm gazing out from the centre.

She left Anomen at the bottommost step, the girl darting back up to haul the door shut behind them, stone slamming upon stone with an ominous boom and she could not help but pause, frightened it would be followed by the clattered of locks, though none came.

'Anomen,' she whined, high pitched and panicky as she turned to notice the fine sheen of sweat glistening upon his face.

'Just-Just perform the ritual,' he gasped, leaning back against the wall behind, 'the priests will sense it - they will come - it will be all right.'

The ritual was simplicity itself, but for all that Fritha found it hard to focus, a certain weight to the air pulling at her thoughts and it was harder than she could have ever believed to upend that mixture of demon blood and holy water onto the elaborate stone seal while intoning the prayer to Helm.

The faintest tingle across her skin and it was done, the wool about her mind suddenly gone and the stone bottle hit the flags with a chime, Fritha already back at the steps and tripping up to grab the inch thick iron door handle.

It refused to budge.

'Fritha?' came Anomen behind her. She could not answer in her dawning horror. A wild moment to rake over the door, searching for some missed bolt or alcove for the wardstone she held, only to give up, the door handle rattled uselessly again in her mounting desperation.

'Fritha,' Anomen gasped, pushing himself upright to hobble closer, 'It is too heavy for you?'

She turned slowly back to the room, their faces level as he reached the foot of the steps.

'It- it's sealed. They said the wardstone would open it… Once we performed the ritual, the stone would push back the seals and we could leave…'

Anomen drew the conclusion she was afraid of. 'They betrayed us…'

'We don't know that!' she cried, 'there must be something around here, something we haven't done!'

Her magic did nothing. The handle would not be turned or pulled or pried or forced. She searched every inch of the door, the frame, those steps and that room, the bones of the last few poor victims who had found themselves down there a discovery she kept to herself, the girl hardly able to form the words past the growing lump in her throat as frustration gave way to exhausted tears.

'No… No, not after all this…' All at once the fight left her and she ended her search where she had first began it, sinking down next to Anomen where he was collapsed against the wall of the steps, his eyes closed as he gripped his bloody thigh. 'How- How is your leg?'

'Do not fret. I will- I will die of thirst with you.' He tried a weak laugh, the sound soon lost to a groan, Fritha on her knees and bent over him in an instant.

'Let me- let me see!' She pushed his feeble protestations aside, the torn linen trousers sticking to the torn scarlet flesh, the wound itself hard to make out in pooling black blood. Fritha held incarnadine hands up to the light.

'_Anomen…_'

She staggered to her feet, horror leaving her clumsy as she shrugged her chainshirt to a shining pool at her feet, her tunic hauled off in the same movement. A mere knick with her knife and the sleeve was torn away for bandages, the fine white kurti she wore underneath smeared with blood as she fought to staunch the wound.

'Here, Anomen, lie down, rest your foot on the last step, you need to keep it elevated.'

A panicked few moments spent applying all the pressure her aching arms could manage, the wetness seeping through her balled fingers.

'Anomen!' she begged, back at his head and shaking him for some response, 'Anomen, I can't get it to stop. _Anomen!_'

His head lolled to the side, lips parting to groan her name.

'_Fritha…'_

'_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ where is it?'

She was back at her bag, digging through to contents to find her old wooden stylus. Her tunic lost its other sleeve, the heavy linen doubled over twice and bound tightly above the wound as she had seen Jaheira do once before, her stylus tied above the first knot and under the second. Slowly, she twisted the wooden shaft, the makeshift bandage growing tighter with each turn to a pressure that would have been painful should Anomen have been conscious to feel it. The bleeding ebbed and finally stopped.

'Anomen?'

He murmured something too quiet for her to catch and fell silent once more. Fritha secured the stylus and moved her hands up to his neck, the pulse she found, fast and weak. His face looked drained in her werelight, pale and cool to the touch. There was nothing more she could do…

Her feet felt unsteady under her as she stalked about that room, hunting every corner for some lever or lock she could have missed, the girl whirling at each noise left in her wake in the vain hope there was another down there. And when there was nothing else to do, she had stood at the door and screamed until her voice had filled the chamber, echoing back and forth against merciless stone in a thousand shrieking voices, until she truly had descended into Hell.

And as that last voice had died, she had moved back to Anomen and sat in silence next to him, massaging his cold hands and holding his wrist to her face to feel the pulse within, light and much quicker than the dull heavy thud of own heart, her tears running freely down his arm.

'Please_… please…'_

It was not a sound at first, no more than a tickle in ear and, for an instant, she felt she had imagined it in her desperation.

'H-Hello?'

'_Godchild…_'

'Who- who is there?'

She felt a laugh. 'The only _other_ creature sealed down here.'

The dread left her throat in wavering croak. 'What- what do you want?'

'You may not know of me, godling, but I know of you. That mage spoke of you when she came to deal with me: Fritha, last of the Bhaalspawn, the one they chose so long ago.'

'Melissan was _here?_'

'Indeed, it was to parley with me that she first visited this Keep. She wanted knowledge of the Abyss where once I held great sway; knowledge of the Throne that stands in Bhaal's old domain.'

'What did you tell her?'

She could hear its smile. 'A little truth, _many_ lies. I was supposed to give her the knowledge in exchange for my freedom, but she betrayed me – as I betrayed her. Her magic merely weakened my cage – after all, why release a demon who once rivalled her god in power? She left here thinking herself the victor, but she was wrong. The knowledge I gave her was all but useless, and her spell enabled me to breach the seals and bring chaos and death to my captors.'

It laughed again, booming and contented. 'Even with the seals renewed, I am stronger than those pathetic Helmites realise. Strong enough at least to lift the wards upon that door…' it let the weight of its insinuation sink in a moment before it came to its price, 'but I will have a boon for my trouble.'

Fritha almost held her breath. 'And what would you want?'

'There is greatness in your future, godling. One day you will have power enough to free me, and when that day comes, you must swear you will do so.'

'You-You can't know that – the future is not set.'

'No…' the voice conceded, 'but it is worth the chance and I am nothing if not patient.'

'Helm put you here,' she faltered, wondering why she was even bothering to reason when she knew she had no other choice, 'He won't just allow me to release you.'

'Yes,' it sneered, 'because He has shown such concern for what has occurred here so far, His all-seeing eye merely watching his followers sacrifice you in the place of _their_ sworn duty. You have my offer, godling, either accept it or not -and do not think to lie,' it added quickly, 'the words you speak here will be binding.'

'I-' Fritha swallowed, letting the sight of the body next to her to gird her heart, 'I swear it.'

A ripple of satisfaction and perhaps it was imagined but Fritha felt suddenly colder. 'Good. Until we meet again, _godchild_.'

The door above her rattled once and then fell silent, the presence about her fading and Fritha was already up and struggling to get her hands under Anomen's dead weight.

The door burst open, every priest whipping to the sound and frozen in their task clearing the bodies and debris from the upper chamber. An instant to register what they were seeing, Fritha slowly backing through to drag that unconscious body after her and they were suddenly upon them, Anomen pulled from her grasp, laid out and hidden behind a wall of bodies as someone screamed for a stretcher.

Fritha sank back against doorjamb and let her knees buckle under her, her own weight dragging her to the floor. Odren remained back from the throng, watching his fellows clamour over the two people he never believed he would have to see again. Fritha caught his eye, still enough energy in her left to spit her hatred on the ground between them and Odren, his body sagging under an unseen weight, turned away.

**…**

Bodies moved around her. They hurried back and forth in the distance, speaking in whispers. Some were closer, fetching, fussing. Someone was dabbing the cut on her forehead, the astringent scent of the alcohol somehow registering more than its sting.

'There,' came a voice, softly feminine and the face of a young acolyte dipped into view, her dark features framed by a crisp, white wimple, 'the wound has been cleaned and dressed. I will let it heal on its own – I wouldn't want to leave a scar. And don't forget to finish that.'

Fritha dropped her attention to the cup she held, the bobbing brandy clinquant in the lamplight.

'Sister?'

The woman drew away from her at the address. Fritha did not note where she went, she did not care, and it was taking all her effort not to recline on the bed she was sat upon, go to sleep and never wake up. The infirmary was a long, narrow room, a row of beds lined against one wall, a table between each that held some lamp or jug or book of prayer. On the wall opposite, cabinets of glass jars glistened in the lamplight, while high above, mullioned windows looked straight out upon a pitch black sky. At the other end of the room, brothers and sisters fussed over the fireplace, flitting in and out with more towels, bandages and steaming bowls of hot water, their murmured worries echoing back to her in that muted world.

_He's lost so much blood… The tourniquet has been on too long... Sister Rahila is fighting to save the limb, but…_

Before her, another presence had arrived. That familiar voice, hoarse in regret, was enough to make her raise her eyes. Odren was there, his close-set eyes trained upon some point just above her head.

'Malal, Sister Benita has allowed me a few moments, though I do not know what good can come of them. I owe you more apologies than can ever be uttered in the years I have left on this earth.'

Fritha drew a sip of brandy. 'Ask Helm to forgive you. I cannot.'

Odren dipped his face in grave acceptance of her disgust.

'I understand. I cannot excuse my actions, only explain them. When Saint Mailen first sacrificed her life to defeat the demon here and Helm bound the creature, posthumously she became the first leader of our order, the Knights of the Vigil. In those days the fortress here was little more than that, just a military outpost where the knights pit their skills against the mountains, ever watchful. And when the time came, one was sent down to renew the seal and sacrifice their life for the good of all. But over the years, our fame grew and people both within our church and without began to bring things to us, books and items of power too dangerous to be left in the world. An order of knights gradually became an order of curators, our true purpose forgotten by all but the highest in our ranks. The ritual you performed today could have been worked thirty years ago - twenty – ten – until the very day the seals broke! Such careless waste of life for a threat seemed never to materialise.'

Fritha bristled at this repentant cowardice. 'And was _my_ life not worth saving? Have you not lived long enough, Helmite, that a score of men half your age had to take your place?'

'You misunderstand,' he sighed, a certain bitterness creeping in, 'it was never my place to go. As High Father I had merely the _honour_ of choosing who of my brethren was to be sacrificed. It seemed so unfair, for me to make another die for nothing. And when it was too late and the seals were breached, I did not trust we had the strength to fight back and right our failure. So I sought others to take our place. Why should one of the faithful be forced to perish alone in the darkness, when there were others more worthy of such an end? Mercenaries who often weighed their lives against mere coin seemed a fitting sacrifice.'

'And did you tell them they would never escape that prison to collect it?'

Again the dark eyes darted away from her face, the man pocketing his hands into his wide sleeves. 'I was growing desperate. When you arrived, it seemed that Helm Himself understood our plight. This way we could reseal the wards and trap a potentially dangerous Bhaalspawn as well.'

'Oh, well, that's all right then! I mean, any Bhaalspawn would deserve to be left in the darkness to rot! And Iorwerth – did he deserve it too?'

'If you recall, I tried to keep him here in safety. I did not wish to see any innocents harmed. He is of the faithful – I believe he would have understood our decision, in time.'

Fritha snorted coldly; how little he knew. '_Believe_ _me_ when I say you would _not_ be talking to him now so peaceably as you are me.'

A pause, the man looking up at the inky windows.

'No… I am sorry. I did not think I would ever have to face those I had betrayed.' He glanced back to her with a faint, depreciating smile, 'I suppose you _were_ the saviour for whom we had all prayed – who else but a godchild would have the strength to bend the wards and free herself.'

Fritha said nothing, the choking weight of her vow like a hand about her throat.

'So your demon is sealed,' she continued bluntly. 'What now? You just spend your days pottering about this library feeling guilty?'

Odren squared his shoulders to her anger. 'No, I am going on pilgrimage to Maztica. I will spread the light of Helm to the new world.'

And likely die of some exotic disease before the year's end. Fritha fought down the righteous _'Good!'_ and steeled herself.

'Not so fast… We will need healers in the days to come. There is a war on the horizon. You will spare people… You will come with us. After this is over, your penance can be your own.'

Odren stared at her, eyes holding a flicker of surprise though she could not discern any more of how he felt by this show of trust. He nodded once.

'I… as you wish. As for why you first journeyed here, Melissan-'

'I know,' sighed Fritha, 'she was here for the demon.'

'Indeed, but I feel that was only because we would not allow her what she first sought. We hold knowledge here, of the time of troubles and the prophesies of Bhaal 's rebirth. They were given to us in sacred trust they would never be shown to anyone, lest the power they speak of bring destruction and ruin to Faerûn.' For the first time, Odren seemed able to hold her gaze, 'I will extend that trust to you, godchild.'

A polite cough behind him; Sister Benita was drawing a close to their meeting. Odren stepped back to dip his head in a brief bow.

'You should rest now.'

**…**

'Sister?'

Fritha let the address drift over her with the howling air, her body curled upon the cold tiles and arms held up across her face to block out the light and wind both, making her a small, dark cave of warmth in that storm-battered plane.

'_Sister?_'

Fritha burrowed further into her arms. 'Just leave me.'

A sigh above her, impatient and sneering. 'You are at the Keep?'

'Yes.'

'Allow me to guess, then. Melissan never set a foot in the place.'

'No, she was there.'

'Then you found something,' Sarevok intoned dully, 'something in the prophesy that is not to your liking and-'

'A demon had been loosed from beneath the library. We battled it and my friend was injured. He may die. Even if he lives, he will not be the same man.'

'_This?_' cried that voice above her, booming his incredulity to a boiling sky, 'This is what has you in here hiding like a sullen child? He knew the risks when he followed you! What is one casualty against the thousands you seek to save?'

Fritha said nothing. What could she say? When you looked at just the numbers it was as Sarevok said – but then she did not know the people she worked to save, she had not fought with them or laughed with them, or sat in their gardens and told them they would try to love them, and at that moment the trade did not seem so fair. Sarevok took her silence for sulking, his tone making no attempt to hide his derision.

'In war, your only concern can be your goal! No sacrifice can be too great. If this friend dies, then so be it. If he lives to be a burden, cut him loose and forge on without him – the Throne will demand no less!'

Fritha did not recall standing, but she was up now, a finger flung at the man who had hastily danced to his feet as well.

'Damn your bastard _Throne!_ I have lost more than you could ever understand already to this war!'

'Pathetic,' Sarevok sneered, aloof to her anger, 'I knew all that determination was merely bluster. You say you want to ascend and _save_ Tethyr, but as soon as the path becomes hard you are mewling like a child. I was a _fool_ to put my faith in you.'

Sarevok made to turn away. Her hand dragged him back to her with force enough to see him staggering.

'Do not you _dare_ to lecture _me! _What of the friends who died for you? Who kicked and thrashed their last moments at the end of a rope? Do you regret _nothing?_ You enslaved, you murdered, you planned to slaughter thousands for your _goal!_'

'Pfeh, and why should I care?' he snorted, 'Everyone dies.'

'But they didn't have to die then! They could have died tomorrow or the next day. They could have lived to see their children grow, or fall in love, or have one last drink with their friends! You made that decision for them! What gave you the right?'

'I was stronger – _that_ gave me the right!'

'And was it worth it? The lives you destroyed, the friends you sacrificed, Tamoko, all so you could rot in the Abyss for your crimes?'

'I was chosen!' he roared, wild and desperate like a cornered animal.

'You are _dead!'_ she bawled back, so furious she felt she could tear him apart with her bare hands. 'And your friends are _dead_, and your love _hates_ you, and your name is a curse to be _spat!_ And for what? Power? _Why?_ However powerful you are there is always someone stronger! What more proof need you: the god you sought to replace had He Himself been killed!'

'It was my _right!_' Sarevok roared again, a mantra against burgeoning doubts, 'I sought the power because it was mine to seek!'

'And then what?' Fritha demanded, 'You become a god and you can sit on a throne in the Abyss and find yourself a whole load of new enemies to strive against? _Why?_' She leaned in, dropping both her voice and her gaze as the revelation hit her. '…because you were afraid.'

The sheer violence of his reaction confirmed it. 'I fear _NOTHING!_'

'Admit it!' she snapped back, 'You learnt of the prophesy as a child in the temple the rest of us forgot -how must it have sounded to you? _Only one was to survive_. Every day it gnawed at you –what if you weren't the one they had picked?'

'_NO!'_

'Then the Harpers came with blood and fire –a first taste of the death you feared. In the house of Rieltar you felt safer, but it was not enough to quell those fears -that there could only be one, that you were hunted. The more power you gained, the more you feared to lose it, feared becoming that boy again, wandering alone across the plains of Tethyr, hungry and scared. To rise as Lord of Murder -it was the only way you could ever stop being afraid!'

The man was shaking his head, defiant, but Fritha did not care. She took a step back, a hand raised to pronounce her sentence.

'Sarevok Anchev, you are a coward and a dog, and no one to be judging _me!_ Return to the Abyss; you are _banished!_'

That a man who had commanded armies and murdered at whim could pale so quickly.

'_No,_ sister,' he choked, voice coming hoarse in the sudden emotion, 'I still have knowledge, I can help-'

'I need not the help of a _coward_. If you regret nothing, then accept the fate you earned!'

He grabbed the hand meant to dismiss him, that great man falling to his knees before her. 'No, sister, I cannot- you cannot know – _do not send me back there!_'

She snatched her hand away, turning to stalk off, his murmur almost lost to the howling winds.

'I wish… I wish I had never learnt of that damned prophesy…'

Fritha glanced back. Sarevok was sat on his haunches, his haggard face turned away from her and gazing out across the chequered plane while the wind whipped his hoary hair into a fine white halo. A brother and sister with forty years between them. Something in her shoulders sagged, and the pity she seemed to carry for all her fellow Children ached through her heart.

'Well, I suppose that is a start.'

**…**

Fritha awoke stiff and cold. Someone had placed a blanket over her as she had slept, but it had done nothing against the tight chill that coiled in every limb. The long stone room was held in breathless, blue-hued silence, something dreamlike about the way the shadows shimmered in what little light poured through the high, mullioned windows, the sky beyond a velvety midnight blue. There was still no sign of Anomen; the row of beds that stretched away from her empty barring the very last. Sister Benita was asleep on the bed nearest the door, and she did not stir as Fritha's bare feet dropped to icy stone tiles and padded silently past her to reach for the plain iron doorknob.

Fritha did not recall how she reached that place, perhaps she _was_ still dreaming, only that the next time she was truly aware of her surroundings she was standing at the mouth of the chapel. Not a candle flickered there now, the once golden alcoves barren, and the pews sliced black shadows across her path as she made her way up the carpeted aisle.

The altar was raised upon a dais, a single step to elevate that great stone table, the marble swathed in rich tapestries worked in gold and pearls. The large window behind offered no light and the saint upon it looked just as it was; a simple painting upon glass, all its former glory stolen from elsewhere.

Fritha sank to the step and pulled her cold feet up under her. She could not pray; there seemed no point. If ever devotion to these uncaring gods had been proved pointless, it was then, when a righteous defender of the faith lay crippled by the lies of his _brother_s and in the house of his Lord, no less.

But perhaps her blame was unwarranted, and what she mistook for disregard was, in fact, incapability. Perhaps the divine power to shape worlds could not deal in the chaotic minutia of those billions of competing lives that existed down there. Perhaps she would be the same one day, looking down upon those who begged prostrate before Her altar for some miracle, when all the power she had over such infinitesimal lives was to hope they could learn to carry their burdens and not poison those about them as they did so. Fritha hunched over to rest her head on her folded arm; she should return to the infirmary.

'Malal?'

Fritha blinked in the faint light, her eyes hot and sandy. The stone step of the dais had made for a poor bed, her body aching as she uncurled to find the young acolyte who had tended her earlier standing above.

'Sister Benita. Is it-?'

'Brother Iorwerth is awake.'

Fritha swallowed passed the sudden sick terror that gripped her.

'His leg-?'

The woman smiled and her young face seemed to light from within.

'He is as whole as when he came here.' She inclined her head to the altar before them. 'Helm heard your prayers.'

At the window above, a milky dawn was just creeping past Saint Mailen's toes, falling in shafts across the altar and the once sumptuous altar cloth looked frayed and gaudy in the frail light. Fritha turned away and stiffly made to rise, the tears of her relief already beginning to well.

'Take me to him.'


	56. The Gears of War

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The Gears of War**

The wind was from the east, howling across her ears to whip her hair into a tempest of curls, sweeping the last couple of days' snow into drifts in the courtyard far below and the scent of it was still sharp in the cold air. It was hard to believe it was the last day of Eleasias. Her vantage on the battlements of the southern tower gave her a breathtaking view that spanned from the green, silver streaked grasslands before her to the white peaked ocean at her back.

Her days at Watcher's Keep had been spent mostly in the libraries, reading any tome Odren suggested, and usually in vain, the rest of her time devoted to keeping Anomen company as the man was confined to his room as he waited for his leg to strengthen. Fritha had not realised it before, but she had spent the last couple of years outside – even in her house at Suldanessellar, most of her time was spent in the garden, and to be cooped up inside for three days because of the weather had been suffocating.

Looking east, she could see so far, but the green plains were faded and hazy from that height, and she wondered about the friends she had left down there. Were they fighting at that very instant, or were they enjoying the calm before storm… She tried to picture them in her mind, in Alhali with an army of mercs about them, but the image felt forced and indistinct, her memories drawing her ever back to the last time she saw her friends in the forest of the Apagis. Imoen's anger, Jaheira crying and that final embrace from Solaufein, the cuts twisting on his fine face. A pang struck all through her chest. She missed him.

She was numb by the time she felt ready to return to the oppressive shelter of the keep, the girl clattered down the southern stairs to the guest wing, her cheeks stinging in the sudden heat. Anomen glanced up from his book at her entrance. He was out of bed, dressed in a tunic and trousers, though his feet were still bare, the man perhaps feeling as stifled as she did, for he had moved to the chair under the window, the stout walking cane he had been given left by his bed.

'I hope you didn't move there without help,' she teased, a pointed glare thrown to his cane.

Anomen sighed, his smile twisting to wince as he strained to shift the weakened limb. 'You know I need to strengthen it.'

'Yes,' she soothed, moving to the dresser to pour them both some water, 'but too much too soon will only make it worse. You must be-'

'Patient,' he sighed, receiving the cup with the nod. 'Yes, I know. How is it outside?'

'Cold -and blowy, in case you couldn't tell,' she added, fighting to comb her fingers through the wild amber briar about her head, 'though I imagine the weather is much calmer at ground level. Did Sister Rahila give you a verdict?'

'Two more days and I will be fit to travel – as long as we go by cart.'

'Good,' said Fritha, taking a seat on the window sill beside him, the glass cold at her back, 'and Odren has already asked for volunteers to join us, so we will not be delayed waiting for them.'

Anomen was frowning, stiffly squirming in his chair. 'Are you sure about having them join us? Odren has hardly proved himself trustworthy, nor is he sympathetic to the Children's cause.'

'I believe his desire to repent is sincere, whatever he thinks of me, and most of the others here did not even know there was demon beneath the keep, let alone he was sending every merc band who arrived down there to fight it. We can trust them, at least. Besides, we may need the allies; we could get back to Alhali and find it's still just us seven.'

Anomen was smiling though his blue eyes were grave. 'Do you believe that?'

Fritha's snort ended as a sigh, the girl trying to smooth through the tangled curl at her shoulder. 'No… We are ready and the time we arrive will be the time we are supposed to arrive – I can believe no else.'

'And your research?'

'I was in the libraries again this morning, but I think I have discovered all I am going to here.' She raised her hand, the words intoned flatly as she had often heard the chanters do in the gardens back home. '_And in the final days they shall rise, the chosen few, and the tides of blood shall rise with them. From the battlefields, Murder's essence shall seep, bones of the fallen to make the Throne._ _And the chosen shall cross the planes to take their Seat upon it._ Short version,' she continued, dropping her hand, 'the Bhaalspawn all fight and the last one has to get to the Throne to take Bhaal's power, so at least I know now I'm not going to explode into Him as soon as I kill Balthazar.'

Anomen nodded slowly, draining the last of his water with the air he wished it was something stronger. 'Did any speak of the Throne's location?'

'No, but Sarevok told me once it is not so much a place as a plane, likely somewhere in the Abyss. In theory, once the Throne is brought into being, we should be able to divine its location.'

'And what about Melissan in the meantime?'

'What about her? I've a feeling once Balthazar is gone, the path to the Throne will be opened – she won't be able to seize it without killing me, but she knows I'll have to journey there to take the power myself. Were I her, I would be trying to find out where the Throne is, so I can just wait for me there.'

A knock at the door brought an end to their discussion, Brother Pol peering tentatively about the frame. That he had been nervy about them before was nothing now he and the other senior clerics there had been made to face their betrayal.

'Ah, Brother Iorwerth, it is time your leg was checked…'

He trailed off at Anomen's suddenly stormy expression, the knight muttering to himself sullenly as he set down his cup and book. Fritha smiled and patted his shoulder before hopping from the window sill to take a seat on the bed – he really was the worst patient. Behind Pol, Sister Benita had slipped into the room as well, a treatment box slung across her narrow frame.

'And how is Brother Iorwerth today?' she asked cheerfully, her young face beaming. Anomen looked unnerved, eyes still fixed on the door she had closed and Fritha could tell he was still hoping for the entrance of the matronly old healer who usually treated him.

'Fine. Where is Sister Rahila?'

'She is a little busy. One of the younger acolytes scalded his hand while making lunch, so she is treating that. Rather than make you wait, I agreed to step in.'

Anomen muttered something under his breath which the acolyte ignored, Pol hovering uselessly behind her as she crouched before her patient.

'Sit forward on the chair please, and raise yourself up slightly.'

Anomen did as he was asked, the young woman whipping his breeches down with a cool detachment that _he_ certainly did not share from the colour his face had gone. Slightly obscured by the fabric of his undershorts, the wound on his thigh was closed to an angry purple welt, the woman touching it here and there, checking for any sign of infection, and as much to distract Anomen from the discomfort of it as amuse herself, Fritha turned her attentions to Pol.

'So, Brother, not long now. Have you packed yet?'

Old Pol looked suddenly alarmed. 'S-Sorry?'

'Bid farewell to these old walls?' continued Fritha, pretending she had not heard him. 'Departures are difficult, I understand, especially when there is a good chance you will never make a return.'

'I- I do not-'

'I think they believe you have volunteered to travel with them, sir,' offered Benita from where she was now pressing at points down Anomen's leg, confirming with him each time that he could feel the touch.

Now Anomen was not the only one with some colour to his cheeks, Pol faltering to hide his cowardice. 'Well, I would have offered my help, but I really have little skill-'

'You were never trained in battle or the treatment of wounds at the seminary?' asked Anomen pointedly.

'Well, I was, though that was many years ago now. I am an old man-'

'So is the High Father,' reminded Fritha, 'perhaps you feel you do not need to make penance for your part in what occurred here?'

'No, I do! I merely – with the High Father leaving, someone must stay here and lead in his absence, to instruct the acolytes and keep the libraries. The Vigil must continue.'

'That is true, sir,' offered the sister with a sunny smile, 'and there are many others who can take your place. I know Sister Maganda and Brothers Ilarn and Deepik have offered, and I, myself, volunteered to Odren this morning.'

Pol did not attempt to hide his dismay. '_You?_ But, sister, a war between the Bhaalsp- ah, _Children,_' he revised with a hasty glance to Fritha, 'do you truly believe that battleground is where Helm wishes you to be?'

Benita's smile did not waver, but there was a pitying cast to her eyes as she gazed up at him.

'People are suffering, brother; I can believe nothing else.'

**…**

Twilight was closing in about their small huddle of tents. A sliver of fierce pink slowly was fading on the western horizon, the cool chill of night creeping into the breeze that soughed across the plains and the sighing grasses were accompanied by the soft snort of their horses as the creatures settled where they had been tethered. Imoen stretched out her legs, the flattened grass tickling her ankles and the tome she was reading heavy on her lap. They had been three days on the move and were already halfway to their destination, their mounts allowing them to cut the tenday of walking down to a six day ride.

Valygar was at her side, methodically stripping down his blade to clean each piece just as he had every night even though he had not had cause to draw it since they had left Alhali. Imoen watched him a moment longer, completing tasks he would have once struggled with – his hand, at least was on the mend. A slight sigh and she returned to her book -and an interesting chapter on casting illusions -one of the few tomes she had bought in Halziq. Valygar had noted it but made no comment. She was not going to lie about her studies any more, and it seemed her decision had come just as he had resolved not to ask.

On the other side of the fire, Solaufein was a familiar silhouette in his hat, the scars of his torture faded to pale lines upon his dark face, Adita and Parvidan, their two messengers, seated beside him. They were two of many who had volunteered for the task, both picked for their skill as riders with good knowledge of surrounding lands. Parvidan was of the local colouring and approaching middle age, his face bearing the lines of a good humour that had since departed him, the man sharpening the long dagger he had been given on a small whetstone. Adita was younger, likely approaching her thirtieth summer, her tanned skin making a pretty contrast with the short sandy hair that flicked about her ears. Her dark eyes seemed to smile even when her mouth was still, busy fingers plaiting together some leather thongs to repair her fraying pack strap as she watch Solaufein pluck a tune from Fritha's lute.

'I've never met a drow before. Not talked to one, I mean.'

'I have,' said Parvidan bluntly. He had been one of the few to escape the mines at Sendai's camp, and it showed, the man hunched and sullen as though an anger he could not voice still raged within him. 'But I know _you_ aren't the same.'

Solaufein merely dipped his head in acknowledgement of the bitter acceptance, no pause to the warm melody.

'What's the tune you're playing?' continued Adita. 'Is it a song from your homeland?'

'No. It was supposed to be a prayer song of my own composition to my Lady Eilistraee-'

'Supposed?' the woman questioned. Solaufein bobbed a shrug.

'My thoughts are with another – when I try to form the lyrics, she creeps in. A friend worthy of worship -my Lady Silverhair pardon the blasphemy.'

Imoen smiled as the drow did. At her shoulder, Valygar muttered something under his breath.

'Vals?'

'More than a tenday I have had to bear this pointless moping.'

'So? He's hardly forward with it,' she reasoned – in fact she didn't see much difference between how Solaufein was now and how he had been when he'd first joined their group. Valygar made no answer, replacing the pins and clamping the katana between his knees as he turned his attention to the hilt bindings. Imoen frowned. 'Why does it bother you so much?'

'With what we face, you'd think he'd have more important things to concern him.'

'Than one he cares for?' she offered, 'We can't all box off our feelings like you, Vals.'

The man snorted, at last packing away his tools with sharp, precise movements. 'You asked me what it is to be a leader; it is putting personal feelings behind you for benefit of the whole.' He leaned in, dropping his voice to barely a hiss. 'You know he planned to leave –with Fritha, of course,' added at her astonished expression. 'They were planning to desert the Sword Coast and escape east hoping to avoid the war completely.'

'When was this?' gasped Imoen.

'Before Saradush – but they learnt we were there as well. Fritha knew you would not be so selfish as to leave Tethyr to its fate, and refused to abandon you here.'

Imoen drew back from the revelation. Fritha had stayed. And, yes, she had lied countless times since and hurt Imoen more than she could have believed, but in the beginning, when escape had been possible, Fritha had stayed - for her.

For an instant Imoen saw how close she had been. Suddenly, she was the one everyone was looking too, the one with the Fates on her side and the power to save them all – and what equated to a death sentence hanging over her head. The fact the Fates had deemed Imoen surplus to requirements did not seem so cruel now.

'_He_ pressed for them to continue east,' continued Valygar with a scowl to the oblivious Solaufein. 'He would have abandoned us and Tethyr to its doom.'

'To save Fritha,' provided Imoen quietly.

A selfish course, undoubtedly, but Imoen could not help but think there was also something astoundingly loyal in such a decision. Solaufein had always had but one priority. In right or wrong, for good or ill, he was Fritha's ally to the last. Imoen wanted to ask Valygar if it had been other way around would he have done same for her, but she knew his answer. He would have supported her to end, followed her into Hell, even sacrificed his own life to allow her to reach her goal, but he would not have born the shame and guilt of rescuing her at the cost of all others. And she should be proud he was that man – shouldn't she?

Across the fire, Adita was poring over the neatly-ruled song book Fritha had penned for her budding student so many tenday ago. 'Oh, you know quite a few local songs, don't you? Well, relatively anyway, these are mostly from the Heartlands. My da used to play the flute while he still lived. Sometimes, of an evening, we'd gather with him in the kitchen, ma and my brothers and me, and all sing together as he played.'

'Doesn't it bother you to speak of them when your brothers both died in Alhali?' asked Parvidan sharply – it certainly seemed to bother him. The question seemed to take her by surprise though, a hand run through her short hair as she considered it.

'No… not really. I miss them of course, but I can still look back fondly on the time we were all together. My brothers' sacrifice bought Ma and me the time to flee. Ma is safe with her sister over in Ferhl now, and I can return here to take revenge for those lost.'

Parvidan was nodding, something intense about his glare as he returned his work. 'Yes, revenge.'

At her side, Valygar had fished a crude map from his pack. 'It should be another few days before we reach Sefen.'

'We may not even have to get there,' offered Imoen, 'the refugees seemed to think the attacks were spreading.'

'It is a problem. Any places which have yet to be attacked will have little information on the raids.'

'And those that have been attacked will mostly likely be deserted.'

Valygar frowned and thrust the map back into his bag. 'If we can find a place that has been attacked recently, I may be able to track the raiders back to their camp, though that will depend on the age of the tracks and the measures they may be taking to cover them.'

Imoen sighed and leaned back against her pack. 'It's never easy is it?'

Back at the others, Adita had requested the _Raggle-taggle Gypsies_, a much jollier song than the usual fare Solaufein had been playing of late, but he obliged her all the same, girl singing along as she continued to mend her pack and Imoen suddenly wished Fritha was there – to see Solaufein play, and sing along as well, and just to share a smile with her. Time was running out.

xxx

They had set out earlier that morning, the mountain paths still swathed in hoary mists even as the golden dawn crept up sky before them, the distant sun unable to permeate the cold shadow of the forests. Ten clerics had volunteered in the end – a third of their order. Odren and Benita were joined by six brothers and two sisters. Fritha noted only one of the more senior clerics, the matronly Sister Rahila, had deigned to join them, though whether this was from a sense of shared guilt, a desire to help Tethyr, or to simply accompany her patient, Fritha was not sure. The tanned woman was sat in the covered wagon now opposite Anomen, the hunched form of Odren seated next to her. Fritha never thought she would be travelling with that wagon again, with Jarrhe and the others dead. Perhaps others felt the same discomfort, all the other brothers and sisters bar the driver volunteering to walk, flashes of their pale blue robes still visible under a dun rainbow of cloaks and hoods. Sister Benita was walking just beside her, pausing now and then to gaze into the surrounding forests, her cropped hair just visible curling about her temples under her green woollen hood. She was attractive rather than what was usually considered pretty, with a small nose and wide mouth and large brown eyes. The girl glanced back to find her watching her and sent Fritha a rueful smile.

'It was your friends' wasn't it? The wagon… Brother Farrel told me you asked at dinner. I'm sorry. What we did-'

Fritha cut her off with a shrug. 'You did know, did you?'

Benita shook her bundled head, turning to look back up the path as though she hoped to catch a glimpse of it as she added, 'I knew the keep protected against an evil, but I had no idea it was trapped within the very mountain -or of the sacrifices required to keep it so. To think the Order of the Vigil were once knights.' She giggled nervously. 'Part of me is glad it is now a library – I cannot see me being as much use as a solider. But perhaps I am too narrow in my outlook – you grew up in a library, did you not?'

They had dispensed with their aliases over an early private breakfast that morning –there seemed little point in keeping them up if they were to all rejoin the others. Isolated up there, no one had heard of Anomen. A few had heard of Fritha though; she had quickly dispelled any worries of dragons and drow with a rushed account of her life story.

'I think I grew up in _the_ library,' Fritha offered wryly. 'But it wasn't so different to your home. Out of the way, full of books, housing an ancient evil.'

'Evil?' the girl gasped on cue.

'Aye, Master Jesseth, the curator of arcane artefacts.'

Benita laughed for so long Fritha began to feel embarrassed. Perhaps there hadn't been much room for jokes at the Keep. Benita's laughter faded, though traces of it still sparkled in her eyes as the girl turned to her once more.

'I did not think you would be like this.'

Fritha had been about to offer the usual '_Because I'm a Bhaalspawn'_ but the girl cut her off.

'Not after our order betrayed you as we did. Such shame, to think of all those mercenaries who were sent to their deaths.'

'Is that why you volunteered to come with us?'

Benita's narrow shoulders bobbed in a shrug. 'Perhaps partially, but for the most because I believe people need our help -and a little because I have not ever left the keep properly since I was given to the church.'

'You've _never_ left?'

'No, not never. I have been allowed to accompany some of the older clerics on errands to the nearby villages since I was thirteen, but it is not the same. I was originally from Ferhl I understand, though I don't recall it. My family died in a fire when I was very young. My first memory is being left by neighbours at the local Temple of Helm. Rather than send me to an orphanage, they sent me here. I am happy in my life within the Vigil and serving Helm, but I want to see more of my homeland.' The girl nodded once to herself, as though glad to reach the conclusion.

'I don't think you picked a good time for it,' said Fritha grimly.

Benita tried a cheerful smile; perhaps she knew as much even as she offered, 'Then, I will see it at its worst and can imagine it at its best. What of you, you must have travelled a lot?'

'Not really…' Fritha dismissed without really considering it, her mind suddenly awhirl with fleeting images of the Underdark, Ulgoth's Beard and the City of Caverns. It was funny; it never felt as though she was that travelled. 'Actually, yes, I've been quite a few places. But I suppose however much travelling you do, there's always a lot more to see. But I've been luckier than most. Much luckier.'

Benita smiled and nodded. 'And where will your travels take you after here?'

'I-' Fritha swallowed; it was no good, lies were just the easy option, her mind suddenly back with the man they always seemed to linger upon in these quiet moments. 'I think I will go back to Candlekeep – there is a friend I promised to take there.'

Benita must have picked up on the faintly wistful tone of her voice, the woman sending an inquiring glance toward Anomen. Fritha giggled and shook her head.

'No, I think Anomen might have had enough of libraries for the time being.' And Anomen raised a polite hand to them as laughter caught Benita once more, the man's frown returning as went back to his book. Fritha supposed it was better than making pleasantries with Odren.

'Will you tell me about your travels?' asked Benita, once she was calmed.

'Er, all right. Where should I start?'

'Candlekeep,' the girl answered, decisively linking an arm about her elbow, 'and we can go from there.'

**…**

The welcome heat seemed to sink into his very bones, steam rising in fine tendrils from the scented water. After a day sat on the juddering wagon in cold weather and an even colder silence, the baths at the Eyrie Inn were a breath of heaven. Anomen was not alone in this bliss, a couple of the brothers already there when he arrived, but they, like Odren, appeared happy to remain silent. The fierce ache in his leg was finally calming, though it had been worse to see Fritha's worried frown as he had limped up the stairs to the room they would be sharing. She had told him how she had bargained for their escape from the demon's chamber – Anomen did not want to contemplate what cost their survival would exact upon Toril later, but he could not say he would not have done the same in her place.

'So,' began one of the men opposite, Brother Deepik, if he recalled correctly; perhaps the silence had not felt so comfortable for them, 'Father Odren told us you are a knight from an Order in Athkatla?'

Anomen sighed. He was never one for small talk and this was not a topic he ever wished to discuss. 'No longer; I was expelled for disobeying orders.'

His friend nodded to Anomen's chest and the faded pink curve that smiled across his heart.

'That is quite the scar you have there – did you get that in their service?'

'No.'

Now the silence was well and truly uncomfortable. Deepik opened his mouth, perhaps to probe or change the subject though he was not given the chance, the slide of the door cutting him off, Fritha padding through in just a towel looking well scrubbed, her hair damp and pinned up. For one amusing moment, Anomen considered she may have taken a wrong turn.

'Fritha?'

'The ladies' bath is only small and it is full, so I thought to come in here. It's allowed,' she added, as though this was the only objection they would raise, 'I checked with the barkeep.'

Anomen made a mental note not to tip for his next round.

'But, Fritha-'

'Look, it's fine, I'll keep my towel on. You lot don't mind, do you?'

The two brothers looked too stunned to speak – Fritha took their silence as assent.

'See.'

And before another word of protest could be voiced, she had stepped down into the water to sit on the bench beside him, her head resting on the rim and eyes closed. For a moment, no one seemed to breathe. The two brothers looked tempted to leave, Anomen more surprised by the lack of thrill he felt with her seated, barely-clothed, but inches from him in the clouded, mineral-swirled water and he did not know if the revelation was happy or disappointing.

The rattle of the sliding doors once more and this it was Odren, the man appearing in a just towel, his old skin like waxed parchment on his skinny frame.

'Good evening, brothers,' he greeted mildly, stepping down into the water and he was up to his waist before he even noticed Fritha. The realisation there was a female in their midst seemed to cause the slightest flicker of consternation, but it passed quickly, and the two brothers seemed to relax slightly with his unruffled presence. Anomen shrugged mentally. Perhaps such things no longer mattered once you reached such an age.

'So, Brother Anomen, how is your leg faring?'

Did the Order of the Vigil train its clerics in picking topics on which he did not wish to converse?

'It is fine,' Anomen answered bluntly. Odren did not mark his tone.

'Sister Rahila was worried the cold may make it worse. She gave me some balm which needs to be massaged in. I'll make sure to leave it here for you.'

'Thank you.'

'And the weather will of course warm as we descend into the lowlands.'

'Indeed,' Anomen ground out; if Odren did not cease soon, Anomen would be the one leaving. Deepik skilfully redirected the conversation with a nod to his left.

'Is your friend all right there?'

The man's words coincided with the sudden pressure on his upper arm, and Anomen glanced down to find a familiar head resting against him. Fritha had fallen asleep.

**…**

Fritha gazed up at the boiling green sky where lightning burst in fierce white and the winds howled and screamed. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed to take note of her attention, making all the more show of whipping acidic clouds into a churning tempest. Sarevok was standing at her side, though neither spoke for a long while, and she could sense his growing discomfit. After their last encounter, their roles had changed, and now it seemed she was the one with all the answers.

'Are you watching for something, sister?' he asked at length, his tone politely guarded. The girl sighed.

'I was just wondering if this is the same sky which hangs over the rest of the Abyss.'

She did not glance to see his face, but the grim hush to his voice was unmistakable.

'It is not…' A long pause between them and when his inquiry came it was tentative, as though he was worried of provoking her. 'How is your friend?'

It took Fritha a moment to register what he was asking. 'He survived, along with his leg.'

'I am… glad,' he admitted. It sounded wary and surprisingly genuine. 'And your visit to the libraries?'

'It was fruitful, after a fashion. I know the Throne must be reached, if I am to claim the power. I just have to reach it. If I can beat Melissan there, I could avoid having to fight her altogether. If not…' Fritha shrugged impassively. 'Well, she will have to claim my essence before she can take the Throne, so it is all a matter of finding it.'

Sarevok shook his head, watching the tempest as she had. 'The Abyss itself is boundless; scrying the location of such an amorphous pocket could take a tenday or more, even for a skilled diviner.'

'I wonder how Melissan plans to find it. Or even if she can at the moment, with Balthazar still alive.'

The man had no answer for her, merely sighing their shared frustrations to the sky. 'It is a pity Bhaal's legacy was given over to Cyric – it would have been a much simpler matter to find a priest of Bhaal's church and use them to summon one the petitioners of His plane as a guide…'

He trailed off; his eyes losing their focus as they shifted their gaze beyond the boiling clouds. 'From the Prime plane it would be impossible… but from the Abyss itself… if one had an idea of where to find her…'

'Sarevok?'

He turned at her voice, gazing down at her face, fear and determination fighting for dominance in those striking grey eyes. His lips were pressed into a firm, thin line, as though his body was struggling to keep him silent.

'Sister, I- I may have-'

'_Fritha?_'

'Wait!'

And Fritha felt her cry fading in her ears as the world suddenly slipped away.

**…**

Anomen watch the body next to him twitch, the sudden movement sending ripples across the now empty bath. Fritha was mouthing silently, her face frowning and pained. She had been asleep for a good half hour now and Anomen was growing stiff and cold sat in the cooling water. Another mutter next to him; Anomen gently eased the lolling head from his shoulder.

'Fritha?'

She started awake at once, groggily taking in her prune-like fingers before she seemed to recall where they were.

'Oh, sorry. Shall we get out?'

Towels wrapped about them, they moved into the small steam room, Fritha pouring a good few ladles of the scented water onto the coals before settling next to him on the bench. The balm Rahila had provided suffused his skin with a deep tingling heat, Fritha working gently along the muscles of his calf and thigh and it struck Anomen how unremarkable it felt: the pair seated there in such intimacy, just talking like he would have with any of his brothers from the Order.

'Were you having a nightmare? You did not look very relaxed for your sleep.'

'No, I-' she faltered, before shaking her head, 'it was nothing.'

Anomen doubted it was, but pressed her no further. 'So what was keeping you and Benita entertained today? I saw you two chatting like old friends.'

Fritha shrugged, no pause to her long rhythmic strokes. 'She asked about some of the places I've been.'

'Oh? Of where have you told her?'

'We haven't left Candlekeep yet,' confessed Fritha with a giggle. 'It is nice though, swapping stories – we had similar upbringings in a way, and talking of Candlekeep reminds me of things I had almost forgotten.' He watched her ease back to lean against the wall, her face raised to the steam that hung about them. 'I remember once, stepping out of the kitchens after the spring rains, the scent of the newly bloomed azaleas stirred up and heavy in the humid air. Imoen and I had been trapped indoors for almost a tenday, and to entertain ourselves we had made a collection of _treasures_ -just scraps of poems, drawing, hair ribbons, and other girlish tat. We had decided we were going to bury it, so in many years time when we were both grown and had been on many adventures, we could come back and unearth it and be reminded of the girls we had been. There was a small gap between the azaleas and the inner wall, a leafy grotto of damp earth, and it was there we buried our mementos.' Fritha snorted, tiredly amused at her own foolishness as she admitted, 'But all been a game. I never really believed I would leave. But I suppose you felt the same about the Order. Life changes and we must change with it.'

Anomen nodded, the girl brightening with a suddenly cheeky smile. 'But I think Benita and I may have finally exhausted Candlekeep. She seemed _very_ keen on hearing about Athkatla tomorrow – _and_ a certain cleric who hails from there.'

Anomen could not help it, the playful waggle of her eyebrows merely adding to her grin and the pair burst out laughing.

'By Helm's Mercy, I pray leave your matchmaking for after your ascension. Even Sune would have to bow to your tenacity.'

Fritha just grinned and went back to his leg, Anomen left to gaze fondly at the top of her head.

It had taken a long time. It had been a long while since he had told her of the resemblance so many months ago, but Fritha was finally his sister.

xxx

'Do you see her?' asked Imoen, the girl not bothering to try and make out the dark speck upon the swaying plain of sun-dried grasses. Solaufein sat back into the saddle of the horse he was still unused to riding and nodded once.

'Yes, it is Adita.'

'She was quick,' grunted Parvidan, though it was hard to discern any approval in his gruff tone. He had only just arrived back himself, the pair of riders dispatched to check on the outlying settlements they passed on their journey, now they were but a day from the deserted village of Sefen. They had crossed over the river Agis two days ago, moving steadily south east until the foothills of the Marching Mountain rose from the horizon, though so far, they had had little luck in locating the raiders. Most settlements were long abandoned, a few showing signs of attack though any tracks were too muddled with the exodus of survivors to be of any use.

Imoen raised a hand to shield her eyes even though the fading western sun was at her back, Adita growing clearer by the moment as she approached at an easy canter, a wide smile on her tanned face. Imoen could have been envious at her easy seat, she rode like she had been born in the saddle, the woman finally drawing the beast to a halt beside them.

'You've found something?' confirmed Valygar.

'Yes, a town, Jarra, I think – here left me check the map. Yep, that looks about right. It's still populated from what I could see.'

'You didn't get closer?' snapped Parvidan.

'No,' she laughed grimly, 'not with those archers manning barricades at the end of every street I passed.'

'Barricades?' repeated Imoen. Valygar leaned back in his saddle.

'Then they've been attacked.'

'Or fear they will be,' added Solaufein.

'Come on,' urged Imoen, wheeling her horse about, 'they're more likely to let us in, if we arrive before nightfall.'

The sky above Jarra was a deep lilac by the time they arrived. For a large village that sprawled prosperously across the plains, it seemed somewhat huddled. A few of the buildings on the outskirts bore the blackened markings of fires. Valygar nodded to the end of the street just before them, the men standing behind a makeshift barricade of tables and a cart watching them with wary curiosity.

'One of us should approach on foot.'

Imoen sighed. 'I'll go – a woman's not as threatening,' she offered, not bothering to add that, _were_ she threatened, she could have a fireball consuming their post before they had even loosed an arrow. 'But first…'

She turned reluctantly to Solaufein, the man already shrunk into his hat and faded yellow cloak. Fine white eyebrows pulled into a frown.

'I know what you are to say.'

'I'm sorry, but they are already going to be on edge if they've been attacked – we can't give them any room for doubt.'

'I do not-'

Valygar did not let him finish. 'I would not usually advocate such spells, but Imoen is correct. Your _sacrifice_ will be for the good of all.'

Solaufein sighed tersely, but a glance to Valygar seemed to seal the thing.

'Fine, work your glamour.'

'Right, any preference,' Imoen laughed nervously, trying to dispel the sudden tension. Solaufein's frown merely deepened, and Imoen gave up to raise her hands, letting mind and magic meld as she imagined a new face to replace the old. A glimmer about him that became a blur, and when Solaufein refocused he was a pale, auburn-haired elf, some relation to Khalid or Leidril, her red-haired friend back in Suldanessellar.

'There,' Imoen gasped, the effort leaving her momentarily out of breath.

'Goodness,' breathed Adita, peering closer to his face as though she was reining in the desire to touch it. Solaufein was flexing a now white hand before his large green eyes, Imoen turning in her saddle to reach for her pack. 'Do you want to see? I have a mirr-'

'That will not be necessary.'

'You look very handsome,' giggled Adita. Solaufein offered the girl the slightest smile, seemingly to show her there were no hard feelings, at least not towards _her_. Imoen slipped from her saddle.

'Wait here until I wave you over.'

The distance to the barricade seemed much farther now she was on foot, the two men there watching her slow approach with the nervous air of cornered rabbits. She was close enough to make them out now, both men dressed in leathers that did not fit, the pair ill at ease as one levelled an arrow at her.

'That's far enough, miss!'

'Don't call her 'miss', Falj, she could be one of them!' hissed his companion, the man raising his voice to demand, 'What do you want?'

Imoen was ready for this line of inquiry; they had discussed their aliases on the first night from Alhali.

'My name is Imogen. We're scouts from the Silver Chalice trying to find the source of the raids. I want to know what happened here. Can I come closer?'

She did not wait for his answer, venturing another step forward and then another. Falj's arms were trembling with the strain of holding the bow taut, the man hissing at his friend to go fetch 'Danton' as he finally gave up and eased the arrow back to the rest.

By the time Imoen had arrived at the barricade, the man she assumed was Danton was there. He was well past middle age, dark hair streaked with grey, tanned face sagging about his fleshy nose, his once-stout frame somewhat gone to seed. He ran a critical frown over her and then those still lingering on the plains behind, not bothering with pleasantries as he barked, 'So Rian says you're scouts from the Silver Chalice – funny, you don't look much like knights.'

'They are hiring locals and mercs. There is too much ground to cover for the Chalice alone. You've faced the raiders, haven't you? We think they could be supplying an army that's gathering about here. If we don't find it before it marches and let Tethyr's forces know, it could reach Parva or even Marmont before our forces can be coordinated.'

Danton was still staring at her, Imoen adding, at last, 'If you don't want to let us in that's fine, just let me call my friends over, and we can discuss it here and then we'll move on.'

Falj and Rian were watching the older man, waiting for his decision. Danton sighed and took a step back.

'Let them in.'

'They could be spies,' snapped Rian, 'sent to betray us-'

Danton wrenched the table aside himself, Falj hastening to heave the cart next to it out of the way.

'If you thought that, then you should have shot her as soon as she was close enough instead of coming to fetch me! Well, I'm here now and I say let them in!'

Imoen had already turned to beckon to the others, the group riding the distance to dismount at the last moment, Imoen feeling a slight flutter as she confirmed her illusion on Solaufein was holding.

Danton merely nodded to the new arrivals, turning to take the lead as he walked along the packed-earth street. The wooden buildings about them bore the broken windows and splintered doors of recent looting, the damage lessening as they moved further into the town. Occasionally, they passed more barricades, some of them manned, others merely built up as much as they could be and left unwatched. Ahead of them, the cobbles of the market square reflected a dirty gold in the fading sun, a long stone hall dominating the northern side of the small square.

'My tavern is one of the oldest buildings here, it housed all those who couldn't fight on the first night – come, we can talk inside.'

The horses tethered to the hitching posts outside, they filed past the heavy-iron bound door. Inside, the low-ceilinged drinking hall was silent, clouds of dust glittering in the dying sunlight that sliced through each poky window. Three long tables stood parallel to the bar, a bench on either side of each, the soiled dishes and cups of the last few meals still waiting to be cleared away.

'Here, take a seat. Gods only know, it's all the hospitality we have to offer at the moment.'

'We thank you for your trust,' rumbled Valygar gravely.

Danton just snorted, sinking onto the nearest bench and gesturing for them to do the same. 'Truth is, even if you are spies, what are you going to learn? Those raiders know we are down to our last night.'

'When did the attacks begin?' asked Imoen.

'Two nights past. The town awoke on the morning on the first attack to find a _proclamation_ nailed to the old well in the centre of the market square, telling the town to evict all outsiders and any people of _suspect lineage_ by sundown. We all knew who they were looking for – _Bhaalspawn_.' Danton spat on the floor behind him and made a sign to avert the evil of the word – Imoen resolved to keep her own heritage secret.

'Most of the townsfolk were born here, there isn't a single man or woman I can't trace back at least twenty years! A meeting was held, a few families had already fled the town by the noon, but the rest of us vowed to remain firm. We weren't some lonely farmstead or terrified village – we had a militia – people had spent their whole lives building what we had here, we weren't going to abandon it on some threat.'

Danton shook his bowed head. 'Our resolve was pitiful. Even with the barricades we had placed in the streets, it was a slaughter. They attacked on horseback on all sides of the town, their numbers concealed by the night. Our militia were halved after the first couple of waves, some abandoned the barricades and pulled back into the heart of the town, others held fast. After a couple of hours, those dogs had raided enough of the outer houses to sate themselves and withdrew. Come the morning, half the town packed what they could and headed north, the rest of us rebuilt the barricades and dug in to wait for the next night.' He sighed, already defeated, 'It was better in some way and worse in others. We lost fewer folk, but we couldn't defend the town as a whole. Many houses on the eastern side were razed, and the temple to Chauntea was looted and burned. I dread to think what will come tonight.'

'So you plan to remain here as the town is destroyed around you and you are killed?' demanded Parvidan to the silence in wake of Danton's words.

He snorted humourlessly. 'No, no, nothing is worth that, but we know that the Queen's armies are nearby, protecting the larger towns of Ofsten and Parva und Agis. We sent word on the first night and got a message back saying they would dispatch a garrison as soon as they could. They will come,' he asserted, as though he dared any to venture they might not, 'we just have to wait for them.' He let a grim frown travel their group. 'If you are who you say, then remain here tonight and help us defend the town. You can see the raiders for yourselves firsthand –perhaps even capture one for interrogation, if you are skilled enough.'

Their appearance had awoken a glimmer of hope in his beleaguered face. Imoen did not even glance to those about her; she knew her answer.

'We'll help - you can count on it.'

**…**

Imoen suppressed her shivering as best she could, the cold washcloth sloshed about the bowl she was stooped over and still dripping as she dragged over her skin to rinse away the grimy lather that covered her naked body. Danton had offered their group the upstairs of an abandoned house in the street behind the tavern and it was useful to have a place to settle and congregate, though Imoen doubted there would be any need for somewhere to sleep, their night to be spent manning the barricades with the others of the militia.

Her wash finished, she dove gratefully into her waiting underwear, taking the worst of the damp from her skin with her dirty tunic and leaving it to the cool air to dry the rest. Her cleaner set of clothes were waiting on the nearby chair, Imoen giving a critical appraisal of her reflection as she combed her hair in the dresser mirror. Her face was tanned and freckled after so many days in the saddle, her forearms the same, and there was a very clear border where the protection of her clothes had begun, the skin of her body and legs a translucent white that looked almost frail against the robust tan of her face.

The creak of the door beside her; Imoen snatched her tunic from the waiting pile to clutch it to her, the girl whipping back to find Valygar looking sheepish in the doorway.

'Ah, Imoen, I am sorry, I-'

'It's fine,' she dismissed, the discomfort nowhere to be heard in her voice, though she could not bring herself to lower her tunic all the same, 'I was finished anyway.'

He nodded, just as awkward as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the dresser. 'One of the women has arrived with a cauldron of stew for us – we were about to eat in the other room.'

'Oh, I'll be right through –er, you can wait if you want,' guilt forced her to add.

'Actually, I was on my way to fetch Adita– she is downstairs seeing to the horses.'

'Oh, well, I'll meet you next door then.'

The man merely nodded and backed out. Imoen at last let the tunic drop, her expression unreadable even for her own eyes as she turned back to the dresser. They were dying and there was nothing she could do to halt the descent.


	57. Before the Storm

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Before the Storm**

The torches bathed the surrounding buildings in an angry orange light, making the empty windows all the blacker, and Imoen felt as though she was being watched by their sightless eyes. The southern barricade was set about a third of the way down the street, a pile of tables, cupboards and an old plough that looked to have been well past its best even before the arrow pocks and hatchet scars of two nights' siege.

It had been one of the worst sides hit, the other being the eastern barricade, where Valygar and Parvidan now stood watch with members of the town militia. Adita, who freely admitted having no combat experience, had joined those less martial citizens serving as messengers coordinating the resistance, all barricades on the five streets into the town manned and waiting under a cold gibbous moon.

At the end of the street, the plains yawned black and impenetrable, at least to Imoen. She sent a nod to Evard and Falj, the two militiamen on guard with them, as she moved closer to the elf who was perched on the sidelong dresser of an overturned cupboard, his eyes fixed on the darkness. She smiled. The torchlight gave his pale skin a golden glow. The glamour was holding, but Solaufein was still recognisable even in his new skin, the calm aura of vigilance bred from decades in a place where any lapse could mean death was unmistakable. He seemed to sense her watching, his green eyes narrowing as he returned her gaze.

'Enjoying your artistry?'

'Just considering how much closer you are to that skin than you'd think – you'd never have been able to stand so close to an open flame, let alone see past one.'

He shrugged, stepping down to put them on an even level.

'The light no longer bothers me as it did, though it is hardly a help at the moment. Once the attack begins, I may move past the barricade and take my fight to the plains. I work better in the darkness, and they will be at a disadvantage.' He smiled, something predatory in his nature shining through. 'You may be able to change my appearance, but I am still drow.'

Imoen considered the bitter pride to his words. 'You don't like to disguise your birth, do you?'

'No… I spent a lifetime hiding who I am down there; I do not wish to do it up here as well. I will not.' He seemed to realise the emptiness of his defiance, pale fingers flexed before his face. 'But for our task, I will bear it – an individual should not burden his comrades with private woes.'

'I get that, I really do,' Imoen continued, not sure of her offer even as it formulated behind her eyes, 'but if you plan to travel after all this, you'll find it hard – it could even be dangerous. I could put the same enchantment on a pendant or something if you want, so you could travel with notice -just when you needed to.'

'I thank you for the offer,' he deflected at length, without saying whether he would take her up on it or not. Imoen grinned.

'Otherwise, you can just tag along with me. We can go up and down the Sword Coast finding trouble –I'll even let you pick where we go first.'

A soft, almost distant smile graced his face as he stepped up and returned his attention to the plains. 'Candlekeep.'

Imoen felt the pang all through her chest; his stubborn affection was as tender as it was frustrating.

'Oh, Sola…'

The clatter of armoured feet, and Imoen turned to watch Rian and another man of the militia she had yet to meet materialise at a jog from the darkness of the street behind them. Falj raised a hand in greeting.

'Ho, Rian, Bekhed, what news?'

'All's quiet to the north and west,' answered Rian grimily, 'but the lookouts on the roofs thought they saw movement to the southeast, so we're warning everyone to be on guard.'

'Does Danton know?' asked Evard.

'Yeah, we had to pass him to come here. He's holding position before the hall with a squad of six ready to bolster the forces at whichever barricade bears the brunt of the attack. I think the civilians in the hall feel better having them there. Last night, the raiders nearly-'

'_Silence!_' hissed Solaufein, an ear cocked to the plains. Below him, the group froze and suddenly Imoen could hear nothing but the roar of her own blood. 'Horses,' the drow snapped suddenly, 'to the east.'

'How-?' questioned Rian. Imoen did not let him finish.

'Don't just stand there, get over to the east barricade and warn them!'

The two men clattered off. Falj nervously wet his lips and nocked an arrow, Evard doing the same.

'Solaufein?'

The drow jerked at her voice, his body tense as he strained to hear beyond the roaring silence, his fine amber eyebrows rising slowly up his forehead.

'They are gaining speed, they-'

A faint roar from the east that ended in a clash of metal that was tinny from such a distance. Every hair on her skin bristled in a shiver. Falj glanced back along the street, but said nothing and Evard kept his gaze locked straight ahead. They knew they needed to hold the barricade there until ordered otherwise, and Imoen had to remind herself they had had two nights to steel themselves in such unfeeling discipline.

The moments crept by, an agony of waiting as the clamour of battle echoed along the street behind and in all their hearts the same doubts – what if they were needed? What if their friends were being overrun? Evard was growing twitchy.

'Should we-?'

'They've sent no messenger!' cut in Imoen, trying to silence her own worries as well. Solaufein snorted and braced an arm against the barricade he was standing upon, easily clearing it in one leap.

'I'm going over – I'll be useless to you here anyway.'

'Solaufein!'

Imoen scrambled to his former perch. The man was below her, gazing up with a serene confidence. 'I will bring word.'

They parted on a nod and he was gone, hugging the right wall as he raced off into the darkness. Imoen stepped back down to join those left. Falj kept wetting his chapped lips -perhaps he was thirsty- Evard pacing the short length of the barricade. Over the buildings to the east, the inky sky had been scorched to a dark brown by unseen fires. They could have been breached already… Imoen felt her resolve snap.

'Evard, I want a report on the eastern barricade. Go!'

A hasty salute and he was gone. Falj seemed to edge imperceptibly closer – it was just the two of them now.

It began as a rumble to the air, merged and hidden within the clash from the east until it rose above, echoing along the narrow street as a score of horsemen thundered from the darkness before them.

'Falj!'

His arrow loosed with her scream, and she did not see where hit. Her arms were raised, the powers building white hot between them that muted all else. A cry beside her, Falj suddenly dropping into cover behind the barricade as a crossbow bolt thudded into his shoulder.

'_No!'_

An explosion of scorching white, and fire engulfed the front lines. The air was alive with screaming, horses urged over the writhing fallen to press the attack. Raiders were everywhere, Imoen too fraught defending herself to cast again, Falj doing his best to distract them with his sword held in his offhand, his favour hanging limply at his side. A thud and then another, and she felt the jolts all through her legs as two hooks sailed from the horde to bite into the wooden blockade. Imoen ducked the spear thrust and parried another, her short sword drawn and doing all she could to defend herself from the press about her. The barricade was beginning to shift, the old plough leaving deep furrows in the packed-earth street as the riders dragged it aside, one of the men screaming insults at his frothing mount.

'_Come on! Pull, you flea-bitten-!'_

Blood bubbled from his mouth with the shout, his body suddenly slumped in the saddle to reveal the small knife sticking from the back of his neck.

'Solaufein!'

Imoen had never been so happy to see anyone. The elf had sprung from the edge of the plains, and not as he had left them, his dark skin reflecting like polished ebony in the flames. Whether the cause had been stress from the battle or his own natural resistances, her glamour had failed.

Imoen swung out at the second rider, the man dodging her blade, though he had to back off to do so and the bolt of energy left her hands to knock him clear from his mount. The riderless horses were panicking, straining to escape the chaos, the barricade slowly shifting with their efforts. Imoen scrambled forward, trying to reach the ropes as other riders pressed in to block her, the girl fighting to keep herself from being skewered.

'Sola! Get the ropes!'

She was not sure if he heard her, but he clearly had some purpose from the way he was charging towards them, dodging spears and swords from those mounted above. A horse reared before him and he swerved left, his pace increased and his last few steps seemed to defy gravity as he pounded up the building to leap off, kicking the nearest rider from his saddle to take his place, the raider trampled beneath. His blade high, the drow sliced down once, then twice, the ropes falling limp to the churned ground.

'_Pull back! Full retreat!'_

Imoen hurled another explosion of flames after the stampede, and the roar faded to leave an eerie silence.

Just as quickly as the raiders had appeared, they were gone, the street left in their wake a carnage of slaughtered bodies, charred and bloody. A lone horse twitched pitifully on the edge of the plains, too injured to rise, yet panicked enough by the dancing flames to make the attempt, the smouldering buildings sending embers skyward in clouds of stars. Solaufein was murmuring to his fretting steed, Imoen whipping around at the sound of approaching footsteps. Three of the militia were pounding down the street, Danton at their head.

'We heard the- what in Nine Hells is _that?_' cried the innkeep, a hand thrown to Solaufein. The drow glowered back and made no move to excuse his appearance as Imoen hastened, 'It- it's an illusion, to scare the enemy – that's not important right now! What happened to the eastern barricade?'

A familiar voice answered for him, Valygar striding down the street at a pace Parvidan was finding hard to match.

'The attack there was just a distraction, a ploy to pull our forces away so the main body of raiders could overrun the barricade here.'

'Well, it looks like you handled yourselves,' offered Danton evenly, 'Falj, go back to the hall and get Marion to look at that shoulder. The rest of you, back to your posts- they might just be foolish enough to make another raid to-'

'Wait,' cut in Solaufein, the man straightening from where he had been rifling his mounts saddlebag, 'You should read this.'

Imoen took the square of rough parchment from his unresisting fingers. It had been longer once, the lower edge torn away until the last line was barely legible. Imoen's eyes devoured the angular script.

'_Increase the number of raids – the men are growing restless and there is little up here to occupy them outside of food. The whole of our force will be gathered in the Golhda Valley by the end of the first tenday in Eleint. Make sure there are supplies there to meet us. We must be prepared when we move against Ofsten. Destroy these orders as soon as you have read them._ I wonder why he didn't,' Imoen considered aloud. Valygar held his hand out for the note, a thumb run across the rough edge.

'Paper can have many uses – from the torn sections I'd say he has been using it as kindling.'

'The Golhda Valley,' murmured Rian, 'that's about four days south east, in the Marching Mountains.'

'So they were supplying an army,' muttered Parvidan, 'just like we thought.'

Imoen drew herself up, her attention snapping to the Tethyran at her side. 'Parvidan, go and find Adita, you need to leave tonight. Take word of this to the Queen's garrison at Ofsten and Farn's forces back east, then return to Alhali.' She did not wait to see his nod. 'Solaufein, Valygar, get back to the hall and pack, we need to be ready to leave within the hour.'

'What?' cried Danton, 'You- you can't leave! You promised to help defend the town!'

'I'm sorry, but we have to track them back. We need to know more about this army they're gathering and they could move camp if we don't reach them soon.'

The men about them were muttering darkly and for his part, Danton looked furious. 'And _what_ if they return?'

'I do not think they will be so eager after such losses,' offered Solaufein.

'Besides,' she added hopefully, 'the Queen's troops will be here any day now.'

Danton seemed to have enough pride not to try and convince her further, the man snorting his anger as he turned his back on her.

'I can't stop you – I just hope there's a town left here for them to protect.'

**…**

They were three days into the plains now, another five from Alhali, their cart slowly rumbling southeast and counter to the steady flow of plodding refugees who shared the roads with them. Anomen gazed back along the way they had already travelled. The wagon's cover had been removed as soon as they had cleared the Stormantles and his seat afforded him a fine view of the coppery gold grasslands that swayed about them at the close of another day. The breeze was from the north, cool and with a hint of rains that would likely never reach them, stirring up dust from the packed-earth road in fitful clouds, the motes catching fire in the sinking sun. The dusk was upon them, though they had already an idea of where they would be camping that night, and he turned in his seat to watch the small huddle of buildings rise in the east.

It was a village so insignificant the map did not name it, and it seemed it had so far been beneath the notice of Tethyr's current troubles, too. A group of children were playing a game with a bat and ball on the plains beside it, heads darting up in quick succession to take in their approach. Anomen watched them scamper back into the village like wild rabbits, and by the time the wagon had rumbled to a halt, a small delegation of adults had gathered on the road to greet them. They had most likely assembled to move them on from the stern frowns and prevalence of farming tools brought with them, but once it was realised their company was comprised of priests, the atmosphere became more welcoming. They were directed to the field just to the east of their village and even given a place for their horse in amongst the cows in the local barn.

Anomen levered himself upright as the wagon halted its jolting passage over the grassland, people jostling about him unloading bags and tents. The wagon step was narrow, his booted foot finding an unsteady purchase upon it as he gripped the wagon side and slowly lowered his ruined leg to the ground, arms tense for that moment when all his weight would be resting on the weaker limb.

'Do you need a hand there?' came Benita at his elbow, Anomen thankful he was already down and merely leaning against the wagon to find his feet.

'No, I am fine; it's just a bit stiff.'

'Sister Rahila said you should have stepped back into the wagon at midday,' the girl scolded mildly, heaving the pack she had wrestled out onto her shoulder, 'you should listen to your healers.'

'I'm fine,' he dismissed again, reaching for the bag she bore, 'here, allow me-'

Benita danced out of reach with a laugh. 'Oh, no, no, no, I'll not risk the sister's glare – you go find somewhere to stretch out that leg, we will do this.'

Anomen bit back a sigh – to be honest, he had tired himself out with walking earlier. He should have followed Rahila's advice and returned to the wagon, but it had been pleasant walking beside it with the others, feeling the swing of his arms and beat of heart, even the twinge in his leg that accompanied each step seemed a sign it was healing. As soon as he had resolved to walk, Fritha and Benita had been at his side, giggling and chattering in a way that reminded him of his sister and her friends. In the heat of the plains, Benita had discarded the crisp linen wimple, a simple blue scarf tied over her cropped, dark brown curls, Fritha beside her wearing the tall straw hat she had traded for a kiss back in Indraviat. And the pair had kept him entertained until he had finally succumbed to Rahila's motherly glare and returned to the wagon in the mid afternoon.

Deepik had just finished pitching Anomen's tent by the time he had limped over to help him. The younger man sent him a cheerful nod before rushing off to aid his fellows and Anomen slumped down before the tent, feeling rather useless in the surrounding activity. Fritha had gone to fetch water from the village well, the girl returning with two buckets and an entourage of a half dozen local children who returned to their game.

The last few rays of sun were making their heat felt upon his face, sheltered, as he was, in the lee of his tent; Anomen had not realised how warm it was seated upon the wagon. He had not bothered with a mirror for a while before they had arrived at Watcher's Keep, and he had been surprised at how tanned his skin had become. It was hardly any different from those hailed from that land. He supposed that spending every day with Fritha, it had been hard to track the change, the girl wearing the same pale face come sun or snow. In the centre of their hodgepodge of tents, Rahila and Ombric had gathered the supplies and were doling out rations to the queue that had formed, Fritha's two buckets set beside them, the brothers and sisters washing the dust from their hands at the first and collecting a cup full of the last before moving off to settle before their tents to eat.

Anomen was idly mustering the energy to rise and join them, when a familiar shadow fell over him.

'Here we are,' Benita trilled, passing him a plate of unlevelled bread, cheese, dried sausage and grapes.

'You did not have to.'

'No, I suppose not,' she giggled easily, settling beside him without ceremony and leaving Anomen with little option but to thank her and begin his meal. It was the last of their rations, the bread rounds decidedly dry, and he said so, Benita nodding in thoughtful agreement.

'I heard Ivid say we would be pausing outside the town of Ceydun tomorrow to resupply.'

'Do you plan to go with them?' Anomen asked, though he felt he could guess her answer; she had eagerly volunteered to visit every town and village at which they had stopped so far.

'I suppose so,' came the deflated sign. Anomen just checked his surprise.

'You sound disappointed.'

'No, it is merely that I have only been to the villages in the foothills of the Stormantles before, and I rather imagined rest of Tethyr to be much more exciting. But it seems outside of the towns on the plains being larger and housing more people, they are not much different.'

Benita sighed and ate a grape. Anomen could not help a chuckle. 'What were you expecting?'

'I don't know,' she answered, something lighting in her eyes as she took her mind back there. 'Temples, grand buildings, parks with fountains and flowers… I suppose it was all quite unrealistic now I consider it. I thought perhaps a city would have been closer, but Fritha did not seem to think so – She said both Baldur's Gate and Athkatla have those things, but they also have slums and crowds and streets upon streets of the same houses you'd find in any town.'

'So Fritha's travelogue has finally departed Candlekeep?'

'Yes,' the girl giggled, 'we are in Athkatla now. At first Fritha tried to tell me of just the places, but then more creeps in – how she came to see it or what she did there – she has had an eventful life.'

On the field before them, Fritha had been roped into the children's game, her stomach flashing white as she leapt up to catch the ball and toss it gently to her teammate.

'And not just Fritha ,' Benita continued, 'you, yourself have had your share of adventures, yes?'

Anomen shrugged, in no mood for reminiscing. 'I suppose I have.'

At his side, an awed sigh. 'A battle against vampires, and not just from without, but within your _very_ blood – I cannot imagine the strength of will it took to endure it.'

The man could barely splutter a response. 'Wait, Fritha, told you _that?_'

'Yes,' Benita nodded gravely, 'Helm surely must hold you in great regard that, by His Will, you survived such an encounter. Fritha told me of your relationship, too,' Benita added casually, though the sly glint of curiosity to her eyes belied her interest, 'of how you were once paired.'

'I would rather not speak of that, my lady.'

Benita nodded mildly and popped the last bite of cheese into her mouth. 'I understand. I do not know how you look back on it, but you made her very happy at a difficult time – I believe Fritha regards the affair fondly.'

Anomen glanced inside and was surprised to find he did as well. A shrill whistle split the air. Back at the game, it seemed there had been some complaints that even with only Fritha and the youngest boy making up one side, the teams were unbalanced. Fritha was waving over to them, her face flushed and glowing in the golden light.

'Benita, come and play with us!'

'I don't know the rules,' the girl called back, though she was already on her feet and tying up her skirts to jog over to them. Deepik and Ivid were dragged into the game moments later until every child had an adult, and the game seemed to descend into a chaos of cheating and laughter from then on. Fritha was running to the second marker, the young boy who was her partner bouncing on her shoulders and squealing with laughter as Ivid hiked up his skirts in an attempt to catch them. Anomen let his eyes drift from the shambles of a game to those spectating; the clerics were finishing the last of their meals, laughing and offering applause when points were eventually scored. Rahila was smiling, her dark, wrinkled face seeming somewhat younger for the gesture and Odren… The old man turned to catch his eye, Anomen not quick enough to drop his gaze and pretend he was not looking, though it made little difference. With a stiff nod, Odren turned and crawled inside his tent.

**…**

It had not been long after their meal that the children were called inside for the night, and their company had gathered in an uneven circle before the wagon to hold evensong. Anomen joined them on occasion –sometimes his prayers felt like a more private thing- but that evening he had attended as well to sing and offer worship to his Lord.

Fritha had made herself scarce just as she had every evening – perhaps witnessing prayers felt odd when there was a good chance in a tenday or so you could be listening to supplicants of your own. The camp was shrouded in deep twilight by the time the group disbanded, robed figures heading for their shared tents. Anomen found Fritha before her own, reclined in the grass and plucking idle at the lute she had bought for Solaufein, a large bottle resting against her thigh. She glanced up at his approach with a lazy smile.

'Checking up on your favourite Bhaalspawn, Anomen?'

He winced at her slur, settling next to her. 'Please do not call yourself that.'

'Why? I certainly prefer it to _my lady_.'

Anomen laughed in spite of himself, nodding to the bottle she had now taken up. 'What have you there?'

'Strawberry wine– I think. I got it back at the village,' the mouthful she drew left her gasping, 'it's a bit rough to be honest.'

She held it out to him in offer, but he shook his head and she set it back on the grass with a shrug, her gaze shifted to the field where she had spent the dusk turning cartwheels and playing ball with the other children.

'So who won the game?'

'I'm not really sure,' she sighed, swallowing another draft of wine, 'Maybe we all did.'

Anomen frowned; for all her previous cheer she seemed distant. 'Are you well, Fritha?'

His concern was enough to bring her round, the girl smiling again as she darted her attention back to him.

'What? Yes… I just- we're getting closer -things are readying. I can feel it, like a pulse through the land, or the tang to the air before a storm –a change is coming. Even things I thought within my own power are different. Sarevok's gone –I have not seen him since we stopped at the Eyrie. Whenever I visit my plane it is empty. Just tiles and sky. It is… disquieting.'

As though to curb the feeling, she took another swing of wine, coughing as she swallowed. Anomen didn't have much by way of advice to offer her and settled instead for platitudes.

'Well, at least you have your talks with Benita to distract you as we travel.'

'Do I detect a tone of censure?' Fritha teased. Anomen fought the blush; he thought he had managed to quell it.

'No… you _have_ volunteered much though- about our adventures… about us.'

'Volunteered?' the girl cried incredulously, 'Ha! I need only mention a name Benita has not heard before and the _questions_ – it's like being back before Galvarey and the Harpers. The poor girl is seriously starved of gossip. You should have seen her _glow_ when I mentioned you and I.'

'And what did you tell her?'

'About us? That we travelled together in Amn and found a place for each other in our lives which could have taken us past such adventures, had circumstance not divided us. Makes it sound much more romantic the truth, doesn't it? One party at the Order and a single kiss upon the plains.'

'There were two kisses,' he corrected, suddenly grinning like an idiot. Fritha looked puzzled.

'Two?'

'Yes, I kissed you on the plains – _you_ kissed _me_ in Suldanessellar.'

News to Fritha, it seemed. 'I _did?_'

'In the battle, before we parted in Ellesime's palace.'

A moment to recall it, and Anomen watched the grin spread across her face to match his own, Fritha looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

'_So I did!_ Good, I should have screwed up my courage and kissed someone before I die, and I'm glad it was you.'

She slapped his leg in friendly punctuation of this triumph and sank a cheerful mouthful.

'You've never kissed Solaufein?' Anomen confirmed curiously. Fritha shook her head.

'No -not on the mouth anyway…' she corrected with an embarrassed chuckle, the bottle tipped back for another wistful gulp. 'Ah, my beautiful Sola. Look after him for me, won't you? Take him back to Athkatla and be his brother.'

'Aye,' Anomen nodded tiredly, 'I can do that.'

'Good,' Fritha sighed, lifting the bottle to her lips as she shifted closer to rest her head upon his shoulder. 'Set him up with dozens of girls, and get him drunk and sing with him.'

'And that will help, will it?'

'Maybe - sometimes when the world is against you and the Fates have set their course, all you can do is drink and sing.'

She smiled and held the bottle out to him. The usual warnings and admonishments tumbled through his mind. But perhaps she did not need lectures or disapproval just then – perhaps she just needed an ally. He took up the bottle with a grin.

'All right, but I won't be joining in the singing.'

Fritha just laughed. 'We'll see.'

xxx

They followed the trail all that night, a cold dawn finding their three stepping from the grasslands on to the rocky slopes of the foothills, the Marching Mountains towering above them, snow-peaked and impenetrable against the southern sky. The climb was not hard, the tracks keeping mostly to a scree path that followed a narrow stream up through gorges and valleys, and it was as day was drawing to close that Solaufein caught the sound of voices on the cooling air.

They left the horses there; they had been leading them for most of the day anyway, the three mounts tethered to a lone hawthorn tree while they crept away from the tracks to approach from the southeast, where a scrubby wood of cypress and blackthorn found purchase in the arid soil.

The camp itself was nestled in the shallow dip between two hillocks. Four sentries were holding position on the slopes surrounding it, two on either side, the forest that concealed Imoen and the others running right up to the southern ridge of the hollow. Imoen hunkered down in amongst the scrubby bushes on the wood's edge, the camp but a few paces further down the slope before them. It looked much larger than would have been required for the number of men currently there, three score of tents to serve the dozen or so raiders who were gathered about a large firepit in the centre of the site. Half of them seemed to be nursing wounds, mostly burns, a robed man with a mace at his belt tending three of the more badly injured on pallets brought out into the fading sunlight. They had not killed that many in the attack on Jarra, and it seemed more likely that a camp of this size was the base for all the attacks along the Agis, raiders coming and going as needed. Imoen scanned the clearing: there were no carts, nor any goods awaiting transport that she could see – had they already been moved on to Golhda?

'Something is not right,' hissed Valygar behind her, 'where is the livestock they took? Danton spoke of losing two score head of cattle – yet there is no sign of it here.'

'Slaughtered perhaps, for ease of transport,' offered Solaufein. Imoen was frowning.

'Maybe, though it makes more sense to keep it alive –meat will spoil quickly in this heat. Could they be keeping the livestock elsewhere?'

Solaufein was not listening though, his head turned away and tilted back as he sniffed the air. 'Do you smell that?'

Neither of the humans did, though they trusted the drow enough to follow him, Solaufein leading them along the ridge further into the gnarled woodland. It was just a trace to the air at first, the sour fetid reek growing stronger with each step. Up ahead, there was a break in the ground, a wide fissure that Solaufein reached first and from which he hastily backed away. Imoen held a sleeve up to her nose, the drow looking as though he was fighting not to gag as the scent wafted up from the gully beneath, where everything from flour sacks to vegetable had been thrown in and left to rot. In Imoen's stomach, an unnamed dread was rising with the bile.

'The supplies they raided,' confirmed Valygar from behind his hand.

'Perhaps it had already begun to turn before they could transport it east,' offered Solaufein. Imoen wished it was so; her gazed pulled back to the camp she could just see filtering through the low branches.

'Something's not right here. We need to know more.'

'We are outnumbered here at least four to one,' warned Valygar, seemingly guessing her intent, 'and how many more could be concealed within the tents?'

Imoen shrugged – something about his worrying always made her feel brash.

'Magic will even those odds.'

The man snorted but said nothing – the fact he did not even try to talk her out of it made Imoen feel strangely worse, as though he had already given up. Solaufein, however, remained focused on the practical. 'Fire could destroy any evidence held within, as could most of the creatures you could summon.' 'Yeah, I don't fancy searching the wreckage after some stone elemental's charged through.'

'I could take out the sentries,' the drow continued, 'that would even the numbers.'

Valygar nodded, crouching to get a better view of their target. 'After which, we could regroup and attack from three sides to take the main firepit. We would more than halve our enemies in one strike.'

'Agreed,' announced Imoen, 'Solaufein.'

He left them with a nod, the man creeping back around to the north. The first guard was the simplest; his position on the forest's edge made him easy prey, and the drow worked his way slowly along the western slope to take out his partner before doubling back. His faded yellow cloak provided more concealment against the parched ground than Imoen would have expected. It was like watching a predator at work, the way he crept closer, body bent so low to the ground it seemed he should not have been able to move at all, while any second his prey could turn and sound the alarm. Closer, closer and then he struck, Imoen holding her breath for that an instant of silent struggle, before the body went limp and Solaufein was dragging his kill back to the cover of the trees.

'Come,' murmured Valygar, as Solaufein took out the last man, 'we should get into position.'

They moved as one, following the forest as far as they could along the western slope, before leaving its cover. Imoen kept as low as she could, Valygar signalling for them to start down the slope into the camp proper after a few yards.

It was easier to move once in the shadow of the tents. She and Valygar split almost immediately, the man continuing his way along the western edge while she moved into position to the south behind one of the larger pavilions. Behind the tents to the east, she sensed rather than saw Solaufein; soon they would be ready for their three pronged attack. From his crouched position behind a weapons rack, Valygar nodded, Imoen trusting the drow was similarly ready as she raised her hands – her spell would be the signal.

A rustle from the tent to her right. Time seemed to slow, the merc's cry sounding mere seconds before the spell left her hands.

'_Alarm! We're under a- ah!_'

His scream coughed up a lungful of blood and it spattered her face in a warm rain as her short sword found its way under his cuirass. Her spell had been complete, but not at full force and the campfire was in chaos, men who should have been left reeling, leaping to arms. Valygar and Solaufein had broken cover and were charging into the mêlée, and Imoen was forced to abandon her next spell and race to join them.

From the tents about them, more men were stirring from their rest, another half dozen piling into the fray about them. Imoen parried a sword sweep, her offhand thrown out to floor her opponent with a bolt of light. At her back, the Solaufein and Valygar were holding together. Perhaps they could do this, perhaps they would-

The cleric before her feinted left, her spell deflected by one of his own and her weight was unprepared for the vicious swipe of his mace. Suddenly she was falling, the mace plummeting towards her. A scream left her throat and Valygar's shout split the air.

'_Imoen!_'

A flash and it was as though someone had sucked all the air from her lungs as she hit the uneven ground. Her chest felt tight and Imoen braced for that explosion of pain, only it did not come. Someone was still screaming, and it was a surprise to realise it was not her, strong hands making her jump as she was grasped under the arms.

'Imoen, we need to get back.'

'Sola?' she gasped, his face unfocused above her, the gravel prickling her back as he dragged her clear, 'What's going-'

The question died on her lips. Valygar was standing, hunched and trembling, wreathed in a darkness that swirled like mist, fine tendrils branching from him to weave a gauzy dome of black, and in it were suspended the mercs. Imoen could not draw her eyes away. The way they twitched like a dozen or more spiders, half their limbs already torn away by in some spiteful child's game, and they writhed in stiff-limbed agony as the smoke choked mouths and snaked up nostrils, suffocating them from within. One by one, they stopped moving and the veil of energy finally faded to let them drop, dead about him.

'By the Nine Hells,' Imoen breathed, gazing about her as though the carnage was too much to take in all at once. On the edge of the circle, her gaze caught on his hunched form. Her feet took a step towards him. 'Vals-'

'Don't touch me!' he snarled over his shoulder, something in his stance flinching. 'Stay back!'

Imoen said no more, returning to where Solaufein was picking his way across the bodies when the drow suddenly dropped to an urgent crouch.

'Here. One survived.'

She closed to him, her breath catching as the body he was stooped over slowly came into view. His golden hair was matted with blood and the warm sallow skin had paled so close to death as he was, and yet he was unmistakable.

'_Hazel?_'

'You know him?' asked Solaufein.

'I- we met in Amkethran at the tavern. He was one of the mercs gathered there – he took a shine to Fritha.'

'You mean, _Freya_,' the man sneered, drawing breath for the words painful enough to leave him gasping. 'Yes, I recognise you, _Bhaalspawn_. Pretending you were just more of Melissan's strays when all along your sister was a member of the Five!'

'We never tried to trick you- well, not properly,' Imoen conceded, forging past her half-truths to press, 'Listen to me, Hazel, we aren't members of the Five, and we don't want to bring Bhaal back! Balthazar has lied to you!'

'Andthe bounty notices lie, do they? The reports from the Tethyran army? Your _sister's_ slaughter at a fort back east along the river?'

'It wasn't a fort, it was a prison for the Children, and what of you?' she accused, 'Balthazar has had you raiding all the villages east of the old capital!'

'A necessary distraction,' he wheezed, 'We kept the killings to a minimum, we needed only to drive the people out, and once you and your cursed sister have fallen, Queen Zaranda will see reason and join our cause. The Bhaalspawn will be removed and there will be no more bloodshed.'

'Of course,' scoffed Imoen, 'except for the slaughter of a thousand or so Children, but what do we matter? Why are you doing this, Hazel? Why the raids? Why steal all this food only to let it rot?'

For the first time, Hazel was smiling, something of that charm returning to his otherwise plain face. Imoen felt suddenly ill.

'It is too late,' he coughed, blood speckling his chin. 'You can't stop him… You'll never reach her in time…'

'_What?_' Imoen choked, the horror stealing her voice, 'What is too late? Who do you mean?'

One last fractured breath, his smile widened.

'Alhali…'

'Damn you, Hazel,_ tell me!_'

Solaufein's hand landed gently on her shoulder.

'Imoen, he is dead.'

She kicked his body with a curse, the tightness in her chest increasing with every breath as that sense of crippling failure took hold. They had been so close! She had found an army, freed the Silver Chalice and for what? So she could send them to the other side of Tethyr, while some unknown danger marched on the very heart of their resistance!

'Imoen…'

She nodded, mopping away the tears as she straightened at last to face the man beside her.

'I know, I know, we don't have time for it. We need to get back to Alhali and warn them before it's too late.' Solaufein squeezed her shoulder in acknowledgement of her weak smile, Imoen turning to find the last of their company still standing alone on the edge of the carnage, his back to them. She wanted to approach, to comfort him as Solaufein had her, but she could not.

'Vals…' she ventured softly. Silence answered her. 'Valygar!'

His shoulders jerked at her snap. Slowly he turned to them, his face a mask she had not time just then try to read.

'You heard what Hazel said?' she confirmed, not waiting for his nod to set out for the horses. The tension in her stomach was like a fist about her gut. Hazel's words had been vague but the meaning seemed all too clear to her: Balthazar marched on Alhali.

**…**

They rode without pause, the high sun slowly sinking before them as they headed west. The long grass whipped by under his stirrups, his body rolling with the easy canter of his horse, until Solaufein felt as though he had been riding forever, tripping across a golden sea, the occasional farm or village rising from the depths like dark islands.

Ahead the sun was barely cresting the horizon, dusk chasing them into the sunset. Approaching on the plain before them, a bare patch of dusty earth made a hollow clearing in the grasses. Likely a pool in wetter months, the arid bed was cracked and parched by the long summer's heat. Valygar had the lead, Solaufein expecting the man to steer his mount on a course along the edge and he was surprised when he slowed the creature to walk it gently into the hollow itself.

'Here,' announced Valygar, bringing his mount to a halt, 'we should make camp here; the dip in the land will conceal us.'

He swung easily from the saddle, Imoen staring down at him as though she could not believe her eyes.

'_What?_ Vals, we need to press on! You heard Hazel: they could already be at Alhali!'

But the man just shrugged.

'If Balthazar's army is already there, then there is little we can do. We all need to rest after the last few hours and riding in the dark is dangerous for both us and the horses. We can remain here until just before the dawn, then set out again, losing only a few hours.'

'But…'

The girl was looking back and forth between Valygar and the still mounted Solaufein, torn between frustration and fear. Solaufein waited for the sighed words of reassurance, but they did not come, Valygar silent as he turned his attention to his pack. With a frown, the drow stepped in.

'Imoen, I know Hazel put in your mind these thoughts of an army marching relentless across the plains, but to stay hidden, they will likely be forced to travel undercover of darkness and take a less direct route. We can move much faster than they and will not be similarly restricted – we will outpace them yet.'

'I-' She sighed and nodded, all the fight suddenly leaving her as she slid from her saddle, 'I'll see to the horses. You two pitch the tents.'

It did not take long to make their meagre camp. There would be no fire – the light was a liability and, as it was, they had no wood. Imoen had tethered the horses to the gnarled root of a tree that had long since been felled from the bank, their tents pitched easily in the crumbling earth.

Imoen and Valygar were standing together now, the closeness of their bodies belying their weary stance as Imoen gestured to the tent beside them. Valygar nodded once and Solaufein saw his cue.

'I think I will go out into the grasslands and set some traps – we will make even better time back to Alhali, if we do not need to stop for supplies.'

**…**

Imoen heaved off her boots, barely crawling one step before collapsing into the bedding with a groan that was nearly all sigh, and she could hardly muster the energy to move over when Valygar crawled in after her. For a while, they just lay there in silence, one pane of the canvas peak above them aflame in orange, the other grey with the changing light outside. Imoen lingered on the edge of sleep, listening to the sound of his breathing and the sighing grass outside. Only a inch or two separated their shoulders, but the gulf between them was immeasurable. She contemplated instigating a coupling, if only as a last ditch effort to connect them, but what would be the point?

_The point_… What had been the point of even _beginning_ the thing?

And with the question she was suddenly awake and aware of it, the long held grain of fierce affection she had always held for him. First sparked in the tavern in Marmont so many months ago, sealed with their night together in Indraviat, and built upon since with every fond gesture until it was _something_. And it was something that was worth saving. Imoen eased herself up to sit beside him in the gloom.

'Vals?'

'Yes,' came the answer, prompt and without a hint of sleep. Imoen drew a steeling breath.

'I think we need to talk… I think we need to be honest about what we want and what we are going to do to… _deal_ with what is happening between us. I know you've been facing a lot lately and that you're worried, but if we're open, then I know we can work through this.'

His silence prodded her forward – well, it was only fair she start. 'All right, then, so I… I've been studying magic behind your back.' It took real effort to prevent the words tumbling together into something unintelligible, her excuses fast on their heels. 'I was worried you'd be frightened by how easily it comes to me –and it does, I know, because of the taint- so I hid it. I'm sorry. I don't want to lie to you any more. We can't afford to have anything driving us apart,' –_not when we're doing such a good job of that ourselves,_ she added silently. Imoen was braced for the resulting explosion, but the man next to her said nothing. His profile was clear in the half-light, the deep forehead sweeping down into the strong nose, his beard unkempt from days on the move. His eyes were closed and she wondered how she had not noticed before his long dark eyelashes.

'Vals?'

The silence was almost deafening – Imoen felt the tension snap, fighting the desire to push him roughly away from her.

'Well, say something! Get angry! _Anything!_'

'Imoen,' he sighed, at last, his voice catching, and her hopes of the usual weary apology died then. 'I cannot do this anymore.'

Imoen's emotions went through an immediate about-face, suddenly wanting nothing more to pull her too him in her rising dismay.

'Oh, Vals, _no!_'

'I am sorry,' he continued, dull and unmoved, the man sitting to face her, 'When it was just your magic… when we were studying together, I thought I could accept it. But now I can see it is impossible. I cannot watch you grow in power and guard against your corruption, when I will have to be so focused in guarding against my own.'

Imoen could barely manage to force a reply past the suffocating lump in her throat.

'Vals, _please_, if you're going to end this, at least, let it be for the taint or the war or because I lied! Not _this!_ Not for such a stupid reason, born of beliefs you began to question even after your mother was killed. Magic isn't going to corrupt me and it won't corrupt you! I don't care if you want to suppress your magic, Vals –don't use it, forget you even have it- but you don't have to fear it!'

'Acceptance breeds complacency,' he pressed firmly, 'I tried to ignore it. This day was not the first time I have cast.'

'No,' she sneered, 'you saved me from the rock slide outside Sendai's fortress – how _evil!_' I am surprised you can even live with yourself!'

Valygar seemed to swell until he filled the entire tent.

'Not _then!_ I speak of Thinegate when I stood in an alley, and, mostly wholly against my will, drained the life from a terrified guardsman! His body withered to a husk before my eyes; dark magics of which even Lavok would have been proud!'

Imoen tried to turn her gasp into sigh. 'Vals, that doesn't mean-'

He could not let her finish.

'Besides,' he cut in more calmly, though his haste to interrupt her reassurances stung, 'my link to the Weave affects more than merely that. I cannot continue my line now, not when this poison is carried in my blood.' He caught her with an unyielding look. 'You would never know the blessings of a family.'

'So? I don't want a kid now-'

'But you will one day.'

'Don't say that!' she exploded, 'You don't know that! How can _you,_ when I don't even know that? Everything you've said, it's _all_ just excuses! Only one thing matters to me: how we feel now. Why isn't that enough?'

He had no answer for her, the girl drawing a deep breath to press, 'Vals, I love you. I know it feels like we're dying, that it's over and out of our control, but it's not, not if we don't want it to be.'

He would not even look at her, all his focus on the crumpled hand that rested upon his thigh.

'I am sorry, Imoen, I cannot.'

Imoen grabbed up her bag, misery choked back in that wave of blistering anger.

'_Fine!_ Sit in your narrow little world and live a long narrow life in it! May the idea you clung to your _ridiculous_ principles give you some comfort in the dark!' She struggled to a crouch, the bedding tangling roughly about her feet as she fought the few steps to the tent flap, just enough control left to stifle the welling tears for her parting shot.

'You will regret me, Valygar Corthala!'

**…**

Solaufein took much longer than was required setting the traps; he knew why his companions had retired and they deserved some privacy. He pushed through the long grass to step down into their dusty clearing. The camp was empty, no sound of the encounter he has worked to avoid –or indeed, anything else- was emanating from Valygar's tent, while from his own… He crouched uncertainly before the tent flap, the muffled sobs breathy and high.

'Imoen?'

'_Bugger off!_' the voice hiccupped angrily.

'Imoen, are you…' He pushed aside the tent flap, Imoen curled upon his bedding, a cup in one hand and an half empty bottle of wine lolling on the pillow next to her, her face blotchy and glistening with tears. Solaufein's stomach sank, suddenly realising that it had been pointless to confirm she was upset when he had no idea of how to proceed. 'I am sorry, I- I will leave you alone.'

'No, it's fine,' Imoen sighed, drawing a long mouthful of wine, 'you can stay –as long as you're willing to subscribe to the fact that all men are _bastards!_'

Solaufein smiled weakly. 'I think I may be able to concede that point without too many sources for objection.'

Imoen gave a snotty laugh. 'Ah, come in. It's your tent after all. Sorry I invaded, Vals and me had a fight and,' a broken sob staggered her confession, 'we aren't together anymore.'

Solaufein was not sure what to say; he settled on the truth. 'Then the loss is his.'

Imoen offered him a watery smile, tears dislodged to flow freely down her face. 'Aww, I like you, Sola –have I told you how much I like you?'

She did not ask if he wanted any wine, the girl fishing another cup from her pack to pour him some before drawing another large gulp of her own. Solaufein watched fresh tears roll unheeded across her cheeks.

'Do you wish to talk about it?'

'About what?' she countered tiredly, 'He can't be the man I want and I can't be the girl he needs. I don't even think me giving up my studies would make a difference now.' Imoen rolled her puffy eyes dramatically. '_Men_,' she sighed, giving Solaufein a knowing look as though they both knew what fickle and frustrating creatures _they_ were, and he smiled tentatively.

'Ah, I suppose I should have seen it coming,' Imoen continued. 'He tried to change, but after his hand and his own magic surfaced… I guess it was all too much. And now Balthazar's marching on Alhali- I can't believe I was so stupid!'

'This was not your fault!' he insisted. Imoen sighed gently.

'I know… So what about you, Sola,' she sniffed, mopping clumsily at her face, 'you ever broken a girl's heart?'

Solaufein drew a sip of the wine, letting it linger on his tongue a moment before swallowing. It was sharp like the memories.

'No. I do not believe Phaere was in possession of one -and Fritha's was already beyond repair when I found her.'

Considering the amount of wine she had knocked back, Imoen caught him with a remarkably lucid look. 'You're in love with her, aren't you?' Imoen sighed deeply at his downcast frown and squeezed his arm. 'Sola, ignoring it won't make any difference.'

'Won't it?'

Imoen laughed wetly. 'Gods, you and her deserve each other!'

Solaufein shook his head, feeling old regrets surface anew.

'I cannot- not again. I told her I could not-'

'Look,' snorted Imoen, 'You can tell her, you can tell me -you can tell the whole world if you like- but it won't change how you feel. Solaufein, do you honestly think you could miss her any more than you are going to? You should enjoy the time you have together.'

'To what end?

'End,' she sighed, looking down into her half-empty cup, 'Such a final word. I know you feel the time that's left won't be worth it, but it will,' she pressed a hand to her chest, 'in here. I'll make you a deal, Sola, you tell Fritha how you feel and I'll,' Imoen took a large gulp of wine, wincing as she swallowed, 'I'll tell her I forgive her.'

'Do you?'

'Yeah,' she nodded wearily, 'I really do. She changed and I resented the distance between us. But she had to. This role, this life, this- this blood demands it. I know that now.'

Solaufein smiled slightly, Imoen's grin more lopsided from the wine.

'You know, you truly are a fine leader.'

The girl just shrugged and drew another large glup. 'Well, there has to be one thing I'm good at, and it sure as Hells isn't _boyfriends_.'

Imoen drank the rest of bottle to herself and Solaufein left her sleeping fitfully in his tent. Laid on the hard ground before it, the sky seemed vast, a golden field edged with a fading pink to the east and deepening lavender to the west. It was beautiful, but fleeting, just as so many other things. Soon the stars would be wheeling above him, and he was brought back to the time he had painted Fritha's henna in those first few days after she had made her decision to stay and accept her fate.

It was painful, the knowledge nothing lasted forever -even more painful when he considered this really was their last chance. It was selfish of him; perhaps she would find things easier to let go of without such entanglements… but then perhaps she would find it hard whatever held her there. He glanced back to his tent, considering whether he could fetch out Fritha's lute without disturbing Imoen. His prayer song still eluded him, but to feel the polished wood smooth under his hands and to know she had held it similarly was a comfort. Before he could decide either way, the steady beat of footfalls caught his attention and he sat up to find that tall silhouette tramping easily through the grasses to the east, haloed by the violet dusk.

Valygar nodded to Solaufein, casting an unnecessary eye over the camp to ask, 'Where is Imoen?'

'In my tent asleep -I do not think she would appreciate being woken,' Solaufein added quickly, as the man made a step towards the canvas peak, 'She has been drinking.'

Valygar muttered something under his breath, but it was not so quiet that the drow could not pick it up.

'She is _unhappy_. If you are so concerned with acting _responsibly_, then perhaps you should have waited to break with her until _after_ we had returned to Alhali.'

'This is none of your business,' growled Valygar, the man taking a step back as Solaufein sprang to his feet.

'Then do not make it so! You lectured _me_ regarding Fritha and her secrets, but how are you any better? You lied to us all about this magic you possess. You spoke of worries of being a burden to our group, yet you have this power at your disposal that you refuse to employ. For the last tenday, I have turned my hand to every foreign tool in Alhali, building, repairing-'

'No magic I posses could have helped there!' Valygar dismissed angrily. Solaufein swiped the excuses away.

'I do not care! You lecture me on what I would or would _not_ have sacrificed for Tethyr, but you are the same! You will be near useless in the coming battle – had you admitted and acted upon this and let Imoen train you, we could have added another mage to our forces!'

Valygar looked as though he wished to lash out, his fists clenched and chest heaving. 'I would only become another danger were I to succumb to this darkness!'

'You have no proof of that, you speak only from fear! You are frightened of magic, of what you have _decided_ it has done to your family, because if magic is not to blame, then the corruption was merely theirs! What if, Valygar,' Solaufein leaned in, his voice suddenly quiet, 'this darkness you attribute to magic is merely within _you?_ And you are terrified of Imoen, of finding something that will make you question your beliefs and face your fears.' Solaufein shook his head, his disgust evident. 'You are coward.'

'_You-!'_

Valygar's hand lashed out, Solaufein not bothering to dodge when it was so far away, and the black bolt of light caught him by surprise. The ground was hard, the pain all through his back and chest easily ignored as he croaked out a chuckle, and struggled to his feet to face the man's horrified expression.

'You saw it then, this corrupting power that I cannot control!'

'You cannot control it, Valygar,' Solaufein gasped, still winded from the blow, though he kept his tone conciliatory, 'because you have not tried – you have never tried. Be it your parents, Imoen or yourself, you merely ignore any problem and pretend it is not there. Accept guidance in these powers, and stop running from who you are!'

'You expect me to listen to you, _drow?_' Valygar snapped, holding the offending hand out from him as though he would like nothing better than to sever it at the wrist. 'Four lifetimes you have on me – tell me, what did you _run_ from when you followed us up here?'

Solaufein drew back, a thousand fleeting recollections as tortured and torturer rendering him almost speechless, and when he found his voice again it was chilled by the memories.

'I know just what I am, and what I have done and what was once done to me. I wake up each day and face up to who I was, and vow not to waste this chance to be better. Do the same, Valygar. Accept who you are – accept it and move _forward!_'

'What's going on?' came a small and decidedly groggy interruption beside them. Imoen was crouched in the mouth of his tent, a hand to her, no doubt, aching head. Solaufein sighed; in that moment, she could have so easily been her absent sister.

'Nothing, Imoen, return to sleep; we will need to be back on the horses soon enough.'

Solaufein followed her as she made to crawl back inside, the man reaching into the left corner to grab the strap of the lute case he knew he had deposited there. Behind him, Valygar was glowering at his back, the drow ignoring the glare to turn on his heel and head out into the grasslands. There would be no prayer song tonight either, but perhaps he could still find some peace, Eilistraee willing.


	58. Alhali

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: just a quick 'thanks' to my betas and everyone who has commented on the last few chapters – only four left to go! _

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Alhali**

With the sight of that paling, a row of sallow teeth in the western sunlight, even the weary fugue of four days hard ride was lifted for an instant as Imoen took in the unbroken ring of wooden stakes, Alhali whole upon the rolling plains. The last four days had been a Hell of frustrated worrying on what they would eventually find and the pressing shame of her failure. Nothing was said outside of what was necessary, sleep taken only when the horses needed to rest and the time had seemed to pass in a blur.

Later Imoen could only really recall snatched images of those final couple of miles. The village growing on the horizon, the hurry to open the gates, Solaufein departing for the stables all held as flashes in her memory, like pictures in a book she had once read. And before she knew it she was standing in that familiar kitchen, Jaheira and Minsc crowded about the other side of the heavy table.

They understood enough to hold their questions for the time being, Imoen avoiding Valygar's eyes as she sank into the closest chair. Her body ached, the grimy film of sweat and dust on her skin feeling all the more noticeable now that she was inside. Jaheira had taken the pot from the hearth behind her and moments later Imoen was breathing in the woody scent, a strong cup of tea warming her hands, Valygar lowering himself onto the bench beside her with a cup of his own.

She and Valygar had not exchanged more than a dozen words since their last confrontation and, to be honest, Imoen was too tired and worried by their current situation to care. Perhaps that was telling in of itself.

'So, you have news?' began Jaheira at length, taking the seat before Minsc while the Rashemi remained standing, 'You have found Balthazar's armies?'

'I-' Imoen sighed, watching the breath ripple across the surface of her tea, 'Yeah, we found them, or we thought we had. It's… complicated.'

'We believe missives were planted on the raiders speaking of an army gathering in the Golhda Valley ready to march northwards towards Ofsten, Parva and then on to the capital,' provided Valygar succinctly. Imoen leaned back, composed enough to continue the tale.

'We sent Adita and Parvidan to inform the Queen's forces and Farn, and tracked the raiders back ourselves to gather more information. But when we got there…'

Another stab of failure, Imoen dropped her face, letting the warm steam from the cup sooth her shame as Valygar pressed on.

'It seems the missives were misdirection, as were the raiders. No supplies were being sent to the Golhda Valley and I doubt any force gathers there. It is only conjecture at this point, but we believe the attacks were to serve as a distraction to focus any forces west while Balthazar marches troops here.'

'Here?' cried Jaheira, 'They mean to attack _Alhali?_'

'Yeah,' confirmed Imoen in something between a laugh and a sigh, 'I guess both me and Fritha is a target too tempting to pass up. To be fair, once we're out the way he can root out any weaker Bhaalspawn at his leisure. Hells, the Queen may change her mind and help him, if it guarantees sparing the rest of her people war.'

Minsc shook his great head. For him to greet imminent combat with such solemnity told Imoen all she needed.

'Young Imoen, we are not ready for a battle.'

'No…' agreed Valygar, 'Solaufein is over at the stables now arranging for riders to take word out to Farn's forces and the Silver Chalice. Perhaps they will arrive in time.'

The thud of the door cut off any further speculation, Minsc opening it upon the gate guard, Jalund, the man red-faced and panting.

'I'm sorry, but there's been an arrival at the gate.'

'Adita?' cried Imoen, suddenly ramrod straight, 'Or Parvidan?'

'No, some priests of Helm – they said they were here to help. We let them through, but two of their number say they know you, they-'

His hurried explanation was ended then, a smaller figure stepping through the doorway behind him, tall straw hat removed to release an abundance of auburn curls, her pale face pulled into an uncertain smile.

'Hello, stranger.'

Imoen was on her feet in an instant, tea slopped over the table as her cup was slammed down. 'Fritha!'

Fritha looked as though she was just resisting backing up, unsure of her welcome until the instant Imoen's arms were flung about her.

'Hello, yourself!' A moment of wary stiffness that melted away and Fritha returned the embrace with an honesty that kept Imoen warm even as they parted. The tears were beginning to well, Imoen laughing through them; she really had missed her friend. 'Ah, I am beginning to believe the Fates do have their eye on you. You've brought some priests?'

'Helmites from Watcher's Keep,' confirmed Fritha evenly, 'they wanted to help. They've gathered them just outside with Anomen.'

A quick embrace shared with Minsc and Jaheira, and Imoen followed Fritha outside. Anomen was at the head of a group of robed figures, Fritha tripping over to stand next to him and making it abundantly clear she would be doing nothing more with these priests than providing them. Imoen took the hint.

'Right then, I'm Imoen – Fritha told me you're here to aid us.'

A hoary old man who was very much in his winter years stepped forward. 'It is so, I am Odren, High Father of the Knights of the Vigil.'

'The _High Father_,' chuckled Imoen amiably, 'What did Fritha do to get someone _that_ important down here?'

Silence greeted the joke – Imoen plunged on. 'Good then, we welcome the help. Jalund, please see them berthed over at the tanners – I think there is still the top floor free there,' –_due to the stench_, her mind added coolly. Jalund nodded, taking the lead as the group moved off to leave only Anomen and Fritha. The pair were wearing twin grins.

'What?' demanded Imoen.

Fritha's smiled broadened. 'Nothing -so what's been happening here?' she continued as the group moved back into house.

'Well,' sighed Imoen, sinking back into her chair and feeling twice her twenty five years, 'Half the Bhaalspawn and refugees in Tethyr have turned up to fight with us, I've got both the Silver Chalice and troops of one of the first lords of Tethyr marching east, just as Balthazar's forces march here.'

Imoen expected an explosion of questions, cries that they weren't ready or demands for troop numbers. But Fritha just glanced to Anomen, the man laying a hand upon her shoulder as Fritha turned back to the room to shrug.

'Well, at least it saves us the walk. When will they get here?'

'We don't know. A couple of days? A tenday? Solaufein-'

Imoen stopped as the man himself stepped through the door.

'I have sent-' the report died in his throat as he saw just who was before him. Fritha smiled, just as uncertainly as she had greeted Imoen, and somehow more sadly too.

'Hello Sola.'

'You are returned,' he said simply, though the longing to the words put a deeper ache behind them.

'I don't think the Fates were going to let Fritha miss this,' joked Anomen to the loaded silence, and he and the girl shared a chuckle. Solaufein seemed to want to say more, but either could not find the words or did not want an audience. With his shoulders set, he stepped further into the room to continue, 'I've sent four messengers out to the armies, and four others have volunteered as outriders. They'll leave at dawn and scout the plains east for Balthazar. I've informed the perimeter guards to be on lookout, but the lands about here cannot hide a force of that size; they must be more than a day away.'

Imoen nodded slowly. She had plans to be put in place before that happened, but for tonight…

'Then tonight we rest. Tomorrow we can gather the village and prepare for a siege.' On instinct she glanced to Fritha. The girl's nod was almost imperceptible, enough to encourage without detracting from Imoen's budding leadership.

'Very good,' agreed Jaheira, at last turning her attention to their new arrivals, 'and what news do you and Anomen bring from the temple, Fritha?'

Fritha bobbed her shoulders. 'Not as much as I would have liked, but the trip was worthwhile. I must reach the Throne of Bone to ascend, as must Melissan, though she'll need me dead before she can do anything with it. As for where the Throne is… that is still something I will need to determine; Sarevok suggested scrying the location, though it could take time.'

'I imagine there are mages in the capital of enough power,' offered Imoen.

'We will have to defeat Balthazar first,' added Valygar grimly. Anomen nodded to the girl at his side.

'And we will. I may go and see if the clerics have settled in – do you wish to attend as well, Fritha?'

She refused, Valygar volunteering to show Anomen where they had been berthed, and with muttered excuses the rest of the room followed them out. Imoen sent Fritha a wan smile.

'Do you want some tea? I think there's some left in the pot.'

'I'd rather have a wash actually. I don't want to end my life reeking like I've already been dead a week.'

Imoen laughed. 'Your priorities always were odd.'

'So you're not going to bother then?' teased Fritha.

'I never said _that_.'

**…**

Anomen rolled his shoulders, enjoying the feel of it as the soaped cloth rubbed a few days' sweat and dust from the back of his neck, Valygar crouched over a brimming bucket a few yards away doing the same. The room about them had been a workroom once, likely where the leathers were boiled, treated and shaped from the appalling smell, the workbenches that lined the walls still scattered with the tools and moulds the former owner would have used. Working leather required a lot of water, it seemed, and as a large room with a water pump already at hand, it had been made a washroom by those occupying the rest of the house. His Helmite brothers and sisters had been safely installed on the top floor of the building, the merc band who had taken the other two floors more than happy to have the company of those who had brought their own supplies. Rahila had been eager to check over Anomen's leg while she still had the chance, and the relative privacy offered by the washroom had been seen as the best place to do so. Anomen had lingered after she had gone to strip down to his linen undershorts for a welcome wash and Valygar, who had seen him over the building in the first place, had joined him.

Anomen leaned forward to scoop water across his chest, his leg giving a protesting twinge. It was better than it was, but he could still put little weight on it before the pain became unbearable. Sister Rahila had said to give it rest and time – unfortunately, it seemed the coming days would give little opportunity for either.

Behind the closed door of the workroom, that familiar trilling voice sent a frisson of dread up his spine.

'Yes, they are both here. It is just through-'

'Do not come in!' Anomen commanded; it came out as more of a yelp.

'I was not planning to,' Sister Benita called through the wood, her voice light with laughter, Solaufein smiling as he and Minsc entered, packs over their shoulders.

'You seem nervous, Anomen,' the drow laughed easily. Anomen's disgruntled snort did not quite hide his shared amusement.

'As would you, had you spent the last tenday travelling with three women whose motto all seems to be _oh, I've seen it all before._'

All four men laughed then, Minsc and Solaufein setting down their packs at the room's edge to unpack soap and washcloths, Minsc fetching two spare buckets to fill one for each of them.

'Surfacers have such strange notions regarding nudity,' continued Solaufein mildly. 'We are all the same underneath.' He hauled off his tunic as if to illustrate fact, Anomen's gaze drawn to the scars that pocked and scored his lean body. The few lines on his face really were nothing in comparison, Solaufein's torso scored with pale sunbursts and intricate webs of burns and cuts and, as the drow stooped to wet his soap, an ugly hatching on his back from where he had been flogged. Solaufein glanced up to arch a pale eyebrow. Anomen seemed to realise all at once he was staring, and returned vigorously to his scrubbing.

'I- you've healed quickly, Solaufein. The scars are well along.'

'Well, enough,' the drow offered, unconcerned either way it seemed, 'Sendai left her mark, but it is possible I will live long enough to see them faded completely -though I will likely have new ones by then.'

Anomen snorted at the drow's dark humour, his attention dropped and considering his own injury. It was unlikely he would see his leg fully what it had used to be, even in two lifetimes, but he was luckier than most, Valygar wincing has he forced his clawed hand to clench a soaped washcloth.

'It seems we have all lost something,' offered Anomen absently, 'perhaps none of us are fated to get through this whole.'

'Boo says such dark thoughts serve no one. Besides, Minsc has lost nothing to this war.'

'Not true,' countered the drow, 'you have lost your homeland.'

Those broad shoulders bobbed what shrug they could considering Minsc's arms were busy scrubbing his stout torso.

'It is no more lost to me than anyone else's – we all may return home after this.'

'Not I,' sighed Solaufein, idly wringing out his sodden mass of long white hair, 'but then, I would not wish it.'

Anomen watched the man comb through the snowy lengths as best he could with his fingers before tying the rest back. The lack of care reminded the cleric of Fritha.

'You speak sometimes of the Underdark as a place, but never of your people. Do you not miss the company of your fellows? The other males of your rank, I mean,' he added quickly. 'Not all relationships within the drow can be antagonistic or your society would stagnate under its own in-fighting.'

'No, but even those of the same rank are rivals. How can I befriend a man when tomorrow, my matron may order his death? Life is easier upon the surface, where people are free to relate with others however they wish –even if some here would want to restrict themselves with their own philosophies.'

Anomen did not miss the pointed look that was thrown to Valygar, and neither did the ranger.

'Perhaps _they_ do not realise the price of this freedom.'

'Quite, but who must pay it with them?'

'What is all this?' asked Anomen, 'What are you two fighting about?'

Valygar shot Solaufein a glare that would have melted iron, but answered all the same. 'Not that is _anyone's_ business, but Imoen and I have decided to end our…' he paused to find a suitably bland euphemism, '_association_.'

Minsc had whipped up from where he had been scrubbing down his sun-starved legs, and Anomen braced for shouting and challenges. He did not anticipate, however, the cold snort.

'Boo says, perhaps this is a good thing, yes, if you speak of it with so little passion.'

Silence as the two rangers glowered at each other. Solaufein and Anomen shared a look and for all the situation's melancholy, Anomen found he was fighting a smile. There was something undeniably ridiculous about one half-naked man scolding another over his treatment of a maid.

'So…' the cleric offered at length, 'an army marches upon us. Do we know anything more?'

'We do not even know _that_ for certain,' answered Solaufein with a shrug, more than ready to seize any other topic of discussion. 'I suppose it may not be an army. Balthazar plans to attack this place though, of that, I am certain.'

'I suppose assassins would be enough to deal with Imoen and Fritha,' speculated Valygar, 'though he would need more men to kill the rest of the Children here. As such, an army of men would make the most sense – unless you are finally putting stock in those tales of dragons and djinn,' he added snidely. Solaufein shot him a look, but let the comment slide.

'Whatever he brings,' continued Anomen, 'I do not imagine we are ready to face it. Even a force of a hundred could overrun the village in hours.'

Solaufein nodded, struggling to pull a tunic back over his lean frame and removing his trousers to wash his lower half.

'Indeed. I mentioned this to Imoen, but she seems to have a plan concerning that.'

'She did not…' started Valygar, only to trail off as he considered the reason why this was the first instance he was hearing of it.

'She would not say what, though,' continued Solaufein, sluicing the lather from his legs, 'only that it was advanced and she didn't want to give those about her false hope in its success.'

'If young Imoen fails,' considered Minsc aloud, 'then Boo says our best hope would be a retreat to the Apagis.'

'To where?' asked Anomen, 'As I recall, the forest was not so welcoming last time.'

'Sendai's stronghold?' offered Solaufein, 'As a temple it was closer to a fort, and easier to defend than here at any rate.'

Minsc was nodding, his bald head glistening with the water he had just scooped over it. 'Yes. A smaller force could hold the village under the pretence we are all within while the rest make their escape, though those left would not survive.'

Another long silence, all contemplating the odds they would face, and Anomen had never been so desperate to see one of Imoen's spells find success.

A knock at the door started each man from his private reverie; that spritely voice had never been so welcome.

'Gentlemen,' Benita called through the wood, 'a Captain Aarin is here to speak with you- something about the night patrols.'

'We will attend him shortly, sister,' Anomen called back, the men about him hurriedly returning to their wash. There was much to occupy them and yet, even for that, Anomen suspected it would be a long, uncertain night.

**…**

Imoen leaned back and let the cool night breeze stir through her damp hair. She and Fritha had washed together in the old laundry room at the back of the house, their clothes scrubbed as well and now flapping fitfully on the lines behind them in the place where they would always be guaranteed a breeze: the small, walled terrace on the back half of the roof. Someone had made a rudimentary bench from a couple of bricks and a wooden plank, Imoen and Fritha sat upon it, side by side, looking out over the moonlit village and watching the torches of the sentries make their patrols of the paling. Imoen felt like there was so much they should be saying, that she was sorry and how she forgave Fritha for her part in all the fights that had brought them there, but the comfortable silence seemed to infer all that and more.

'So,' Imoen sighed at length, only asking for the sake of saying something, 'are you and Anomen back together? You seem very close now.'

Fritha looked surprised. 'What? No, he's like my brother; it's quite nice having one that doesn't want to kill me over the Throne. We are friends again,' she added more seriously, 'and properly this time. He does not love me and I do not need him to. I do not need anyone now.'

Imoen sighed again; Fritha made it all look so easy. The wind was picking up, her wet hair feeling cold on the back of her neck.

'This really is it, isn't it? The last few days we're going to get to spend together like this. Another couple, we could both be dead.'

Yes,' confirmed Fritha unflinchingly, 'Or you be could dead and I could be Bhaal. Or a god. Or a dozen other variations on the same theme.'

'But we'll never sit like this again,' pressed Imoen, 'I just wish there had been more time.'

'Funny that, isn't it?' Fritha smiled, 'Time went so slowly in Candlekeep – we couldn't wait to grow up and leave. Now I long for those days. Everything had such potential back then, the world was unknown, fresh and bright, we could have done anything.'

'You still could…' Imoen swallowed, that seed planted a tenday past slowly coming to bloom in her chest and she felt suddenly very aware of her heartbeat, the soft breath of air on her eyelashes and the scent of the woodsmoke from the many campfires that speckled the village with light. 'Vals told me, about your plan from before we showed up. You could still go with Solaufein. I'm a Bhaalspawn too; I could take the Throne. Fritha, I- for you, I would- If I could spare you this.'

'Oh, Imoen,' Fritha chuckled fondly, 'I love you, you know? But I couldn't do that to you… Besides, with Sarevok giving me advice and the Fates on my side, I think it really has to be me.'

They shared a smile, so loaded with pain that Imoen ended up yelling her frustrations to the sky.

'This just isn't fair! There are so many more powerful in Faerûn and this was left up to us, two girls from Candlekeep, not fifty years between us! Where are the Drizzts and the Khelbens and the bastard Elminsters?'

'You know, I met him in the Gate,' mused Fritha, 'Elminster. He said he wished he could help me with what was to come… I thought he meant the Iron Throne and Sarevok, but he didn't. He meant now. All this time, he knew this was going to happen.'

'Would it have made any difference, if he'd told you about all this?' asked Imoen quietly. Fritha shrugged.

'I suppose my first reaction would have been to sod off the prophesy and take the first portal I could find to the planes. But after I'd considered it, I think I would have stayed. And I would have given into my heart a little more and worried a little less. All this time, I've put off so much, thinking my life would settle down one day, and now it's over.'

Imoen glanced behind them at the faint creak, a smile quirking the edge of her mouth at the sight of him there by the trap door, a lithe shadow haloed in silvery hair, the lute he carried pale as ash in the soft light of the heavens.

'I dunno, Fritha, maybe the Fates have a couple of nice surprises left for us. All right, there?' she greeted, nodding to the figure and standing as Solaufein made his approach. Fritha watched mildly as one friend was exchange for another. Solaufein took Imoen's seat, though he did not sit as close as she had, and Fritha felt the cold air chill her once-sheltered side.

He was watching the sentries as Imoen had, the moonlight drawing his profile in silver. His scars were more noticeable then than in the daylight, but Fritha found no detraction in them. Her eyes traced down the even brow and long nose to lips that were parted slightly, as though he would ask a question of the world. Her beautiful Sola – even with everything else, he was the hardest part of leaving.

Neither spoke until well after the slam of the trapdoor. Her lute was resting on his knees, the man stroking reverent fingers across the ornately inlayed soundboard before, at last, passing it to her with a smile that made her heart ache.

'I thought you might be missing this.'

'Thank you. Did you play it?'

'Yes, a little… I tried to use the time to write the prayer song I wanted, but as the lines came I would find my focus shifting from my Lady to one I hold even dearer.' He caught her with that unrelenting gaze. 'Pages and pages, over days and days; it kept coming back to you.'

Fritha turned away, returning her gaze to the dark plains where in a day or so she would face the last of the Five in battle, sealing her fate and a thousand others. The frank intensity of his emotion was too much, however roundabout the confession, and she fell back on what had seen her through the last twenty years.

'Yes, things have that tendency, nowadays,' she laughed weakly. 'It drives Imoen mad.'

'I missed you,' he pressed, closing the gap between them and she could feel the heat from his body banishing the chill along one side.

'Yes…' she answered, unwilling to voice the vehement echo of his declaration. 'Part of me is glad we only just met a few months back – can you imagine how this would be if we had known each other years? I could not have borne it. Come on,' she added with a rueful humour, rolling her shoulders as though to shrug off the weight of their misery, 'tell me all the gossip. I want to know everything that's been happening since Anomen and I left.'

Solaufein sighed, but heeded her. 'Valygar and Imoen are no longer together.'

Fritha dipped her head, frustrations tutted into her hands.

'She never said.'

'It is likely Imoen did not want to concern you – or perhaps she deems it unimportant in our current concerns. Either way, I believe it hurt her more than she will admit.'

'Oh, Imoen,' Fritha sighed. Solaufein looked worried.

'Was I right to tell you?'

'Definitely; at least now I can talk to her. Besides,' she added with a snort, 'it almost makes a pleasant change having something mundane to fret over, rather than this endless struggle for survival. Thanks for telling me and here,' she eased the lute back onto his lap, his hands resisting for a moment before he finally accepted the gift. 'Just do me one thing in return.'

Fritha did not let him breathe the 'anything' that was on his lips, the girl smiling warmly to ask, 'Play me something – anything you like. I just want to hear your voice.'

xxx

Solaufein awoke with a start, that faint slice of grey sunlight piercing his eyes until the pupils could right themselves. He collapsed back into the pillow with a tired sigh, turning his back on the shuttered window and the dawn that had woken him. He had been late to bed, and his dreams had been no relief, his night spent searching for something he knew was near, but could never find. It was the same torment he suffered in his waking hours, as well. Last night, beneath uncaring stars, he had sung for her as she had asked, Fritha sat in silence beside him until his fingers were stiff and his voice was all but gone. And as the moon was setting, she had smiled and thanked him, and they had returned to the house before parting ways once more. Imoen had once shared the main bedroom with Valygar, but their separation had thrown such arrangements into disarray. Anomen was sharing with the ranger now, Solaufein in the room next door with Minsc, while the three women found a place in what had once been the parlour behind the kitchen.

In the bed at his feet, Minsc rumbled in deepest sleep, and Solaufein had no worries of waking him as he rose to dress. Downstairs, Jaheira was the only one up and in the kitchen, a bowl of porridge on the table before her that looked to be her supper rather than her breakfast from the dark circles that hung beneath her eyes.

'I would say good morning, Jaheira, but perhaps I should be bidding you 'sleep well' instead.'

'I would it were the case,' she yawned, finishing her last mouthful and letting the spoon clatter noisily into the bowl. 'I spent the night patrolling the paling.'

'I thought we had arranged for Captain Aarin of Duke Farn's men to head the night patrols.'

'We did, though for this last tenday, Minsc and I split the day and night between us respectively – it is a hard habit to break, it seems.'

They shared a smile, the drow moving to the hearth to pour out two cups of the tea Jaheira had set to brew.

'So,' he continued, sinking onto the bench opposite her, 'has there been any word?'

Jaheira paused and he watched her close her eyes a moment, inhaling the woody scent of her tea before finally taking a sip to reply, 'The outriders have returned. Two report seeing an army of about two hundred marching under a collection of banners about five leagues away. As near as they are, we may even be able to see them from one of the rooftops before the close of day. I have already sent word to the squad leaders: we will prepare Alhali for a siege -barricades on the outer streets, fortifications of the most solid buildings- but if Imoen's spell fails, retreating to Apagis may be the only hope we have to survive long enough for reinforcements to arrive.'

Solaufein glanced back to the innocuous door next to the hearth and the girl he imagined sleeping fitfully beyond.

'Much rests upon her.'

Jaheira warmed the air with a laugh. 'That it does and I suppose I should be grateful Imoen knows as much; she and Fritha have been out since before the dawn.'

**…**

'I'm glad we started this early,' panted Imoen, the sweat taken from her brow with a grubby hand, 'I'm already boiling and it's not even close to midmorning.'

Fritha nodded, feeling the clamminess all down her back as she straightened. 'It's the crouching that does it – I used to be the same when I was helping to cut out clothes patterns with Beth after one of us had had a growth-spurt.'

Imoen puffed a laugh and they carried on their work for another few yards without pause, the sounds of hammering and shouts as barricades were erected within the village behind drifting to them on the still air.

Two hours they had been down there, crouched a few feet inside the paling and scratching a fine row of repeating runes into the dry earth the staked fence had cleared. They had started at the southern side of the gates, Jalund more than curious about their work, and he had been sure to send a patrol by every half hour or so with cups of water for the _master mages_. And perhaps he was not far off in Imoen's case – if she managed this…

They were about halfway around Alhali now, and their progress was beginning to slow, Imoen pausing yet again in her scribing to straighten with a whimper.

'You all right there?'

'Yeah,' the girl groaned, 'it's just my back. Four days of riding was not gentle on it.'

'No,' offered Fritha, suddenly very intent on the runes she was etching into the dirt with the dull end of her stylus, 'I heard the ride back here wasn't the only thing that's been rough on you lately.'

Imoen paused in her stretching to send her friend a frown. 'Who told?'

'You can't guess?'

A deep sigh, and Imoen was bent over her work once more. 'You know for a man who spent his first two centuries keeping secrets, Sola's certainly _useless_ at it now.'

'Maybe I tired him out with all mine,' Fritha quipped ruefully. 'So… you and Valygar, are you… all right?' she finished lamely. Imoen affected a careless shrug.

'Yeah, I mean, we haven't talked much, or, well, _at all_ since it happened.'

Fritha heard the brittle emotion the breeziness was trying to hide. 'I'm sorry.'

'Nah, don't be. We've got bigger things right now.'

There was no denying that and they working in silence for another half dozen yards, Imoen finally bringing them to another halt to ease out her back. Fritha watched her wince and twist – there seemed a sure way to distract her from the discomfort.

'So what finally brought you and Valygar to a head? Did he find out about your studying?'

'Yes and no,' the girl evaded, 'I-' A deep sigh, Imoen shifting her gaze to the village behind. 'Valygar has some things of his own he's dealing with on that front. Add a dangerous mage with a penchant for recklessness to the mix and I think _us_ just became too much for him to handle.'

'So was he angry when he found out about your studies?' pressed Fritha; in her mind, the explosion of tempers would have been worse than any spell. But Imoen's face had suddenly taken on a blank look, the girl shifting her knees on the hard ground.

'No, actually… he wasn't anything. It was like he'd already given up. Which I guess was kind of funny,' she added with a quavering laugh, 'since I'd forced myself to the conclusion we were worth fighting for – oh, damn it!' she exploded suddenly, the blunted arrow shaft she was writing with thrown to the ground. 'Oh, why him? Why like this? There were so many others before, why was he the one to break my heart?'

'Oh, Imoen,' Fritha cried, somewhat strangled as two arms were thrown about her neck. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't- There now. It's all right; it's allowed to hurt.'

'And now Balthazar is coming, and I sent the armies east, and everything-couldn't he have held on just a bit longer? Bastard…'

Fritha cradled her against her shoulder until her shudders had calmed, Imoen drawing back with a watery smile.

'Sorry. I thought I'd been doing so well, too.'

'You have _nothing_ to apologise for,' pressed Fritha. But Imoen shook her head, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

'Yeah, I do. Not now, but well, before… You were going through all this stuff on your own and when I found out, I turned on you as well and just added to it.'

'I shouldn't have lied,' Fritha sighed, feeling the regrets anew, 'you had every right to be angry.'

'Yeah, but not the way I was. I resented you – it felt like you had all the power and I was just helpless, like back in the asylum. But you're just as much a victim as the rest of us.'

Fritha ignored the twinge in her back to draw herself up, feeling the weight of it low in her stomach.

'We're none of us victims, Imoen, and I think it's about time we showed Tethyr that.'

A grin between them, Imoen scrubbing at her face to hunch over her work with renewed vigour.

'Right.'

It took a total of four hours bent double in the baking sun to work their way from one side of the gates to the other, and it seemed everyone in Alhali had gathered on the meadow to watch as Imoen took up position before the open gates. Solaufein weaved his way through the press that Jaheira and Minsc were already struggling to order back to a safe distance. Fritha was standing outside the throng in the cleared area a good few yards back from the gates, watching Imoen work the kinks from her shoulders and generally limber up.

'You have finished your runes, then.'

Fritha glanced to him with a smile. 'Yes, and Gods, am I glad it's over! My _back…'_

'What does Imoen plan?' asked Solaufein, hands already kneading a tight spot between her shoulders. The girl leaned into his work with a gratifying sigh.

'Something that I doubt even Gorion-' Fritha shook her head. 'By Mystra, if she pulls this off…'

'Solaufein,' came Jaheira's call. Solaufein reluctantly released Fritha and turned to see the druid moving the crowds about her back, the nod she threw to him indicating that he should be doing the same.

Fritha watched the drow leave. He was better at crowd control than Jaheira – if nothing else he only had to ask once. That stiffly stoic presence at her back and her observations were cut short as she turned to send Valygar a polite smile.

'Come to watch the show?' She took his silence in her stride, Fritha nodding to Imoen to continue, 'I know about you two… Imoen doesn't blame you, you know?'

'I-' he faltered, suddenly looking anywhere but at her, 'it was foolish to even try.'

Fritha merely shrugged. 'Maybe, but wonderful things can happen when we do. I know things are hard now, for both of you, but don't rule it out completely. She still loves you. And you,' she chucked, fondly recalling one of many mornings that had found them together in the Coronet so long ago, 'I once remember you soberly admitting that you did not know as much about yourself and the world as you once thought. Perhaps you will look back one day and realise that this was just another of those times.'

A hush about them; Fritha turned back to the gate in time to see Imoen grin.

'All right, everyone, stand back!'

The girl dropped to her knees where they had first started their work and Fritha could feel the static fizzing like the air before a storm as the energies built between Imoen's raised hands. Her short hair was fluffed about her head like a dandelion puff, her clothes rippling in some unseen breeze while her eyes and then face were slowly lost to the glare of the icy blue energy that crackled and swelled above her. An instant to let it peak in sun-like brightness and Imoen slammed the charge down into the runes. It was like a touchpaper, a wall of blue fire igniting to streak about the ring of runes and encircling Alhali in the eerie light.

A soft sigh from the crowd; a few people were clapping, the sound suddenly drowned out by the deep growl that trembled through the ground beneath. Imoen was on her feet and staggering back, the crowd who had been once so eager to press forward hurriedly doing the same as a wall of earth rumbled up before them in a cloud of dust and grit. A stunned silence and then that explosion of noise; the cheer about them was deafening.

'She…' gasped Valygar. Fritha's reaction was much less subdued, a fist thrown to the clear sky.

'Yes! She did it!'

Imoen was grinning, enjoying the surrounding adulation as she weaved on unsteady feet like the town drunk, and Fritha reached her just in time to prevent the girl pitching headfirst into the grass. Valygar bolted from the crowds.

'Imoen!'

'It's all right,' Fritha assured him, Imoen's head now resting in her lap where she was laid unconscious upon the grass, 'we thought this might happen; she's just exhausted. We need to get her to bed. She's all right,' Fritha continued, raising her voice to call to the muttering spectators behind, 'just fainted. Someone bring a stretcher.'

At her side, Valygar seemed to be wrestling with something when-

'It is fine, I will-'

He lifted Imoen seemingly without effort, the girl lolling like a rag doll as he bore her back through the clamouring crowds. Minsc's glower followed him.

**…**

Jaheira let calloused fingers trail lightly over the baked earth wall, the surface rough and grainy like sandstone, and just as solid. It had reached twelve feet before it had finally stopped growing, while on the outer side was a wide trench of excavated earth, along with the now rather uneven paling as an extra level of protection.

'It is impressive -quite beyond any of the state-changing magics I have ever seen.'

'Imoen really outdid herself this time,' offered Fritha next to her, 'and, bless her, she'll be feeling it tomorrow.' The girl smiled and they turned to head back towards Alhali, leaving other villagers marvelling at their new defence as they had been. 'Is Valygar still in the kitchen?'

'Yes,' snorted Jaheira, 'and Minsc has since joined him. Last I checked, he was giving the man a rather stern lecture on the importance of _plain intent_ when it comes to young maids.'

The pair shared a chuckle; Minsc's overprotective streak had always been endearing.

'I don't think he need worry,' continued Fritha, 'Imoen knows where she stands there -better even than Valygar at the moment, I fancy. Ho, Solaufein!'

Fritha raised a hand in greeting to the man who had just marched from the village on a heading to where the paling gate had once been, and he altered his course to make for them instead.

'How goes it?' asked Jaheira once he was within a distance where she did not have to raise her voice.

'Well enough. Valygar and Minsc are back out in the village helping to secure the last of the barricades. Only this one here at the east and the smaller one to the west will we have the option of opening once they are complete. The rest will be fixed and nigh on immovable.'

'That should secure the village itself,' offered Fritha.

'Yes, and with this wall…' he murmured, eyes tracing the length as his mind no doubt went over a dozen or so strategies that used it to their advantage. 'It certainly levels the field, does it not?'

'Where are you headed now?' continued Jaheira.

He pointed to the gap in the walls where the paling gate had once stood.

'As you can see, we will be needing a new and much improved gate to secure the break there. I am dispatched to reckon the height and width we will need – I have an eye for it, apparently.' He paused, something of the uncertain to his stance and he could not quite meet her gaze as he continued, 'you could join me if you wish, Fritha – a second pair of eyes is always welcome.'

Amber eyebrows pulled into a hesitant frown; Jaheira just resisted the urge to shove the girl towards him. But it seems her encouragement was not required, Fritha nodding eventually to close the step to his side.

'Yes, all right, I… I'd like that.'

A round of farewells and the pair were off, pulling away from her down the slight slope of the meadow, the awkwardness fading as they went and Jaheira did not believe she imagined their entwined hands before they were halfway to the gates.

The rest of the day was spent similarly to the previous one, the villagers taking stock of their supplies and gathering them in set locations in preparation for rationing should it be required, and securing the barricades until it seems every spare stick of furniture in Alhali was outside and blocking its streets. Jaheira took charge overseeing the filling of the ditch outside the walls with spare firewood, hay and other flammables ready for an attack. Most of those who were not fighting were eager to continue their drills. One of the first things she and Minsc had done when Alhali was left to their charge was to put the men into set squads, the citizens mixed in with those mercs and scouts who had more experience, and when dusk at last fell, and the village retired to their berths for a meal and rest, there was a definite sense of hope to the air.

Fritha had wanted Jaheira and Solaufein to meet those with whom she had spent the last tenday, and dusk had found their group seated with the priests about a large fire in the tannery's backyard. Odren and Rahila had retired to the house as soon as the meal was over, Brother Ivek and Sister Maganda busy on the edge of the circle washing the dishes, while the rest of their brethren chatted with Fritha, Anomen, Solaufein and Minsc. The young woman, Benita, was still in awe of the wall they could just see over the barricade to the north, her bright wonder pleasing to see.

'I still cannot believe… I surely have never seen anything like it.'

'Does Mistress Imoen still rest?' inquired the dark-skinned Brother Deepik politely. Jaheira dipped a nod.

'Yes, the spell took much out of her.'

'Oh, will she know where to find you all should she awaken?' asked Benita.

'Do not worry, one of our company has remained at the house in case of that.'

Minsc snorted, the noise enough to startle the hamster on his lap to send Boo scurrying for the nearest pocket. 'Such care when young Imoen is insensible of it – Valygar should do well to have such thought of her feelings when she is _awake_.'

'Minsc,' sighed Fritha, 'Such things can be more complicated than they may seem. It doesn't make the feelings any less.'

She seemed to be avoiding a glance to the man next to her as she said this, and for his part Solaufein allowed her to change the subject swiftly afterwards.

'Right, is anyone for cards?'

Benita was, as was Deepik and the rest of their group, only Anomen bowing out to rise stiffly and limp over to her side. Jaheira watched him grimace as he eased himself down next to her.

'Your leg still troubles you?'

'Not as it did, it merely takes a while to warm up after I have been sitting. That said, I do not know how much use I will be in any siege.'

'If Alhali comes under siege, then most of us will be redundant while the walls hold and afterwards-' Jaheira shrugged impassively, 'you are a knight and we have horses enough – you can be mounted.'

Anomen snorted, seemingly amused by her straightforward approach. 'You are right, of course, and I should not dwell upon what cannot be done, only on what can.'

Jaheira allowed herself a smile. There had once been a time where this injury would have been the end of the world -certainly the end of everything worthwhile within it. Anomen had matured from a bitter young man into someone she was proud to know, and she told him so.

'I do not know about that,' he muttered, suddenly bashful. 'I do wonder what the next few days will bring though. Even if we defeat Balthazar, we have still Melissan to find and the Throne to reach and then…' He trailed off, pained as he glanced to the girl who was laughing so merrily with Benita.

'And then Fritha will become something else…' Jaheira provided for him, 'and we must prepare ourselves for the possibility it will _not_ be benevolent.'

'You think we can fight a god?' he exclaimed, though he kept his voice low.

'No, Anomen, gods cannot just come down to Faerûn and rampage about as they please – the other deities would not allow it. The vengeance brought by Bhaal of which the prophesies speak will be wrought by men, just as all other evils of this land, of that I am sure. The fights we faced in reaching our goal may only be the beginning.'

'We will need allies,' he concluded, 'I am fortunate there are still those within the Order who count me as a friend.'

'Indeed – I was angry at the time, but I am glad I have not ended all ties with the Harpers.'

The conversation seemed to lull between them as each returned to their own thoughts of the coming struggles. On the other side of the fire, Benita was giggling at some quip of Solaufein's.

'My, even if I had thought to meet a drow before, I never would have imagined them like you. When did you come to join Fritha? She has not mentioned you in the tale, but then we have not yet left the City of Caverns.'

Solaufein looked expectedly confused. 'The sahuagin city?'

'Benita wished to hear of my travels,' Fritha explained, adding for Benita's benefit, 'I met Solaufein in Ust Natha, a drow city. It is in the next chapter, so to speak.'

'And you have travelled together ever since?' Benita trilled, suddenly clapping her hands together, 'Oh, Fritha, is _he_ the friend you promised to take to Candlekeep after the war?'

Fritha looked as though she had just been punched in the abdomen and was trying not to let it show, her grimace pulled back to a thin-lipped flinch as Minsc glowered his disapproval at her continuing lies.

'I- yes, he is.'

'And I look forward to it,' murmured Solaufein just as bleakly. A brief flicker of concern from the now-disquieted Benita, and their game continued without further interruption. Across the fire, Anomen caught her eye, and Jaheira allowed herself the wince the girl could not.


	59. Upon the Field

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Upon the Field**

From empty dreams of her deserted plane, Fritha awoke to a moment of disorientation until her eyes found the head of dark chestnut waves a few yards from her. Milky light was filtering through the closed shutters, opening the whitewashed walls in sickly grey. Imoen was curled upon the cot next to hers just as she had been when Fritha had dragged herself to bed late the night before, eyes sore from woodsmoke and lack of sleep. The scent clung to her clothes as she pulled on her tunic, Fritha feeling her eyelids close in that warm, linen cavern. The yielding pillow was luring her back, the desire for sleep overwhelming, and it took a monumental force of will to pull the tunic over her head and emerge blinking again in the pale light.

The rest of her clothes pulled on and hair combed through, Fritha stumbled, at last, into the silent kitchen. The water pump at the sink allowed for a bracing wash of her face and hands, and she was just settling at the table with a bowl of the porridge someone had left over the hearth when Solaufein stepped through the front door. He looked tense, his white hair tied hastily back and clothes thrown on in a mirror of herself, those grey eyes fluttering slightly as they found her.

'Morning,' she murmured hoarsely. He did not bother returning the greeting, slipping into the seat next to her.

'Fritha, have you been outside yet?'

'No… Balthazar's forces have arrived, I suppose?'

Solaufein merely nodded and for a moment, only the listless chime of her spoon against the bowl broke the silence. Their hopes of reinforcements arriving in time were fading.

'How many men?' she asked eventually, when the idea of another spoonful of congealed porridge became more unappetising than the question.

'From the number of tents and horses I would say between one hundred and fifty and two hundred. At worst we will be outnumbered by fifty men, though of their skill…' Solaufein trailed off, unwilling to point out that even only hundred elite troops would have had little trouble in a stand up fight with their untrained forces. 'They brought no siege weapons though,' the drow added, 'I suppose they did not imagine they would need them attacking a village.'

Fritha allowed herself a slight smile, proud of Imoen's handiwork and what they had all accomplished in her absence whatever happened that day. The bowl rattled as she pushed it away on the pitted table top; she could have eaten more, but what little hunger she had felt was sated, and she had never like porridge.

'Do you wish to see for yourself?' continued Solaufein, 'The others are outside already and assigning tasks to our forces – Jaheira believes it is best to keep them occupied and leave less room for fears to grow.'

Fritha shook her head and leaned forward to rest her forehead her upon her folded arms. Her stomach felt full; the weariness she fought past to escape her bed had caught up with her.

'I should wait for Imoen,' she yawned into the table, unable to help but start at his hand on her back, the sudden contact catching her off guard in that instant of unfocused vulnerability, though she was eased as he began to rub in smooth circles.

'You wish to return to bed?'

'No,' she sighed, closing her eyes to lose herself in the sensation of his hand, 'I am fine here.'

**…**

A clattered slam she felt all through her forehead, and Fritha jerked awake to find Imoen sending her a sheepish smile from the other end of the table, porridge flecked about the bowl she had just dropped onto the surface. 'Sorry,' the girl grinned, setting down her teacup with far more care and sinking into a chair, 'my cup was hot and I needed to swap hands.'

Fritha forgave her with another yawn, the three talking of nothing as Imoen ate, and Fritha was glad when they finally stepped outside, the rush of cool morning air sweeping away the lingering cobwebs. It was as Solaufein had said, the camp a hive of activity as men and women made the last checks of the defences and improved the barricades. Many stopped as they saw them pass, a myriad of salutes thrown up by those who had like never given them before. Imoen nodded to each, but there was no time to pause and bolster any confidences just then. Fritha could see them as they left the village proper, her group gathered before the wall besides the gates, Minsc and Valygar already standing upon the short section of scaffolding someone had hastily erected beside it, while Jaheira barked orders to those about her. There was no sign of Anomen though –he was likely organising the clerics.

'Report,' demanded Imoen, for the benefit of those about them. Jaheira nodded south to the expanse of trees that seemed to loom ever in darkness.

'They came from the south, using the shadow of the Apagis, before cutting across to make camp to the east. The perimeter guards said they began to arrive just before the predawn, though I saw little point in waking you.' Jaheira gestured to the scaffold next to them. 'See for yourself.'

Imoen was first to ascend the rough wooden steps of the scaffold, Fritha following to watch the eastern plains rise slowly into view. The dawn had risen on scores of dun canvas tents, their peaks corrugating the plains east, far out of reach of any bow or spell. Even their camp seemed larger than the village; Fritha heard the same hopelessness she felt in the voice beside her.

'What in Hells are we going to do?' murmured Imoen.

'We could likely hold out for a tenday before supplies ran out,' offered Valygar, 'Farn or the Chalice could still arrive in time – something Balthazar likely knows as well.'

Imoen made no answer, unless her sigh was to be counted. Fritha narrowed her eyes as the early sunlight caught on the coruscating, dew-speckled sprawl. There was still a chance, however slim, that the monk would see reason.

'First, we will talk. Minsc, follow me and bring your bow, I will need someone to send the mess-'

'Look,' shouted Imoen, Fritha whipping back to take in the scene the girl was describing for those below, 'a rider from their camp- they're carrying a flag.'

'So they wish to parley, as well,' confirmed Jaheira. Valygar followed the streaming white banner with a scowl.

'What is Balthazar up to?'

Fritha shrugged inwardly and continued her descent. 'There is only one way to find out. I-'

'No,' cut in Jaheira, pushing past Valygar and Imoen to catch her, '_I _will go with Minsc to arrange this – it could be a trap.'

Solaufein had taken Minsc's place on the scaffold, their four watching the pair leave the gates, diminishing across the plains until they were no more than dark shapes against the fresh green grasslands. The outrider's horse was flighty and wanted more of a ride than its task required, the beast pawing and fidgeting as its rider spoke to the two newcomers. A half hour later and the mount was at last being given the ride it wanted, its thundering passage kicking up a hail of dirt as it was charged back to its camp, while Minsc and Jaheira had stepped into the shadow of the walls once more. Fritha was at the gate to meet them.

'It is arranged,' announced Jaheira for the small crowd who had gathered, 'Fritha, you can bring two others and so can Balthazar, you will meet at where we agreed it, beyond the reach of any arrow or spell in an half hour's time. Balthazar's men are setting up an awning now.'

'Fine,' Fritha nodded, 'Solaufein, Jaheira-'

'Wait!' cried Imoen, torn between indignation and worry at being left behind, and both died resignedly as Fritha shook her head.

'You need to stay here, Imoen.'

'I…' Imoen sighed and nodded, 'I know. Be careful.'

Time seemed to race by, Fritha returning to the house to swap her sandals for her boots, discard her hat and try to make herself look at least a little more martial before she was back at the gates, Jalund nodding his respect as he and four others heaved them ajar. The sun was well past the horizon now, the light warm and pleasant against her face. A breeze was stirring through the curls at her temples, drying the dew-soaked grass. It still held the chill of night, though it would not last, not from the cloudless blue sky that arced over them – it would grow into a fine day. No one spoke as they walked. In her peripherals she could tell Jaheira was frowning, Solaufein wearing the same unreadable expression he always wore outside of those who knew him well. It did not waver as he noticed her glance to him, though she could not mistake the brush of fingers at her wrist. A flutter in her chest and she returned her attention to the plain canvas awning that grew ever closer; she really should have let him take her east.

Balthazar was there already, seated on a chair that looked as though it folded smaller for travel, a large warrior and robed male with a shaved head -a monk or mage, she was not sure- standing either side of him. Balthazar himself looked much the same: wiry, little taller than she and older by almost a decade. His skin was darker from life outside the monastery, camouflaging the tattoos upon his shaved skull and, in her stomach his presence awoke not the usual worry, but a sudden draw. She could feel the essence they held clamouring to be reunited, though if the monk felt the same he did not show it, merely nodding as she took the chair that had been set opposite. Balthazar smiled; there was no welcome in it.

'I am surprised you actually attended – negotiation is not the Children's way.'

Fritha snorted. His pious cruelty, born of a misplaced wisdom, irked more than Abazigal's arrogance or Sendai's tyranny.

'Well, that is merely one of many misconceptions you hold about our kin -or did you think you were the only one who could fight the taint?'

'No, but I am the only one who can purge it from this land, of this I am certain.'

**…**

Imoen narrowed her eyes, a hand raised against the eastern glare as she tried to make out the air of their discussion from the interplay of two irregular dark outlines beneath the distant awning. She wished Fritha had not seen fit to take the two with the best eyesight with her. Valygar and Minsc were standing on either side and watched in equal futility, it seemed, from their occasional sighs, the sounds coming strange from such imposing figures. At the gates below, quite the crowd had gathered. It was like a uniform; each was wearing the same mismatched armour with weapons that looked decades older than the current styles, four dozen voices all muttering over the same questions.

'What are they doing?'

'Are they still talking?'

'Maybe they'll come to an agreement.'

'Maybe we won't have to fight at all.'

Imoen fought a wince and kept her eyes on the plains. Perhaps this was why Balthazar called for a parley; nothing eroded a resolved heart like hope.

**…**

Balthazar was ramrod straight, his shoulders making no contact with the back of his chair, the man imbued with the blazing righteousness of his words. Fritha reclined slightly and levelled him with an even gaze.

'It is not a taint that requires purging – given time all the Children can be allowed to die a natural death, with no more danger to Faerûn than presented by any of her peoples.'

'You are mistaken,' he retorted. 'As they die- as _we_ die- the essence will slowly collect at the Throne, until Bhaal rises again or, worse still, another moves to take His place, and vengeance will be released upon this land.'

'The Throne could not be taken by Bhaal or any other if it had already been claimed,' countered Fritha. Balthazar swelled with the predicted outrage.

'You- I thought I had you understood, but you are just as the others: hungry for a power that is not your own!'

'I do not desire the Throne, Balthazar, but I _will_ take it if it will spare the others.'

'So you can rise as Murder reborn?' he damned her.

'No! There is a prophecy – one strong enough can take the power, bend it to their will. I would be a god, but I need not be evil. I was chosen for this.'

But Balthazar merely sighed, a look of frowned resignation spared for the monk at his side. 'You may believe you can tame the power, but I have no such faith. You will be consumed whatever your _noble_ intentions. Do you realise the horror your mercy would bring upon this land?'

It was Fritha's turn to swell. 'And do you realise the horror your _blindness_ is causing? The attacks you've already committed, the war you plan? And have you forgotten Melissan? At every step, all she has had to do is sit back and watch the Children kill each other, while she awaits the Throne! If we fight now and one of us dies-'

'Melissan is no threat!' snapped Balthazar, seemingly angry at her name; perhaps her previous deception still stung. 'She would need the essence from both of us to ascend. After I have removed you and your sister, Imoen, I will take my fight to Tethyr and purge all those of our tainted blood from the face of Faerûn.'

'And then what?' demanded Fritha, 'You and Melissan will have to battle over the Throne and one of you will have to take it, or Bhaal will return.'

'Not so.' Balthazar was smiling again, slight and smug. 'Did you really believe me to be so short-sighted? Once all the essence has been gathered at the Throne, I have no plans to take it, but destroy it. I know of your history, Fritha, Daughter of the Twin Temples. But I, too, was chosen and not by Bhaalites and their associated evils! I have been raised from birth to be the instrument of this world's salvation. The Brotherhood of Uljit has, since the Time of Troubles, been devoted to this end. And when the time came, and Bhaal's foul seeds began to grow, our monastery went out and sought a child to raise in power that he may be the final sacrifice to end Bhaal's taint upon this land. When all other Children are defeated and the Essence is gathered for me, I will, within the rituals devised by Master Uljit so many decades ago, take my own life.'

'And Bhaal's essence would die with you…' Fritha breathed. He seemed pleased by her awe.

'Exactly. You see now it is the only way to assure that Bhaal is not resurrected.'

'Melissan could still be a problem…' she murmured distractedly, not with any dissent to his plans, but with a blossoming feeling of their potential. Beside her, the others had tensed. 'If she killed you before the ritual or enough of the essence had been collected by your slaughter of the Children…' Fritha straightened, 'I have a proposal, Balthazar. Join with me. We can seek out Melissan and remove her threat. Once she is defeated, we can take our own lives together.'

Solaufein had gripped the back of her chair, and she could feel his anger trembling all through her shoulders.

'And the other Children?' considered Balthazar, 'Imoen?'

'Left to live out their lives as they are,' she answered firmly, 'With our essence combined with what is already collected and then destroyed, there would not be enough left in those surviving Children to raise Bhaal or anything else. We can avoid this war, Balthazar,' she pressed, almost pleading, 'all these needless deaths.'

He drew back with a scoff. 'We will defeat Melissan and you will merely betray me afterwards, allowing me to take my own life, while you take the Throne.'

'No, I swear it!' Fritha cried, leaning forward and wanting nothing more than to reach out and grab him, to force him to agree. 'All I strive for, all I have ever strived for is to see Bhaal dead!'

Balthazar watched her, something about his face closing as though he wanted to give nothing away.

'If that is so, daughter, then there is a simple way to end this…'

Fritha drew back, hearing the intimation behind that benign smile. It took all her will to force her voice louder than a squeak.

'You mean?'

He met her gaze with serene dark eyes. 'Surrender to me now, and I will spare the rest.'

'I-' she faltered, her face burning in her sudden reluctance, 'just me? Everyone else can go free?'

'Well, no,' the monk conceded, 'as I said, the other Children will have to surrender, as will your Imoen-'

Fritha felt heartily ashamed of her flooding relief. 'Then you know my answer. You have your offer, Balthazar – The others are to be spared and I will take my own life with you after we have destroyed Melissan. If you do not trust me to be my own end, the answer is simple; my friends will supervise you, and your monks can supervise me.'

At her side, the drow's will finally snapped. 'I will not stand by-!'

'_Solaufein!_ Do we have an agreement?'

A long sigh, Balthazar avoiding her eyes as he drew away, his shoulders finally meeting the back of the chair, and in that moment he looked exhausted.

'No, there is only one way. But if you wish to spare those within your walls who are untainted, send them out now and they will be unharmed.'

The desire to grab him was still there but now accompanied by the burning need to crush his sinewy throat and watch as his life left those cold, soulless eyes. Fritha curbed her murderous intent to spit at his feet.

'We are none of us tainted and I will not condemn a single man to the sword for your delusions! You will destroy as much of this land saving it, as Bhaal would in his vengeance. You are as corrupted as any of the Five and you are _wrong_. I _am_ chosen. Not by Bhaal or the Fates or even the Gods. But by me!'

The chair overturned to the grass with a soft thud, Fritha already turned and stalking out into the sun drenched plains.

'I chose, and I _will_ end this!'

**…**

The crowds at the gate parted before Fritha, their wary muttering like the buzz of a hornets' nest as she stalked through, Jaheira and Solaufein at her heels.

'Fritha!'

Imoen was hurrying to halt her, the girl dropping from the scaffold steps at about halfway down and the crowd split again to let her pass.

'Fritha, what happened?'

'The talks failed,' she snapped, her voice carrying clear across the throng, 'I offered everything I could: my own surrender, an alliance to take Melissan – he will accept nothing but our total destruction.'

Imoen raised her fist to this challenge. 'Then we fight!'

The roar about them was deafening; in any other circumstances, Fritha would have felt heartened. In the commotion, Imoen had let her façade of the general drop, her frown making no disguise of her worries.

'Fritha, is something-?'

Fritha could not let her finish. 'Imoen, I'm sorry, but I need to– the others can tell you the rest.'

And she left Jaheira there, the crowds remaining to watch the two women's exchange, and the village seemed almost deserted by comparison, the man who had refused to be so easily dismissed still dogging her passage.

'Fritha! _Orn dos_- Fritha!'

'_What?_' she snapped, the instant to whirl and taking in that solemn face all she needed to calm her. A rueful sigh. 'What is it, Sola?'

'When you swore to Balthazar just now, that you would take your life with him - you were lying, were you not? You would not have – _Fritha!_' he demanded as she made to continue their path.

'It hardly matters now, he said no.'

'But Fritha!'

Her cry seemed all the louder as she stalked into the sudden confines of the kitchen. 'But _what_, Solaufein? Either way I am gone.' Another sigh, the girl collapsing into the nearest chair, Imoen's empty porridge bowl still on the table before her. 'I mean, at least that way Bhaal really couldn't have come back… All these people wouldn't have had to die.'

'They are not dead yet,' Solaufein challenged, 'and neither are you! You need to fight this, until the very end, not surrender to death on the whim of some monk!'

'Perhaps…' she conceded, 'but we have our fight now, and when we face him, it will be a slaughter and we both know it. Just as we both heard what Balthazar said about letting the _untainted_ go free unharmed.' Fritha dropped her chin to her cupped hands. 'Half the people in here aren't Bhaalspawn…'

'They came here to fight of their own free will,' Solaufein reminded, trying to catch her eye.

'Yes, and they'll stay and die, because I won't be telling them they have another choice.'

She could not see his face, but she could hear the incredulity in his tone.

'Is _this_ what is upsetting you? You feel guilty that you will not allow half our troops to _desert? _Fritha, it may seem cruel, but we can do no else lest we doom us all.'

'Maybe… I-' she faltered, embarrassed to admit it, but when it seemed Balthazar was offering all their lives in exchange for her own, she had been afraid, she had _wanted_ him to refuse her. It was not dying that frightened her, so much as the finality of it. With taking the Throne, or even this suicide pact, there was always a chance. It was in the future, distant and unrealised. Something could change in the meantime, something… Her thoughts spiralled away from her. Foolish girl – so close to the end and still she clung to hope.

'Fritha?'

Solaufein had sunk onto the bench beside her, the man stooped and searching her face in vain. She sent him a weak smile, easing herself up again and he followed her the few short steps to the parlour where she had awoken mere hours before. The cool grey space was drawing her back to that familiar cot, a hand groped behind to give the drow a reassuring pat on the arm.

'I'm sorry, Sola, I know I'm not making sense. I'm going to get some sleep -just to clear my head. Will you wake me in a couple of hours?'

He sighed, his disappointment at her cool dismissal evident even as he nodded, his words drowned out in the creak of the closing door.

'Of course. Sleep well.'

xxx

Dusty light was filtering through the shutters, a soft yellow sliver between each wooden slat. Fritha let her eyes focus upon it, while the sounds of the house coalesced about her as she slowly awoke. The village outside seemed quieter than it should, that and the frail light leaving her to conclude it was much later in the day than she had wanted to wake. In the kitchen next door, she could hear the murmur of voices. Cocooned there in her blankets, the world outside seemed far colder than it likely was, and for a time, she just lay there, listening and trying not to dwell on any thought overlong.

It was no use though, and a quarter hour later saw her braving the cold to open the door to the kitchen. The contrast to the blue-grey silence she had just left could not have been more pronounced. Steam poured from the pot that was bubbling over the hearth, hanging in golden clouds in the lamplight to give the air the humid warmth of somewhere far more exotic.

All but Jaheira were seated about the large scrubbed table, the druid instead stooped over the hearth and tending a cauldron of bubbling stock. Those seated were hardly idle, Solaufein and Minsc making themselves useful chopping vegetables, while Anomen worked similarly on a leg of cured pork. Imoen was on her feet before her chair and just setting down the pot from where she had poured out a round of tea for everyone, the girl passing a cup to Valygar before glancing back to be the first to note her.

'Fritha, you're awake.'

'I tried to wake you at noon as you asked,' Solaufein hastened, 'but you were reluctant to be roused.'

He shifted slightly to make room on the bench next to him and Fritha took a seat with a nod. She vaguely recalled stirring at one point to Solaufein's face and felt a mild prickle of irritation that he had not persevered in waking her, but she let it subside – he never was one to press her in anything, even if it was for her own good.

'We only just got together ourselves,' continued Imoen, pouring her a cup of tea from the waiting pot, 'Most of us were running drills, and Jaheira was overseeing the build of more scaffolds at the wall and securing the new gate.'

'We were discussing tactics for when Balthazar makes his move,' provided Valygar succinctly.

'How many days before Farn or the Silver Chalice has a chance of reaching us?' asked Fritha. Anomen drew a sip of tea and shrugged evenly.

'Depending on how far east they had managed to get, another four at least – large forces can only travel as quickly as their slowest members.'

'Something of which Balthazar must be aware,' added Valygar, 'even if he believes we only sent for reinforcements once our outriders reported back with news of his advance.'

'He will attack,' concluded Minsc grimly. At his side, Jaheira heaved a sigh and nodded.

'Indeed, and soon; the longer Balthazar delays, better chance that reinforcements will arrive to rout him.'

'But with a wall about Alhali now, we will not be the easy target he likely assumed he would be facing,' added Solaufein.

'We need to use the walls young Imoen summoned to our gain,' agreed Minsc, making a line of four chopped carrot disks on the table before him. 'As much as we must keep his forces out, Balthazar must strive to get in. If he has mages in his number, he could try to break a hole in them.' He removed a piece from the carrot wall. 'Balthazar would then order his forces to rush the breach.'

'If they did breach the walls,' continued Jaheira from the hearth, 'it would be up to Imoen and our archers to concentrate their fire there to hold as many outside as possible, while our ground forces dealt with any who had made it inside. We would fight to hold the walls for as long as possible – Balthazar would likely use the breach as a distraction to try and get his forces over somewhere else along the walls.'

Jaheira scooped Minsc's wall into rest of the carrots he had chopped and dumped her brimming handfuls into the pot. Minsc looked disappointed, Anomen taking up the tale.

'The only other way for Balthazar's forces to get inside would be to scale the walls. I do not know if they will have brought siege ladders, but with the proximity of the Apagis, it would not be unreasonable for them to make some.'

'Such an attack would be more scattered,' continued Valygar, 'and likely hit on all sides. The people here have built another eight scaffolds about the walls to act as towers for the archers. Those points of attack, combined with the combustibles we have thrown into the ditch outside should work together to keep enemy forces from scaling the walls with any ease.'

Jaheira gave the stew another dose of pepper and added the sliced meat offering, 'If his forces get past the walls in any numbers though, then our only choice will be to pull back the main body of our troops to the village. We will divide our forces among the first barricades, then the second, but if the fighting falls back to Alhali, it is doubtful we will last long. We have a hidden cellar prepared in one of the houses for those who will not be part of the fighting to retreat to should the worst happen. It contains enough food and water to see them through until reinforcements arrive, as long as it remains undiscovered. Imoen can collapse part of the walls to allow the rest of our troops to break for the Apagis and, of course, we have already decided on a contingency plan to assure _your_ escape.'

It took Fritha a moment to realise this last line had been delivered to her. '_S-Sorry?'_

Imoen straightened imperceptibility, readying herself for the expected protests.

'Jaheira and me discussed it earlier, then we put it to the others -we all agree. If Balthazar needs to kill you, then it stands you need to survive.' Imoen sighed, something about her expression softening as she admitted, 'I know I'm not the one who can end this, Fritha. If Alhali is lost, then our priority needs to be to get you out alive.'

Fritha could barely get the words out in that overwhelming sense of betrayal. 'Are you-? _No!_ I will not-!'

Imoen's hand hit the table in a rattle of cups. 'Am I in charge, or not? Enough of us have had to stand by and watch you go off into danger for the greater good!' She breathed a deep sigh, adding almost apologetically, 'I know it's not how you want this, Fritha, but you know we're right.'

Around the table, her friends were all gazing back at her with unrelenting frowns. Fritha dropped her attention to her cup.

'Fine…'

'But with any luck, it will not come to that,' continued Jaheira briskly, at last adding the meat to put the lid on to the pot and settling to take up her tea, 'and we can remove Balthazar before Alhali is in any danger.'

'Do you have a plan for that as well?' asked Fritha, trying to keep the bitter edge from the question. She did not quite manage, but to her credit, Jaheira pretended not to notice.

'Indeed. At the moment, Balthazar will be wary of an attack and at full strength in the heart of his camp. We will need to wait until his guard has dropped somewhat. I believe our best chance will come after we have managed to blunt their first assault. In the retreat of their forces, a few of our group can intermingle with the regrouping troops and return to their camp. Once there, I believe it will be possible to assassinate Balthazar before the camp at large is alerted to what is happening.'

Fritha let a doubtful frown travel the rather eclectic group of individuals about her. 'So who's going to go? Because outside of Anomen, the rest of you kind of stand out.'

'Don't worry, I've got that covered,' trilled Imoen, 'I've been working on a glamour charm to disguise those we send. I used it on Solaufein back in Jarra.'

'To limited success,' the drow reminded. Imoen shot him a sulky glare.

'I've worked on it since then; it's fine now.'

'So what do you think?' asked Anomen, 'Will the Fates be satisfied? Our last assassination attempt did not end so well.'

Fritha could not quite hold back the hollow laugh. 'Your guess is as good as mine there. I suppose the only reason our attempt on Sendai failed was because I started the distraction early.'

'Yes,' agreed Jaheira dryly, 'that is one way to describe slitting a guard's throat through a tent canvas.'

Fritha snorted, amused in spite of herself at the gruesome memory, though it faded as her eyes fell upon Solaufein and the scars she knew had been the cost of such compelling rage. If he had read her thoughts, she could not tell, but he noted her glance to him all the same and a hand closed about hers beneath the table.

They discussed tactics and plans for what seemed to be every possible contingency all through dinner. Fritha added what she could, as did Imoen, but their skills did not lie there. Solaufein, too, was at more of a disadvantage; the battles of the drow were much less direct affairs.

The dishes were cleared and draining in the sink by now, but the talk was still going strong. Imoen had retired a short while ago, wanting some quiet time to do more study into her latest illusion magics before she slept. And Fritha, too, had eventually grown tired of a conversation into which she had little input, the girl slipping off upstairs to take the ladder to the roof.

The stars were out, hidden behind a gauzy veil of clouds, while across Alhali cooking fires burned in the yards, and lamplight glowed from every window to cast the silent streets in gold. It was peaceful – eerily so when she shifted her gaze to beyond the walls and the collection of torches that hung, pinpricks of light, in the vast darkness of the plains. There was a shimmer to the air over that way, as well, a current that seemed to blur across the torchlight. Someone had gone to the effort to cast a paling; perhaps Balthazar had heard of Imoen's fondness for explosive displays of raw magic. A surge of the familiar hatred and for an instant she saw it: the sky above those distant lights sundered and the hellish denizens from some other plane pouring through to slaughter all who would bring war to those who wished only to exist in peace.

Fritha jumped as something landed on her shoulders, starting around to find Solaufein just behind, his hands already raised in apology.

'I am sorry, I thought you would have heard me - you looked cold.'

She shrugged, but made no move to remove the cloak he had placed about her, the faded yellow wool warm and redolent with woodsmoke and the musky, almost spicy scent that was his alone. He took the space next to her, their legs just touching.

'Are you ready to tell me what was upsetting you earlier?'

'Nothing,' she sighed, 'I was just afraid.'

'Of the battle? Of what must come?'

'No…' she trailed off, not knowing how to put into words her fears. In the silence, she gazed out on the village of people who would fight tomorrow, would possibly fall -it had always seemed like she was protecting them, but if plans were in place to see her safely away while the rest of Alhali fell, then perhaps it was other way round.

'Did you know, Sola, there are two statues of me in the North. Well, only one really, in Trademeet, in the central square. The other is in Athkatla, in the Temple of Helm, though that one is not officially me, but the likeness, especially of my temper, is undeniable. When all this is over I'd like for you to visit them. Return north with Anomen and the others -no, no,' she forestalled at the breath he sharply drew, 'I know you don't need anyone's protection, but please, for me, stay in Athkatla for a while, I don't mind with who. Let them show you my theatre and the Coronet, the taverns were we danced and the streets where we fought. And if Imoen is able, let her take you back to Candlekeep and meet with the people there, and tell them-'

She faltered, trying to swallow past the hot lump in her throat, his arm snaking instinctively about the small of her back, 'tell them you were my best. I just want you to get a better picture of the whole that I didn't have time to give you. No one down here knows me outside of a name and threats of dragons, and those back north only have half of it, too. But if you, who knows me best, can learn how I was, then you will know… me. I think I need to know that. I need to know someone will remember me just as I was.'

'Fritha,' Solaufein sighed, the arm about her tightening, 'I will carry you with me until the end of days.'

She leaned into the embrace, dropping her forehead to his shoulder with a miserable groan. 'Oh, I missed you. Part of me didn't even want to see you again after I left for the Keep, because I knew how much harder it would be.'

'But you are here now,' he pressed, his free hand encircling one of hers, 'and we are reunited for the last time -is there anything further we could do to make this more painful?'

'Sola,' she sighed, her voice coming hoarse in the welling tears, 'there isn't enough time left.'

He took the tears from her cheek with light fingers. 'We could have been given ten lifetimes, and there still never would have been.'

'Ah, Sola,' she laughed wetly, a sleeve mopped across her cheeks even as more tears fell, 'you're going to break some girl's heart one day.'

'No,' he smiled, 'just my own.'

She felt torn, the compulsion to pull away fluttering in her chest, and his hand on her back took on an insistent pressure as she made to attempt it, an animalistic thrill trembling through her stomach. Her eyes closed. The instant hung, timeless, as his mouth hovered just before hers and then the distance was closed. A tremor all through her abdomen, his tongue darting past her lips to send a frisson down her spine. Hands were sweeping up her back to entwine within that wealth of copper curls, her own grasping his tunic and pulling him closer, and when they parted they were breathless. Her eyes still closed, she laid her head upon his shoulder and they remained so for a while, Fritha feeling complete in the rise and fall of the chest that moved in unison with her own. The crackle of parchment broke the mood as Solaufein shifted to fish a small packet from his pocket, a dust she recognised still clinging to the string, the powder a bright, earthy red against his palm: henna.

'I bought this from one of the traders,' he explained with a smile, 'What do you think? Will prayers of love and hymns of affection be worthy for one who will soon ascend to the divinity in which I have always held her?'

Her ripple of laughter held a deep melancholy, her arms tightening about his chest and pressing herself to him as though her will alone could keep them from parting. 'How will I ever be without you?'

He leaned in again and this time she did not pull back, his breath hot against her parted lips. 'You will _never_ be without me.'


	60. Five Against One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: FINAL ROUND! FIGHT! Lol, Sorry, couldn't resist. _

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Five Against One**

Fritha kept her breathing light, not wishing to disturb the arm that encircled her waist as the world beyond the closed shutters lightened with the sunrise. She had been awake for a while now, Solaufein laid just beside her and she could feel the warmth his skin radiated across the few inches between them. It was no different from how she had greeted many mornings since they had set out together from Suldanessellar, outside of the naked closeness of their bodies.

They were in the room Imoen had once shared with Valygar. Where the ranger and Anomen had spent the night, Fritha was not sure; Solaufein had seen to the details. Her stomach squirmed in memory of the feeling, part desire, part nervousness as he had left her with a kiss at the door upon the darkened landing, the sound of the others' discussion still rumbling in the kitchen downstairs. She did not know how he had broached it, but she felt no shame; love was a bold emotion, brave and honest.

He had not been away for long, but the waiting had been agony all the same. Seated on the end of the bed in the light of a single lamp, her heart trembling like frightened a bird with only her sandals removed- not because she was shy to disrobe, but because she wanted _him_ to do it. To feel his hands and mouth, to revel in that moment of undaunted vulnerability as the last shreds of their friendly reserve were shed, the girl cramming every sensation she should have had a lifetime to share with him into the only night they may get. And it had been wonderful. At times, it had seemed dizzyingly fast, every feeling rushing her into the next, like the current of some great ocean, and then there would come the moments that just hung, timeless, and it seemed as though, every sensation was there at once. His face outlined in gold above her, the taste of his sweat, the soft words at her ear and every pulse of the body that was pressed to hers.

It had been such a conflict in her at the time, Fritha torn between surrendering to the feelings as they came, or trying to focus, to cling to each and burn it into her memory, that she could relive it over and over. She was disappointed now how quickly the night had faded into an incoherent jumble of images and sensations. It made the time she had then all the more precious.

She let her eyes drift over the body next to her for what felt like the hundredth time. Most of Solaufein's face was obscured by the loosed abundance of fine white hair, the few strands that hung across his parted lips stirring with the steady rhythm of his breathing. Above the blankets, the frail light brought out the scars that scored his shoulders and chest, her fingertips tracing along his arm, where the smooth skin was broken here and there by some furrow or pock, as though she could commit every inch to memory.

Part of her wanted to wake him to enjoy the few hours they had left together before the inevitable bloodshed. But to do so would be to consign that moment, and her peaceful submergence in that feeling of loving and of being loved, forever to the past, and she hung in indecision until his roused sigh made it for her. He stretched sleepily, white eyelashes fluttering open as the arm about her tightened. Fritha greeted him with a smile and he replied in kind, Solaufein shifting to prop himself up on one elbow, the fingers he stroked down her bared shoulder leaving her with a cool shiver that he warmed with a kiss.

'The poets have it right. _Nor has this life in it aught better than this hour of clear coolness, the hour of waking together_.'

'Naught better?' she teased, squirming closer to bask in the heat of his body, 'I think last night might have been a strong contender…' A pause to consider the event once again, the smile pulling at her mouth as memories trembled through her stomach. 'Is it usually like that?'

The drow snorted his vehemence. 'It is _never_ like that.'

'Well, good. I mean, if it were, how would anyone get anything done?'

Solaufein laughed fondly, grey eyes alive with affection. 'You took pleasure, then?'

'Wasn't that _stridently_ obvious?

They both laughed that time, though the sound was soon muffled as he leaned in to catch her mouth in a kiss, the lightheaded warmth at last broken to leave them both pleasantly breathless. Fritha sank back into the pillow, Solaufein remaining propped up beside her, his free hand combing through the hair at her temples, while the rest was left to entwine with his upon the mattress beneath.

'Such a rich amber – I never before noticed how many colours made up the whole. Look here, this strand is almost golden.'

Fritha laughed, amused as she nearly went cross-eyed trying to see the fine strand of hair he was holding before her gaze.

'I'll take your word for it.'

She caught his hand midstroke, bringing it down to lightly kiss the fingertips from smallest to his thumb which she nipped playfully, her teeth leaving a pattern of neatly paired indentations as she worked across the back of his hand. If it hurt, Solaufein did not complain, the man letting her finish to hold up his hand with an artistic detachment.

'You made a leaf,' he smiled, seemingly pleased with her creativity.

'Marking your lover like this, with nails and teeth, is popular with the Calimshites. They find sensuality in the belief that one can look at them later and recall their shared passion.'

Solaufein chuckled. 'I need _no_ reminders.'

Fritha laughed and shifted onto her stomach, the movement stirring up the spicy, almost sour shared scent of their skin. Light fingers were tracing across her naked back sweeping the stray curls from the pale canvas.

'Have you decided what you will draw yet?'

She could hear Solaufein's smile. 'I will inscribe you with poems of devotion, speckle you with the stars we once gazed upon, entwine you in branches of jasmine for your scent and oak for your strength, and I will cover you in every word I should have breathed to you from the moment we first met. You will be an altar to my love.'

'You make a fine votary.' She rolled onto her back once more, not wanting him to miss the beaming delight of her mischief, 'I hope Eilistraee doesn't mind sharing.'

He laughed, leaning down and the world was suddenly banished by a curtain of white to leave only his face.

'I will stop your mouth.'

**…**

Fritha glanced to the man who had risen next to her, but kept her fingers moving over the silken strands of hair she had been weaving for the last couple of hours, the rhythm of deft knots more than familiar after a childhood of such games. Solaufein had shaded his eyes beneath a hand, the sun behind him as he gazed east beyond the walls to the camp that bustled upon the plains, easy to see from their vantage on the sheltered roof of the group's house.

'What do you see?'

'The same,' Solaufein answered, dropping once more into the cover of the wall that sheltered them both, 'Balthazar's men have finally finished bringing more timber from the edge of the Apagis –they must have enough ladders by now- while those of our own company are running contingency drills upon the main field.'

He had not needed to add that last part – the pair could hear them, the shouts of Valygar, Minsc and Jaheira coming clear over the dull rumble of the squads as they hurried to fortify some imaginary breach, or charge enemies at the gates.

'We should join them,' Fritha fretted, but made no immediate move to rise and Solaufein snaked an arm about her waist as though to ensure it.

'They have it more than covered –it was Jaheira herself who suggested we were not needed.'

'You know she was only saying that to be kind.'

'So let her,' he sighed gently, and any protest she had cared to make was silenced in a light kiss. Fritha nodded as they parted and pressed on with her weaving, the nagging guilt buried under the more pressing desire to spend those last few hours with him alone. Perhaps it was something Jaheira understood, how some times would never come again. She had certainly been the one who first mentioned it over the group's late breakfast, though Solaufein's talk of the druid's 'suggestion' had been optimistic –to Fritha it had sounded more like an order, the others about the table quietly nodding their agreement. And so they had retreated up to the roof to wile away the day in talk, affection and idle tunes from her lute, as though that world and its wars was a time and place far removed from them.

In her lap, Fritha finally completed her work, the last knot tied the end of the long band of woven hair, and she removed the pin that had anchored it to her trousers with a flourish.

'There, finished.'

She held the flat, woven band out for him to see, a pattern of chevrons and checks in white and amber in hair. It was not the most intricate pattern she knew, but she was limited by colours and time, and Solaufein seemed pleased all the same. The man was stroking his fingers back and forth, first with and then against the grain, and Fritha considered a simple friendship bracelet would have been something of an anathema to his own people.

'You were right,' she smiled, 'our tones do look well together.'

'And thus are we bound within the tapestry of life.'

'Yes… for now.'

Solaufein sighed; they had been the same all day, wavering between joy and a directionless melancholy that seemed to creep in when their guard was down.

'I am sorry, I should not have…'

She gave a shrug that was neither agreement nor censure.

'In truth, I am more worried for you. I know I shouldn't be,' she laughed gently at his frown. 'You have friends enough, and it feels like I've asked half the population of Athkatla to keep an eye on you. I just want to know you will be happy, and I suppose I'd prefer the certainty that comes with being here to ensure it. But…'

Fritha sighed again and reached out to push back his sleeve and tie the bracelet about his bared forearm. For a moment, Solaufein gazed down upon it in contemplative silence, the pale amber band bright against his skin.

'So…' he considered, the emergent smile tugging at his lips, 'are we betrothed now?'

Fritha laughed so loudly it started the pigeons on the next roof over, the girl leaning in to catch his grin with a sound kiss.

'Aye, why not? No priest could bind me to you more completely than my love already has.'

She pushed back her sleeve and set her bared arm alongside his, the band that encircled his wrist an uneven match to the leafy jasmine vines that coiled in henna about her forearm.

'We have each bound the other,' she murmured, stroking fingers along their paired arms, their skin feeling all the smoother under her dry hands, his radiating warmth and her silken in that seemingly perpetual coolness. Solaufein slipped his arm above hers to entwine their hands, his face slowly closing to her.

'And none shall part us.'

They kissed again, more gravely this time; there was a promise behind it.

**…**

A lull seemed to fall over Alhali as the dusk drew in. Against the walls, each scaffold shone with an aura of gold against the darkening sky, the torches providing light for the archers that were stationed upon them. Imoen lingered in one such pool of gold by the northern wall, wishing its warmth could somehow banish the cold trepidation she felt. They had finished the drills in the late afternoon, the squads dispersing to spend an hour or so with their friends and loved ones, before they trailed back to the main field to await what was to come. In the deep grey sky above, clouds hung in palest lilac, the upper billows almost glowing with an eerie light of their own, as though the spirits of the air had gathered there to watch the fate of a land be decided. A premonition of dread shivered up Imoen's spine - it would not be long now, and she turned her attention to those upon the field about her.

Come the battle, Solaufein was to be stationed on the wall, where his agility could be used to best advantage, while Fritha, for her part, was much farther back, joining the guards who were to surround the small aid post which had been set up just beside the eastern barricade. Anomen was there now, saying a last few words to the assembled clerics and volunteers, Odren and Rahila leading prayers for a small group of soldiers who had gathered about them.

'You make no prayers for the coming battle, young Imoen?' came that familiar voice and she turned, the smile already warming her eyes as she found Minsc and Jaheira behind her.

'It seems a bit late now – besides, if the gods gave a damn, they could have stopped this long ago.'

The druid cast a contemplative frown to the sky and sighed. 'I am not sure if even _they_ could end this now –some things mortal men must decide.'

Imoen gave the ranger's arm a hearty slap. 'I guess it's down to us then, right Minsc?'

'Indeed, and Boo says, the glory in this shall be ours alone!'

'Yeah,' Imoen sighed, the weight landing heavy in her stomach as she realised this could be the last chance she had to talk to either of them. 'You know, I never really said this before, but these last couple of years, even with Irenicus and the Asylum and well- I've really grown and seen stuff and, you two, well, you're like Fritha to me now, like family, and I just wanted-'

A furious embrace engulfed Imoen before the waver of her voice managed to betray her.

'Foolish girl,' Jaheira scolded wetly as they parted, Minsc nearly crushing the pair of them with a hug of his own.

'Hush, young Imoen, such words need not be spoken aloud. Minsc and Boo know the bond that runs through all our hearts.'

'I know,' nodded Imoen, swallowing the tears to force a smile, 'I- just take care, both of you.'

From the gates, the cry came like an eagle's shriek above the murmur of the field. 'There is movement from the camp – it looks like – Their army is advancing!'

Jaheira leapt up the first few rungs of the watchtower ladder beside her. 'All right! Squads, into your opening formations!'

The milling throng was suddenly hurrying about them. Jaheira was already racing for the gates and the scaffold tower on the northern side that was her post, Imoen reaching up to share a last embrace with Minsc before hastening to her own tower on the southern side of the gates.

Back at the barricade, Fritha and Solaufein were locked in a final goodbye and Imoen watched them lean in to kiss, Solaufein's hand lingering at the side of the girl's face as they parted. His lips were murmuring some pledge or prayer, Fritha reaching up to take his hand and hold it there, turning her face to place a single kiss upon the palm, and another was shared between them before they finally tore themselves apart. Others about the field were doing the same – civilians bidding farewells to those who would be in the fight before retreating back past the only open barricade into the village proper. Imoen spared a glance to Valygar on the watchtower just south along from hers, but he was not looking her way, his frown trained instead upon the twilit plains.

And her eyes would join his soon enough, but first… Imoen turned to face the field of men and women below her. Jaheira had told her a speech would be expected, and the girl had spent a couple of hours that afternoon trying to make notes. As one, the amassed force seemed to shift their attention, the girl all at once the soul focus of their gaze. The charged silence was deafening; Imoen drew a breath and forced the tremor from her voice.

'People of Tethyr, allies…' Across the field, her eyes caught on a familiar blot of amber hair; the word came choked in the surge of emotion, 'friends… I understand when we first gathered here, it was in the belief it would be us on the march, taking the fight east. But however we are to face our enemy, I know we will do so with bravery, unity and- and-'

Imoen's mind went blank. Her words were hollow; below her people were being to shift and murmur. An instant to feel that swelling doubt and Imoen threw her hands up.

'Oh, bollocks to it! Truth is, I'm not some war-hero who can pull a rousing speech out of her arse at a moments notice. I'm just like you. And I'm here because Balthazar is a _coward_ who sends merc bands to drive people from their homes! I'm here because he'd butcher an entire town to see it _purged!_ I'm here because if someone doesn't stop him now, he will have slaughter from here to Castle Tethyr before any could halt him! That's why I'm here, and that's why you're here, and that's why we're going to win!'

Their roar hit her like shockwave. In the distance, Imoen could see Fritha grinning, the girl throwing a fist in the air in her ferocious delight. Solaufein's shout brought an abrupt end to their elation.

'To the east, they're closing!'

Imoen whipped back to see the grouped figures approaching across the darkened plains and as they closed she could make out the ladders they carried. She counted eight in all, a score or so of men clustered about each and racing from the gloom, the majority heading for the wall either side of the gate. A glance to Jaheira; the druid nodded once and raised an arm.

'_Archers!_'

The creaking whisper as two dozen bows were drawn back and held fast, awaiting the signal. On the scaffold along the wall from Imoen's, Valygar readied a crossbow. For an instant, the village held its breath. Jaheira swept down her hand.

'_Fire!_'

In the darkness of the plains, cries shrieked and shapes fell to the grass. A yell went up from those left, their pace doubled for the last stretch and no time was given for another volley. One by one, the ladders hit the wall, mercenaries scrambling up to throw over the stout logs that had been tied to the topmost rungs and anchor them there, while on the plains beneath, men planted their shields to provide cover for those waiting to ascend.

Jaheira remained unfazed, her arm raised once more as she bellowed the command.

'Torches!'

On the scaffolds, archers scrambled forward to take up their lights, and, for an instant, the village was plunged into a well of darkness, only to rise once more in the surge of a blazing dawn as fire roared up from the trench below.

A cacophony of screams echoed across the night as smoke billowed up to score throats and choke ally and enemy alike. Two of the ladders were on fire, but the mercenaries were persevering, some managing to kick the disturbed earth of the trench over to smother the flames, others dragging the burning debris clear with mailed hands.

Valygar ducked below the shelter of the wall to reload his crossbow, eyes stinging. A ladder had been planted a few paces along the wall from his scaffold. A dark shape appeared from the billowing smoke and Valygar hadn't the time to yell his warming as a familiar click released a bolt into the archer crouched on the next scaffold along. The ranger fumbled over his crossbow in his haste; the mercenary was already over the wall and setting up position on the watchtower he had taken.

'_Solaufein!_'

The drow's head darted back at the shout, a gesture to the tower sending the man into action, and Solaufein was on the wall itself and racing through the hail of arrows to surprise the merc with a stab to the back. A sword sweep freed the nearby ladder from its anchor and another kick sent the frame falling into the fires below, the drow almost following it as an arrow thudded into his shoulder. It bit through his armour to score his arm, but the cut was not deep. He snapped it off and carried on, dropping into the cover of the scaffold to find his next target.

But the mercenaries were surging up the ladders in too great a number to stop completely. Enemy archers were on the other side of the walls keeping the allied forces from pressing in to deal with them as mercs dropped over and quickly grouped to get a foothold. A number of them were amassing beneath a ladder to the south east, the mercenaries using a tight formation of shields. Imoen felt her magics building.

'Fall back!' she screamed, and her allies hastened back as a fireball scattered those mercenaries not fortunate enough to dodge it, the men running panicked to meet the blades of the surrounding troops.

**…**

Fritha hustled back to make room for the man being stretchered past her, his writhing body so covered in blood and wounds she could not tell from which gaping injury he was dying. Behind her, volunteers were running back and forth with water and bundles of torn sheeting. Anomen was shouting for more bandages, Odren beside him and chanting a prayer over some sweating soldier's leg wound, the man still gripping his sword as though he would be charging out to rejoin his squad as soon as he was able.

They were using a system of triage. Those who could be, quickly patched up and sent back out to the fight. Those who were in a more critical condition were stabilised and then stretchered past the still open barricade to the larger aid camp Fritha knew had been set up in main square, where Benita and the other clerics fought, up to their elbows in blood, to save what lives they could. Closer to the open side of the barricade, Rahila madelast adjustments to the wadding she had packed into the stomach wound of the man on the stretcher before her, her matronly tones giving the two who bore it strict instructions of how to describe the wound to Brother Deepik once they reached him. Fritha turned away as Rahila wiped the sweat from her beleaguered brow and bustled onto the next patient. There was nothing more she could do to help them any better than the peasants they had recruited, and Fritha returned her attentions to the fighting on the field before her, her body part of a wall of warriors which stood guard against the carnage.

At the northern wall, a group of mercs had gained a foothold and were refusing to be routed. Minsc took command of the field before them.

'Sarsan, Galdir, advance your men from either side and prevent retreat. Those with me, _charge!_''

But a smaller group of mercs had already broken away, skirting along the wall to the gates for reinforcements. Jaheira spotted them from her vantage on the scaffold above.

'Brevic, Jahani, hold the gates!' she screamed to the nearest two squad leaders, leaping down to aid the fight, and that was the only thing that saved her as a missile plummeted from the darkness above to smash into the wall where she had just been standing. Jaheira whipped back to the girl still on her watchtower on the other side of the gates.

'_Imoen!_'

But Imoen had already spotted them as the iridescent glow highlighted three figures on the distant plains, their protection magics swirling about them like a swarm of pale blue fireflies. Balthazar had mages. Imoen raised her hands, the powers building to be released in an arc of energy that crackled across the plains in a lightning strike, her dismay choked like her spell as one of the mages threw a green dome over their trio. All the while, the figure beside him had been drawing back his arms finally to throw the energies out with a cannon's flash and Imoen dropped behind the scaffold just in time.

'_Get down!_'

**…**

Even at Fritha's vantage outside the chaos of dust and smoke, it was hard to see what was happening. Another explosion rocked the walls, Jaheira's shout just audible over the roar.

'_The walls are breeched – all troops assemble-'_

From somewhere in Alhali behind them, an arrow streaked forth and the druid dropped from sight.

'_Jaheira!_'

Fritha whipped around. On a rooftop to the south, two mercenary archers had scaled a building and found a vantage. Fritha snapped her attention to the two soldiers nearest to her. 'Rale, Trent, get up there and take out those archers! I'll-'

'What's going on?' demanded Anomen behind her.

'Jaheira's down; I need to-'

The hand gripped about her arm removed the need for her to yell the rest of her explanation back to him.

'Fritha, you must remain back here!'

'Jaheira's hurt! I will not just stand by-'

Odren stepped between their escalating tempers, as gravely stoic as ever he was. 'I will go.'

Anomen nodded, gesturing to the soldiers just behind him. 'Very well. You two, go with him.'

Without another word the three hurried into the chaos. Upon the field, the dust was clearing to reveal a massive breech in the north east section of the walls.

Soldiers were running in all directions, their drills forgotten in the panic and the mercenaries poured through unchecked, arrows from the buildings behind them doing little to stem the tide. In the chaos, that huge frame rose with blade aloft, a golden effigy of Tempus Himself in the firelight, Minsc's bellow echoing over the clash about them.

'_For glory!_''

He took out two men with a single swing, blood arcing into the sky to fall like rose petals upon the conquering lord. Allies were beginning to rally about him, falling into formations to hold the breach. Upon the walls, Valygar and Solaufein held the east and south, ensuring this catastrophe did not serve as distraction, and coordinating the troops to hold back the mercs that still fought to scale their defences. Imoen was crouched behind a wall of shields beside the gates and gathering the power for another spell, and yet for all their determination, it all seemed for naught, the last burst of thrashing from a drowning man.

From the east barricade, Captain Aarin had just stepped, the tall, dark-skinned soldier striding easily through the confusion of the aid post to share a few murmured words with Anomen. The pair nodded, turning as one to close to her side and she already knew what Anomen was to say.

'Fritha-'

'But-' She choked, unable to give voice to the defeat that now seemed inevitable. Anomen nodded, a hand landing upon her shoulder both to console and usher her before him in a single gesture.

'I know, but we make it all for nothing, if we do not get you out alive. After we are safely away, they will signal the retreat to the Apagis. We can return here with reinforcements, Fritha, a whole army if needed, but we have to leave now.'

Behind them, two men charged past, Jaheira bloody but breathing on the stretcher they carried – there was no sign of Odren. Rahila was already descending to order the pair on past the barricades. Fritha watched Jaheira go with wide eyes.

'My lady-' pressed Captain Aarin. A roar from the field behind cut him off. The squad within the breach were being overwhelmed. Minsc was still at their heart, but he was flagging, his body stooped and heaving like a wounded bear. Mercenaries were pressing about him, a mighty cleave felling one, another two shaken off to be skewered where they fell before, at last, he disappeared under a surging tide of men. Someone was screaming for reinforcements to hold the breach. Fritha swallowed and nodded, turning from the carnage before she changed her mind.

'Let's go.'

Behind the barricades, the village was deserted, and they hurried along the empty streets and past the muted disorder of the aid camp in the central square to take the main street north. It was eerie to hear the sound of a battle so close, yet to see no sign of it. Fritha's heart was beating a manic tattoo in her throat and the fear for her friends and her love coupled with her shame at deserting them ebbed as the seed of anger bloomed in her heart. A ladder had been placed ready at the north west section of the wall, a group of six riders waiting on the plains directly below with three spare horses.

Anomen helped her onto the bay gelding that was being held for her, before easily swinging himself into the saddle of his own horse. With the battle hushed behind them, and in the clear darkness of the plains, things seemed clearer. Fritha felt her horse shifting under her, her gaze coming to focus on the swimming torchlight of the distant camp.

Aarin was already mounted and barking his orders to the assembled company.

'Men, diamond configuration with the lady in the centre; we ride for Lord Farn's encampment.'

'No…' came her voice, immovable as the mountains. The captain looked confused; Anomen looked worried.

'You wish to meet with the Chalice then, my lady?'

'No,' Fritha repeated, raising a hand to the lights that peppered black horizon, 'we ride there. Their camp will be all but deserted. We will kill Balthazar while we have the chance.'

Anomen looked furious. 'Fritha, that was not what was agreed. You need to remain alive until-'

'Until when? This cannot end until one of us is dead. If we retreat now how many other towns will share Alhali's fate before he is stopped? This ends now!' Anomen said nothing, Fritha defiant to his silence as she raised her chin to add, 'You know the Fates, Anomen; you know nothing else will satisfy.'

The cleric drew back, his gaze raking over every inch of her face to answer her in a nod. 'Captain Aarin.'

The captain grinned, his mount pawing restlessly as he turned to his men.

'Right, you heard the lady. Standard arrow formation – keep together. Chahel,' he nodded to a burly warrior on a stout warhorse, 'you will serve as the point. For Tethyr!'

They wheeled their horses about, the beasts springing to a gallop and they were off, charging across the darkness of the plains. Fritha kept low in her saddle, wind howling at her ears and heart thundering in time to the hooves of the horse beneath her. She pictured Balthazar there, watching the distant fires with the warm satisfaction of victory as those few left in his company milled about in unwary ignorance.

And her imagination did not outstrip the reality as their charge sprang from night into the torchlight of the waiting camp and chaos erupted. People were screaming, camp followers and the other civilians who had remained behind fleeing in all directions as they charged through trampling tents and scattering cooking fires. A half dozen monks had dashed from a nearby pavilion, Balthazar behind them and shouting his orders as the two groups clashed.

'Dismount them! Break their char-'

He stopped as through the tumult he saw her, Fritha's jolt of recognition matched by his surprise, his initially slack expression tightening to a determined frown. A pause to mark her horse, and Balthazar sprang into a run. Fritha urged the beast after him, though the creature was hampered in its pursuit by tents and firepits alike.

The man was racing out into the plains, leaving the skirmish of the camp and their allies behind them and, for a moment, it seemed as though she would chase him down and trample him as he fled, when suddenly he halted, whipping about and with a leap drove a punch into the ground at his feet. The shockwave startled her mount and it reared in its fright. Fritha scrabbled from the saddle an instant before the creature bolted, and there they stood facing each other in the darkened plains, Alhali burning in the distant west, ringed in fire and echoing with screams as though the village itself had been summoned from some hellish realm. Balthazar threw a hand to the inferno with a self-satisfied sneer.

'So, you sacrificed your entire army just to kill me – how far you have fallen in your quest for the Throne.'

Fritha sighed and shook her head. 'No. They sacrificed themselves to _save_ me; it had been their plan all along.' She smiled, slight and predatory, 'I changed it.'

'You should have heeded it,' he snapped. 'You are a fool to force this confrontation!'

Fritha trilled a laugh that was half bravado, half genuine disbelief.

'I would be a fool not to. You don't know how this goes, do you? They need to see it, it needs to be direct. You've never faced one of the Five before, those ones on whom the Fates have turned their _unwelcome_ interest… But I have. I took the enchantment from Yaga's heart. I taunted Abazigal into the battle that would be his death. I stood and watched while Sendai writhed in glass and poison.' She adjusted the grip on her hilt; the Essence roared. 'And now, I will end _you._'

A leap closed the distance between them enough for her sword thrust to have skewered him had the man still been there, and his fist caught her square between the shoulders. Fritha whipped around, just blocking the blow to her face with her forearm, and he danced out of reach before her blade could even complete its swing, the man past her guard once more to throw a kick to her left flank.

He was fast, his body reacting seemingly without a thought to dodge her swings and find an opening of his own, and Fritha's frustrations grew by the second. Each blow hurt, but did little more than that through her chainmail and jack. He was trying to wear her down, waiting for her to tire and make a mistake that would leave her open, but his smug patience as Alhali burned merely fuelled her anger.

A wild thrust towards his chest, Balthazar stepping past the blade to hook a hand about her belt and it was all she could do to keep hold of her sword as she was thrown to the earth. He was already airborne and plummeting towards her, his bent knee the focus of his descent. Fritha rolled clear just in time, the ground where he had landed quaking with the blow, and the explosion of dust hid the strike as she rolled to her feet to slash him across the shoulder.

Balthazar leapt back putting a wary distance between them once more, as Fritha's challenge echoed across the plains

'Come on, then!' she screamed, a hand flung to the fiery carnage in the distance beside them, 'You wanted this, _bastard!_ So come and take it!'

The twitch to his nostrils was the only betrayal of his anger. Fists pummelled toward her from every angle in a blur of motion, and it was all she could do to keep him back, her sword swinging in wide powerful arcs; he had speed, but she only needed one good hit.

It was tiring though, Balthazar's chest heaving in unison with her own as they circled each other once more; something had to give. The moment hung as he paused on the edge of her reach, and suddenly he was rushing her. She swung out to meet the advance when at the last instant he skidded under the sweeping blade and her guard, his upper cut catching her neatly in the sternum. It seemed to vibrate through her chainmail, the force of the blow knocking her back to send wild palpations through her heart. Fritha clutched at her chest, gasping for breath as she stumbled backwards. Balthazar was panting, face set and eyes bright as he bounced on the balls of his feet and readied his final blow. His leg whipped up, the heel cracking down into her forearm to cast her sword skittering useless into the dust. His fist was already pulled back, his strike unprepared for the sudden shift in her stance.

Her lunge caught him square in the stomach. He tried to throw her past him, her fingers clawing at his robes as they met and they both hit the dirt with a shared cry. A frantic scramble; Balthazar was fighting to get her off as Fritha hooked her leg about his torso and rolled on top of him. Her hands found their way about his neck, and, in the desperation to shift her, he mirrored the movement, rough fingers closing over her throat. Fritha fought the wild surge of animal panic and tightened her grip. He had strength, but she had hatred, and after two years of hell, she knew which was stronger.

Her throat was on fire, blackness creeping into to her vision as stars fizzed before her eyes and in flashes, the images came: a jagged red wasteland beneath a sky of boiling green; twisted demons and their tortured thralls; and there, clear and pale as an ivory tusk, an osseous pillar that split land and sky: the Throne of Bone.

There was a burning wetness to her neck, his fingernails so short it was his fingertips that had gouged the thick welts about her throat. But his grip was failing, the bulging eyes fluttering closed and in that instant she saw his end. She drew back a hand, the other snatched away at the last instant before the blow smashed into his throat. A final wretched wheeze, his dark eyes snapping open for that instant of terrified disbelief, and Balthazar breathed no more.

All the strength seemed to leave her arms and Fritha collapsed sideways to lie panting in the dust beside him. The sparse grass blades trembled with each ragged breath, tickling her cheek, while arcing from horizon to horizon was that all consuming blackness, the stars hiding their gaze behind a veil of smoke as though they did not wish to look down upon the horrors of men. Through the ground, the rumbled approach of horses, Anomen's voice strangled in his fears.

'Fritha!'

'Leave me here,' she croaked, giving what little volume she could to the order, 'return to Alhali and take the news: Balthazar is dead.'

Feet were thudding to the ground about her, strong arms heaving her under the arms and legs in a confusion of shouts as the men tried to coordinate the lift. Someone was reaching out the take her and she was upright and nestled against a cool steel pauldron before she opened her eyes. She was seated before Anomen in the saddle of his horse, his worried face haloed by the starless void above as his hands groped down her arms and torso, checking for injury.

'Fritha, are you hurt?'

'Anomen…' she gasped, the words burning in her throat, 'I saw it. I saw the Throne.'

And the night sky came down and swallowed her up.

**…**

Fritha opened her eyes to the vast viridian tempest that hung above her tiled plane. Not again, not when Alhali burned and her friend fought to their last! Her limbs were trembling, body twitching with the desire to scream her rage at the glary storm, when a sudden shadow spared her eyes.

'Sister,' came the sigh, weary with the rasp of last year's leaves, 'thanks be, I did not know if even your powers could pull me out a second time.'

'Sarevok?' Fritha grasped the hand he offered to be hauled to her feet. 'Where in the Hells have you been? I've not seen you for days!'

He tried a chuckle, the man wincing with the tremble of his chest, and it was only then she noticed his hunched stance. His lined skin was pale and sagging upon a frame much frailer than she recalled, as though there was another ten years between them. He suffered no injury she could see, but the aura of ruin about him was unmistakeable; he looked… broken.

A ghost of a smile twisted his chapped lips. 'You are closer to the truth than you think, sister. I may not have long – Balthazar is dead, yes? His death was bound to bring you here, and that means only Melissan is left-'

'Sarevok, I need to wake! I have to-!'

'Just listen!' he cut in, his eyes the only part of him left with any spark of verve, 'They will be searching for me even now! You must reach the Plain of Yawning Pits, the first level of the Abyss. She awaits you there.'

'Who?'

'The Bhaalite cleric, Elund.'

Fritha could barely voice the name in her surprise '_B-Brieanna?_ But- but she's-'

'Dead, yes. I thought of the young cleric you killed when I spoke of getting a priest of Bhaal to summon a petitioner as a guide to the Throne. There are no priests to Him remaining, at least not within your reach, but I knew there could be one petitioner. Before, all those who died in His faith will have renounced Bhaal in favour of Cyric or another, or been condemned to the Wall-'

'The Wall?' Fritha repeated. Sarevok spared her an impatient sigh.

'The Wall of the Faithless – all godless souls are sent there. But with the death of the Bhaalspawn and Bhaal's realm slowly coalescing, I knew there could be a chance. I found her wandering Azzagrat; her spirit is a native to the Hells now and can travel the layers without notice.'

Fritha drew back, the enormity of what this man -her brother, she had believed, in name only- had done.

'You returned to the Abyss…'

He nodded once; the decisive jolt made him grimace.

'Yes, my only chance rests upon you taking the Throne, and…' he turned away, the deep lines in his face twisting with an expression of… disgust? Contrition? She was not sure. 'You were right, sister, I was afraid. I made decisions in my life and damned the consequences, but when I came to realise the true cost of my actions, I tried to flee, to hide in your shadow like some craven dog. The Hells do not take kindly to those seeking to avoid the just rewards one has earned in life.'

He tried to straighten, to ease out some crick in his back, only to jerk forward once more, clutching his side with a gasp that stuttered into a rueful laugh. 'When the demons finally caught me, they were keen to make up for lost time –and there is much of it down there. It was only through the ripples released across the planes when you killed Balthazar that I was able to return here at all, and they will find me again soon enough.'

Fritha did not know what to say, did not even know where to being to unravel the turmoil of anger, regret and gratitude she suddenly felt.

'Sarevok, I-'

A low growl that seemed to emanate from the very air about them cut her off. Sarevok raised a defiant chin to his fate.

'They are coming – I do not know if we will meet again, sister, but if it could not be me who ascends then know that, of all the others, I am proud it was you.'

The rift sundered the air behind him, angry and red like a wound in the very fabric of her plane.

'Sarevok!'

He tried to say more, perhaps shout a final farewell as a half dozen clawed hands snatch about him and a blood chilling roar stole his voice.

'_No!_'

Arms were about her, both helping her to sit while preventing her from doing so too quickly, the familiar scent of Solaufein confirming his presence before even sight or sound.

'Fritha, calm, dearest.'

They were outside, Fritha opening her eyes on the deepest night sky. No smoke obscured the cold stars, though the aroma remained, mingling with the heavy scent of blood. But what really struck her was the silence. It was not total; there were groans about her, the murmur of talk and prayers, but gone was the roar men and clash of arms. Whether they had won or lost, the fighting was over. Solaufein was stooped over her, and as she leaned up she realised they were at the aid camp in the main square. Many more bodies were laid upon the two rows of pallets and cots about her, Benita and the other priests scattered among them or working on the more gravely injured upon tables at the opposite end of the camp.

'How is your throat?' he asked, stroking the hair back from her forehead to tidy it behind her ears. A flash of that face below her, Balthazar red with effort as he fought to loose her hands and all the while that screaming pressure against her throat.

'Ah, it hurts, I suppose –nothing to worry about though. What happened here?'

'The horsemen returned as you commanded. Anomen hung back with you while the rest of Farn's men led a charge on the enemies' exposed flanks. They had not been expecting it and took heavy losses. That combined with the blow to morale dealt when someone tossed Balthazar's lifeless corpse into their midst and they were quickly overwhelmed. We lost half our people, but we were victorious.'

'And Jaheira,' Fritha choked, more of the evening coming back to her, 'and Minsc? I saw them go down.'

'Jaheira was injured, but has been discharged and is resting back at the house. Minsc…' Solaufein's frown was her answer. 'I am sorry, he did not make it.'

Fritha eased herself back down with a sudden weariness. Part of her had known what he would say, Solaufein hovering over her as though he wanted to offer some comfort, but did not know how. He was spared having to worry about it for long; Imoen had appeared and was marching down the row of cots, every inch the general in that harried but determined air.

'Fritha, you're awake,' she offered by way of greeting, dropping to a crouch beside Solaufein as Fritha eased herself up once more. 'I was so worried when Anomen arrived with you. He told us what you did: facing Balthazar and then ordering the troops to return -and after we'd agreed we had to get you out safely! I-' the girl vented her frustrations in a weak laugh; it was a hollow sound in the surrounding morbidity. 'I guess you never were any good at taking orders. Anomen said you passed out again afterwards… Did you see something?'

'Yes,' Fritha nodded, accepting Solaufein's help to sit, her body screaming its protests, 'I spoke to Sarevok. He- there may be a way to reach the Throne, but we need to get to the uppermost plane of the Abyss.'

'Across the planes,' Imoen murmured, her eyes distant, 'I am sure there will be a portal somewhere in Faerûn, and a mage with enough skill and the right spell could open a way there, but I only know of one place where a portal will _definitely_ be known.'

'Sigil,' confirmed Fritha, her gaze drawn back to tables at the opposite end where Benita battled to save the bloody body they had just stretchered in. Fritha felt the dull ache bob in her throat as the woman stepped back to bow her head over another corpse.

'We can talk about this later, there are more important things right now.'

**…**

The plains were aflame, the incarnadine dawn made all the more foreboding by the haze of smoke that hung over the burning grassland. It stretched east to the horizon where a nascent sun set the sky ablaze, and it was as though the whole world was on fire.

People thronged about her, black backed with faces aglow as they gathered about the bonfires. Fritha felt overlooked in the grief, sobs and murmured prayers offered to the burning pyres; the wooden paling that had once protected Alhali now saw its fallen safely past the veil. It seemed fitting.

Once Sister Rahila had seen she was awake, she had been allowed to return to the house with the others, and there she had slept the rest of the night next to Jaheira, her friends left to tend the wounded and prepare the dead.

Through the silhouetted throng, Fritha spotted the priests gathered about two pyres, Benita sobbing into Sister Maganda's shoulder as they saw Odren and young Ivid across the veil. Fritha did not pause to offer her condolences; that would come later, and before then she had her own friend to guard in safe passage.

She could see her companions to the east gathered about a pyre of stakes, the tang of lamp oil high notes in the redolent perfume of burning flesh. Imoen was openly weeping and it was strange seeing Anomen be the one to offer her comfort, Valygar's face set in the glow of the torch he held as he gazed down at the pyre before them.

The body upon had been covered by his tattered green cloak, so only his head showed, and Minsc looked peaceful, stepped in a serenity that only a certain kind of sleep could give. His broadsword had been laid along his body, ready for his spirit to take up again on the other side – Fritha smiled, a fine sorrow welling in her chest – she could just see him storming about the Eternal Grasslands on the Great Hunt. Jaheira and Solaufein were in quiet conversation before her. The elf heard her approach and his arms were about her before she could offer any greeting, though there was not enough time to sink into the embrace before Imoen cut in, the girl sobbing into her shoulder.

'We waited,' she sniffed as they parted, 'we thought it should be you.'

Fritha nodded, taking the torch Valygar passed to her. This was it, the essence was all hers now, the Throne within her reach - but what a toll it had exacted. About her silence fell, and Fritha felt the words all through her chest.

'Feared by your enemies, esteemed by your friends, the time has come for you to rest, Minsc of Mutarnn. Rejoin the spirits of your ancestors-' her voice faltered, the tears beginning to well, 'and know we will carry the legacy of what your life earned here today as we will take word of your sacrifice to your homeland. _Kozori tel jhild_.'

Those about her repeated the Rashemi blessing in a murmur lost to the roar of flames as Fritha threw the torch onto the waiting pyre. And there they remained, seated about the inferno as it threw sparks up to the pale blue sky. Fritha sang the ode of Galvirck the Brave, the others joining in once she had done, to talk and tell stories of the man they had known until the pyre no more than embers, glowing in like the low western sun.

Next to Fritha, Solaufein seemed to be dozing, his head resting on her shoulder and arm about her waist though she could tell from his breathing he was not asleep. Imoen tried to hide a yawn in her sleeve – it had been a long day for all of them and it was not over yet. The plains about Alhali had been clearing for the last couple of hours as pyres died and the mourning returned to the shelter of the village. Fritha leaned into the warm body at her side and raised her face to take in the cloud-scattered canvas above, the vastness not as daunting as it had once been as she felt the nascent power stir through her stomach.

'There are very few pyres left,' observed Valygar. Jaheira shifted on the cloak she was seated upon.

'The rest of you should return to Alhali – I will remain here and tend the ashes.'

'I'll wait with you,' came Imoen hoarsely.

'No, you more than anyone will have much to do tomorrow.'

'Do you even know how you plan to reach Sigil?' sighed Valygar, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose against the fatigue they all felt, 'portal summoning is not as simple as opening a door.'

'No, but it helps when you have a key,' said Fritha, drawing from her pack the uneven stone of iridescent blue she had carried with her since Athkatla.

'A portal stone,' exclaimed the ranger, 'from where did you get that?'

'Haer'Dalis,' sighed Jaheira, with a gentle smile, 'he always did have a soft spot for you.'

'Should I be jealous?' asked Solaufein. Fritha shook her head.

'No, he left me for an avariel.'

'Poor fool,' Solaufein sighed, tapping her chin to raise her face for a light kiss.

'So you plan to open a gate to Sigil,' Anomen forged on, 'and we will all-'

'Not all,' cut in Jaheira, 'my place is here. Balthazar's army was routed, but the mercenary bands will regroup, and I will not abandon the nearby villages to their mercies. I will take the remainder of our forces to disperse them, and then regroup with Farn's troops to help route the raiders and bandits who still plague the east.'

Anomen and Valygar were nodding, but Imoen looked heartbroken by the news, her puffy eyes wide.

'We're splitting up again? So close to the end? Jaheira-'

'Is correct,' interrupted Valygar, 'and I too will remain.'

'But-'

'They're right, Imoen,' pressed Fritha gently, 'There is little point saving Tethyr from one evil only to abandon it to another.'

Imoen heaved a sigh, reluctantly leaning into the arm Jaheira had just thrown about her shoulders. Fritha nodded to the man opposite, 'And you, Anomen?'

He smiled mildly. 'My place, as ever, is with you.'

'Then it is agreed,' announced Jaheira, 'Valygar and I will remain here, while the rest of you seek Melissan on the planes.'

They rose as a group, Solaufein falling back to allow Fritha to link arms with the dejected Imoen as they made for the village.

'You should get some rest when we get back; I don't know how much the spell will take out of you, but it took three mages to use this thing last time.'

The girl nodded once, something determined in the way she closed her hand about the gnarled blue stone Fritha proffered to her.

'No problem; I'll be ready.'

**…**

Imoen yawned behind her hand, her eyes watering with a grainy heat; she had seen enough dawns in the last few days to last a lifetime. Her nearby wall looked even taller from where she was knelt, and above the eastern edge a nacreous sheen pushed back the faded lavender sky, the last few stars that glittered upon it like the crystal beading on a light summer gown.

Their group had gathered about a half hour ago in the yard behind the tanner's, Benita and a couple of the other clerics coming out to join Jaheira and Valygar in the final goodbyes. Across the square, Benita was bidding farewell to Anomen, while Jaheira embraced Fritha and then, to his surprise, Solaufein. Imoen smiled – she had made her goodbyes to the druid first, before her task had pulled her away, the girl returning her attention to the circles upon circles of runes she was slowly etching, ring, by ring, into the packed earth. Her back was screaming by the time she had finished, twelve circles and the runes that would direct her power, the rings bisected by two solid lines to make a large compass, a three-lidded eye etched into the centre.

Imoen eased back with a puff of satisfaction. It was entirely of her own creation, but the runes were correct and, what was more, it _felt_ right, though she was given little more opportunity to enjoy her handiwork, a shadow over her stealing the colour from the dark read earth.

Valygar was wearing a look of pensive uncertainty, as though he was not sure why he was even there before her. He had been like that for days – Imoen considered he had likely been glad of the impending battle, if only for the distraction. As for her own feelings, the affection was still there, but it was buried under so much now it was hard to reach, like a smouldering flame that could be snuffed or rekindled, and take as much effort for either course. He took a step back as she straightened, dusting herself off to offer him a hand to shake.

'So, Vals, this is it, then. We seem to make a habit of goodbyes, don't we? I think it's been the only constant in our relationship.'

'Yes, I suppose that is true.' He was melancholy, his gaze shifting north, perhaps imagining the estate she never got to see. A deep sigh seemed to decide something. 'Imoen, about what I said-'

'Don't,' she cut in kindly, but firm, 'If it's 'sorry', then I know, and if it's 'for the best' then I understand, and if it's, Sune help us, _doubts_, then I really can't hear them right now.' She wrestled the emotions back, finally allowing herself to gently pat his arm. 'If you still want to tell me when I get back, then we can talk then.'

'I-' he faltered, before nodding once and offering her a remarkably open smile, 'you always were more sensible than any of us gave you credit.'

Imoen laughed. 'Yeah, well, I like to surprise people.'

'We ready over there?' called Fritha, the words coming strangled as Jaheira pulled her into another embrace – for the druid at least, this would be the last chance she ever had.

'As we'll ever be,' chirruped Imoen, pointing to the circle below, 'There, take your positions on the compass points and put your favour hand into the centre above mine. If you feel a pull, don't fight it – you go opposite me, Fritha, I might need to siphon off some of your power.'

They took their places, Imoen tightening her hand about the portal stone as she raised it above the dusty, three-ringed eye.

_Slowly, slowly, this isn't like tearing the veil…_

It was like opening a gate upon water, trying to let the energies into the stone slowly enough to be controlled, but constant enough to hold the spell. It came in fits and starts, the power building as the flow established. The air about them was buzzing, a sudden wind springing up from somewhere to howl about them, the fine dust stinging against her face. The stone in her hand was growing hotter, vibrating so violently she was fighting to keep it still. It was time.

'All right, then,' Imoen yelled over the roar, 'whatever happens we all meet in the Coronet for High Harvestide! Got it? Good!'

Imoen released the stone. An explosion of light engulfed the circle, and the world burnt away.


	61. The City of Doors

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

_Author's note: The penultimate chapter! Looking back on when I first started this story, I couldn't have ever imagined getting to this point. Since the last chapter is already finished, I'd like to mention here my sincere thanks to the most amazing betas anyone could ask for, Maje and Kenzie who have done a wonderful job over the years. I couldn't have done it without you!_

– Blackcross & Taylor

**The City of Doors**

Fritha shook her head, forcing herself to straighten and ignore the weakness in her knees, the sudden press of unfamiliar sights and sounds an overwhelming assault on her already giddy senses. At her side, Solaufein was quickly regaining his balance, a hand instinctively about his sword-hilt in this fleeting vulnerability. Anomen and Imoen were recovering similarly a pace or so away, Imoen stooping unsteadily to snatch the portal stone from the cobbles at her feet –the whirling, weightless flight of planar travel definitely took some getting used to.

It seemed they had arrived on the outside edge of a huge market square, and from the relative shelter of the building behind them Fritha gazed out over a sea of grimy coloured stalls. A huge set of scales three storeys tall towered above the throng to west, and everywhere there were people, though perhaps to describe them as such was generalizing somewhat. There were a few humans, though they were more than outnumbered by the denizens of a thousand other planes. Tieflings, aasimar, gnomes, drow, elves, dwarfs, gith and many races she would not even like to guess at names for were all bustling past each other on their way about their business, browsing the stalls or putting up posters advertising plays or shops or the latest propaganda for their faction. The air was heavy with choking dust, stirred up by hundreds of tramping feet, the fetid reek of the masses stinging her nostrils, and Fritha found she seemed to be constantly swallowing a cough.

'Look at this place…' murmured Solaufein next to her, and Fritha felt giddy all over again as she followed his gaze upward to the sky where buildings hung like tiny stalactites from the distant arc of heaven, the very ground they stood on now slowly curving around to make the roof in an endless ring of cityscape.

Back on the ground, a pair of bariaurs trotted past, one snorting _'Primes' _audibly as though it was the worst insult she knew. Imoen was trying to refuse a faction leaflet from some wild-eyed woman wearing a jumble of brightly coloured rags, while further along the narrow avenue left before the shop fronts, people were scooting back as a snub-muzzled glabrezu stomped through with an entourage of tiefling guards.

'Out of the way!' shouted one of them, the two men on the street before him, a grimy gnome and his half-elf companion, hastening to oblige before they were shoved clear.

'Take a short stick and pike it -sodding fiends!' shouted the half elf after the group, though Fritha noticed he made sure his voice did not carry over the surrounding din. The gnome looked worried all the same, a slap to his arm preventing any more.

'Here, Brast, be peery, you addle-cove!'

'You heard me this morning; I promised Letha I'd be home before peak. She's going to pen me the dead book for sure this time!'

Fritha ignored their argument, wishing she could close her eyes and block out the noise for a moment. Something didn't feel right there. It was as though something was watching her, not malevolent, just… aware.

'Here, outsider,' called a friendly voice, a grubby man, who could have passed for human apart from his six fingers and oddly slitted pupils, elbowing from the crowds. 'You just come in from the Prime, right? You be needing a taut -can't get by in the Cage without a guide, aye?'

'Perhaps,' conceded Anomen, 'we need to get to the Abyss, the Plain of Yawning Portals to be exact.'

'You lot are headed darkward?' he cried, glancing over them as though to be sure he had not missed some hulking warrior-god who would negate his incredulity, 'Are you clueless or just plain barmy?'

'Neither, now do you know of a portal there or not?'

'Look, berk-'

'Fritha, are you well?' murmured that voice behind her as Fritha dropped her head into her hands once more. That watchful presence and the noise, the very air seemed to be pressing in about her. She just needed a moment to think, to-

Firm hands were gently pushing her further back from the crowds into the lee of the tavern behind them, Solaufein calling to the others.

'Anomen, Imoen, I think we need to-'

Imoen was still fighting to extract herself from her zealous preacher.

'_No_, I don't feel that chaos is the ultimate goal of life. Listen, I really have to – Fritha?'

But Fritha was not listening to them, the din of the market and even her friends suddenly muted as the door beside them opened, and a voice raised in a familiar melody drifted out with two patrons and the scent of beer. She caught the door before it closed, a glance to the signage above proclaiming _The_ _Drunken Dabus_ in few different languages. It was a modest, clean tavern and fairly new from the look of the furniture. It seemed they had arrived before the noon rush, a scattering of people seated at the tables and paying little mind to anything but their meals.

Behind the bar, a woman with short, turquoise hair and a small set of horns curling from the wavy tresses was smiling in greeting. But Fritha ignored her, feet carrying her forward of their own volition as she move to stand before the small dais in the back of the room and the twilight-haired bard who was playing there. He drew out the final word, finishing the piece with a flourish of his lyre to a smattering of applause, his dark eyes finally opening to find her there. For an instant, he looked as though he had caught sight of a medusa in his stock-still shock.

'_Raven?_'

Fritha smiled, head cleared and peace restored by this gentle machination of the Fates.

'Hello, Haer'Dalis.'

'My raven!'

And the world disappeared with that jubilant cry, the man leaping up to swallow her in a fierce embrace.

Their group waited there at the tavern for an hour or so for the bard to finish his set, ordering something to drink and eat -well, Haer'Dalis did the ordering- and at about the middle of the afternoon they were hurrying through the busy streets once more, Haer'Dalis at their head and talking fifteen to the dozen in his lingering astonishment.

'Ah, to think you are all here in the Cage! Aerie will be beside herself when she sees you! And yet, I cannot believe you are only here for a visit -no, no,' he forestalled as Imoen made to launch into their explanation, 'better you do not tell me yet, you will only have to repeat the tale when we see Aerie.'

The couple had a house on the osmotic border between the Guildhall and Clerks wards, Fritha taking in what sights she could across the jumble of rooftops.

'What's that?' she asked their enthusiastic guide, pointing to a distant tower where the four dun canvas sails of a windmill turned, 'A mill?'

'That is the Weather Tower.'

'It makes weather?' confirmed Anomen doubtfully.

'No, it merely announces it.'

'It tells you what the weather is?' came Imoen, her frown all that was needed to indicate her belief in the redundancy of such a thing.

'Yes,' laughed the tiefling, 'though it hopes to give a little more notice than that. I will admit it is of little use most days; it is either raining or about to, and a good cutter knows when by how the dust sticks. But it can be of some use; if there is a smog cloud drifting over from the Lower Ward or a storm brewing over the magic college, it is good to have some warning.'

Imoen glanced to the cleric next to her and shrugged. Solaufein caught Fritha's eye to send her a smile, his gaze darting to something behind her and Fritha turned to take in the emerald sun of what must have been a massive green globe which was just peeking over the rooftops. A haze of white was marbling its surface, constantly moving in a slow dance and to her surprise she realised they were clouds.

'What's that, Haer'Dalis, that globe over there?'

'Ah, the Planarium,' he explained, 'it is an attraction for the locals. It uses portals and mirrors to project living maps upon its dome. It looks to be Arborea today. Our case is only a couple of streets over.'

A few moments more at that swift pace and their group, at last, rounded the corner onto a small worn-cobbled square where the tall buildings were painted in a faded rainbow of colours and leaned into each other as though drunk. Before the duck egg blue house opposite, a familiar figure in yellow robes and crowned with a wealth of golden hair was stooped and full of industry, Aerie's back to them as she swept the ever present dust from her front step.

'My dove?'

She started at his call, suddenly beaming as she found him approaching. 'Haer'Dalis, you're back earl- _Fritha!_'

'Aerie,' cried Fritha in reply, unable to voice more in her shock as the elf turned fully to reveal the gravid swell of her stomach, 'you're blooming!'

'Blooming massive!' cried Imoen delightedly, 'Look at the size of you!'

And they were not the only ones surprised, Aerie dithering in their midst as though she could not decide who to embrace first.

'Imoen! Oh, and Anomen and Solaufein, as well! What are you doing here?'

'Come, my dove,' laughed Haer'Dalis, an arm propping open the door beside her, ' let us inside. I've a feeling we both have a story to tell.'

The front door opened onto a tiled entrance hall of terracotta stone which contained nothing but a winding staircase of blackened metal. Up they climbed, to file into a cramped parlour of mismatched furniture. A tiny kitchen covered the leftmost wall; a dark red brocade curtain that looked to have been 'borrowed' from a theatre divided it off from the rest of the room where an assortment of chairs left just enough space to move between them, and a small dining table and dresser were pressed against the right wall. It was small, but bright, with three windows casting light onto the warm yellow walls, paintings –some framed and others merely brushed onto the plaster itself- breaking up the expanse.

'There are two floors above as well,' explained Aerie, the elf winding with practised ease through to the kitchen, 'with our bedroom and the nursery on one, and a workroom where I practise as an apothecary for the district at the top of the house.'

The six of them found seats as Aerie found cups for them all and served tea. Fritha and Solaufein were on chairs turned from their place at the dining table, Anomen and Imoen finding space on the short couch opposite, while Aerie had eased herself into the large, threadbare armchair by the window, Haer'Dalis perched on a footstool beside her.

The happy couple's story was told first, at Imoen's insistence. Aerie was nine months into what would likely be a twelve month pregnancy – it was hard to be sure with their mix of blood. They had been travelling the planes since leaving Suldanessellar as they had planned, and had only settled in Sigil when Aerie had belatedly discovered she was pregnant.

'To think we had been trekking through the wilds of Ysgard at time, and all the while I had been with child,' Aerie added, giving her bump a fond pat as though glad nothing had befallen her before she had realised what she had to lose.

'So then,' continued Haer'Dalis, 'what brings such friends to our humble home? Dare I hope it is merely to visit?

Fritha laughed grimly. 'You know what becomes of hope, Doomguard.'

And together they told the tale of what had brought them to the City of Doors, though it had to be abridged slightly for time constraints and it seemed no one was willing to broach the subject of Minsc's sacrifice to the mother-to-be who was once his witch. There was silence for some time afterwards, Aerie finally managing to breathe, 'So you're going to become a god?'

'Yes…' nodded Fritha, a firm front to her hesitant heart, 'Either in that I will become Bhaal or ascend myself.'

'You will not become Bhaal,' asserted Solaufein, 'You are stronger than that.'

At Aerie's side, Haer'Dalis was still uncharacteristically awe-struck.

'By the Lady's Grace, perhaps the Godsmen have it right after all. To think you will soon be a power– that the secrets of the multiverse will be within your knowledge.'

'Yes, well, before that,' cut in Fritha practically, 'we need to get to the Throne. We have a guide waiting for us in the Abyss – we first came to Sigil to find a portal there.'

'Yeah,' laughed Imoen, 'we never expected to find you two as well. Maybe the stone had something to do with it – you and Fritha were the last ones the use it, maybe it's attuned to you.'

'And where in the Abyss do you need to be?' asked Haer'Dalis. 'It is rumoured to be infinite.'

'The first level,' provided Anomen, 'the-'

'The Plain of Yawning Portals,' the tiefling supplied.

Fritha nodded again. 'Do you know where we can get a portal there?'

Haer'Dalis frowned, though seemingly more from consideration that doubt. 'I may have an idea. Let me speak to a friend of mine who knows the infernal planes better than I – he can confirm my hopes.' The tiefling stood, hastening to keep Aerie in her seat as she fussed, 'Oh, are you leaving already? You've eaten no lunch.'

'It is fine, my dove, I will get something from one of the street vendors on the way. I will need to speak to Tamix before the rehearsal.'

'You're in a play?' asked Imoen.

'Not as such. The Lilting Sparrows troupe is rehearsing its latest endeavour over at the Sunken Plaza – I wrote the score and so will need to attend as well.'

'You're writing whole scores now?' cried Fritha, making no effort to hide her delight.

'Not only that,' added Aerie, ever the proud wife, 'Haer'Dalis sold a play to the Dour Jesters troupe in the spring, and has another work nearly finished '

'Mere trifles to earn a copper,' the man demurred, though he looked rather pleased with himself all the same as he stooped to kiss Aerie goodbye, 'now, this sparrow must fly.'

He offered for them all to attend with him, but Aerie did not like the bustle of Thespian's Square, and Fritha did not feel it fair to leave her without any company, and in the end only Imoen and Anomen left with the bard. Fritha followed slowly behind her as Aerie led the way up the narrow spiral stairs to the third floor to push the door open on a small, but tidy workroom. A few cutting tools were lined in a neat row upon the pitted, stained workbench, bottles and vials glinting in the glow of the skylight above. Against the wall opposite, a worn sideboard was covered in books, a set of drawers next to it that stood almost as tall as she was, each drawer about six inches square and just as many deep. The air smelt warm and spicy, scented by the herbs that hung in bundles from the sloped rafters and Fritha could just see the elf at work, brewing up tinctures and medicines, and imbuing them with her own brand of magic.

'Here,' huffed Aerie, pulling a wide pallet from under the sideboard, presumably used for those patients who required to recline for an examination, 'you and Imoen can share in here – I'll bring up some bedding from storage.'

Fritha smiled, crossing to take in the view over the grey rooftops from the poky window. 'I think I will be better off sharing with Solaufein.'

'You mean?' Aerie cried, immediately seizing upon the reverse, 'Are Anomen and Imoen-? Oh-' she faltered at Fritha's snort, the elf exclaiming with a laugh, 'Oh! I am so happy for you, Fritha! When did this happen?'

'I suppose, _officially_, the day before yesterday.'

They both laughed then, Aerie adding playfully, 'Goodness, you did not rush it, did you?'

Fritha just shrugged and smiled. 'Some things take time.'

'What has you two so diverted?' asked the man himself, Solaufein stepping into the room behind them, his and Fritha's packs slung across his back.

'Nothing,' Fritha dismissed, her attention now with him and hand raised to feel his forehead. 'Are you well? You look a little strained; I know I felt odd back in the marketplace.'

'I am fine,' he smiled, no doubt to allay her worries, 'it is merely that these last few days have been tiring. I think I may rest now while I have the chance.'

Fritha nodded and left him with a kiss, before joining the elf, who had already moved downstairs.

'You're lucky you came when you did,' sighed Aerie, turning her face away from the rush of dusty air as she heaved the window next to her chair open a few inches. 'I think this is the first four dry days we had together in the last month. Clear too,' she continued, taking a moment to gaze through the grimy glass, 'When the wind changes, smog drifts in from the Lower Ward. I suppose the Hive gets the worst of it, though I rarely go there, and never alone. And the mud! It is not so bad here, but it's almost ankle deep in some of the side streets!' Aerie stopped suddenly, sinking into the armchair with a rueful chuckle. 'Listen to me complain –you have just stepped from a war. I am sorry that we left when we did. If I had known matters would escalate so-'

Fritha cut off her regrets with a sigh.

'Aerie, you have nothing to apologise for – I'm glad you were well away from the troubles. I tried to keep the others from it too, though I had little success. They always professed they would follow me into the Hells – I guess now they get to prove it. Did you and Haer'Dalis ever travel through any of the lower planes?'

'Not the Abyss, no, but we took a portal to the Grey Wastes once in error. I'd never seen such a dismal place. It felt as though it was draining the very soul from me. We managed to find a portal out after a day, but I couldn't shake the feeling so easily.' Her eyes took on a distant sorrow, 'I get it here sometimes, when people come to the apothecary coughing up blood and soot from the Lower Ward. Such a miserable existence.'

'Not quite the description of Sigil I recall Haer'Dalis regaling us with,' mused Fritha. Aerie merely sighed.

'It is his home – it seems inevitable he'd see only the good. And although Haer'Dalis does not like to boast, his work with the troupes here is really taking off. I don't want to be the one to take him from that.'

'And what of you?'

Aerie shrugged and offered her a smile. 'I know I complain, but I don't hate it here. The mix of people makes life an adventure in itself. When I first started work at the apothecary in the Lower Ward I never knew who or what would be arriving next. And there is a real opportunity to help others here, but the city itself… I mean, there is a grove of trees in the Clerks Ward and public gardens in the Lady's Ward, but it's not home for me as it is to Haer'Dalis.'

'You said you work in an apothecary?'

'Yes -or at least I did until I couldn't climb the ladders anymore,' Aerie added with a laugh and a pat to her stomach. 'But I knew enough by then to set up here on my own. I mostly brew remedies which I sell on to a stall in the Great Bazaar, but I have a few patients who visit regularly.'

'It sounds like you are settled here.'

'For now. This little one will decide the thing,' Aerie smiled, rubbing the curve of her belly. 'Once the baby is old enough to travel, we've agreed to return to the Prime. Haer'Dalis's wanderlust will not be settled, not even in his beloved Cage, and the Prime should be safe enough to travel with a child.'

Fritha considered an image of the pair exploring some overgrown ruin, the baby strapped to Aerie's back, and smiled.

'You must be a seasoned explorer by now –what were the planes like?'

'Ah,' sighed Aerie; for a moment the similarity between her and Haer'Dalis was amusing, 'wonderful and terrifying in the same breath. We travelled to lush forests, vast oceans, blistering deserts. We once watched the moonrise over the Shard Hills on Lunia, every crystal spire catching the light in a white blaze until the whole- oh, I'm sorry,' she cried, shaking her head at her apparent thoughtlessness, 'I shouldn't go on; I know you always wanted to see the planes.'

'Don't be daft,' Fritha laughed and was glad to realise it was mostly genuine, 'It's nice to hear about what you've been doing.'

'Well, it's not quite as exciting now we are here, but I _have_ been putting the lessons you and Nalia taught me to good use,' the elf continued brightly, 'just because half the city is grey does not mean my baby will have to be.' She stooped with a huff, rummaging under her chair to withdraw a large workbox which she opened open a jumble of tiny garments.

'You've been making baby clothes,' Fritha exclaimed with a laugh, Aerie laying the pieces one by one onto the small table between them.

'Not all of them. I made that one, and that one. I bought that one and added the knot work. I've started making a few larger ones for when he or she's a little older – I doubt I'll have time when the baby is born.' A shy smile was pulling at her mouth, 'Would you like to help?'

Fritha did, and they settled before the open window, the workbox on the table between as they sewed caps and smocks of a tiny size. Fritha ran a fond finger down the border of forget-me-nots she had just embroidered about the collar of a long white smock. This was something she would have likely never had the chance to do even had she remained mortal, Aerie opposite her, looking round and contented as she sewed closed the seams of a primrose yellow cap. Solaufein came down after a couple of hours and made tea for them, and a hour after that he was helping to set the table while the girls bustled about the small kitchen, the rich scent of a stew filling the parlour by the time the others arrived back.

'We are returned, my dove,' announced Haer'Dalis triumphantly, closing to Aerie to claim a kiss for his efforts, 'and so early I had nary a glimpse of a collector.'

'Collectors?' repeated Fritha, wondering if these were another, so far unspoken, hazard of Sigil's streets.

'They are people who make a living from the rubbish other drop,' provided Aerie. A pained look flitted across the elf's face. 'It is a hard life, but there are worse, I suppose, and without them the streets would be neck-deep in rubbish after only a tenday.'

'Something smells appetising,' Anomen diverted tactfully.

'Ah, yes. I made stew. It was all I had in at such notice – not that you are unwelcome, of course-'

'Great,' Imoen cut in, before Aerie could work herself into a proper tiss, 'I'm starving. Do you need a hand with anything?'

'Ah, no, it's ready now, if you want to wash the dust off and take a seat.'

Dinner around the cramped dining table was stone lizard stew served with a heavy dark bread. Fritha had not seen anywhere yet in the city where they could hope to grow grain – perhaps it had been made from the dark-leaved vines that seemed to choke every untended alley she had passed on the way there. Silence had descended for the time it had taken for them to serve themselves, Fritha picking up the conversation once they were all settled.

'So how was Thespian's Square?'

'You should have seen it, Fritha!' came Imoen, postponing her spoonful in her enthusiasm, 'It used to be a square popular with artists with a gallery in the catacombs beneath. Then this archmage gets into a fight with someone down there and fwoosh-!' she mimed an explosion with her hands, 'The whole square collapses. But rather than abandon it, the artists just turn the subsided ground into an amphitheatre for open air performances!'

'We were fortunate enough to watch the rehearsal of Haer'Dalis's troupe,' added Anomen, 'It was most entertaining.'

Haer'Dalis seemed pleased enough with this praise to at least feign humility. 'Our theatre is but a humble stage where we can perform our trifling works. Now, the Theatre Broulliard, there is a theatre! Anchored in the Deep Ethereal plane, with a portal serving Sigil in the Clerks Ward, the theatre caters to beings from all across the multiverse, from shining devas to malevolent fiends –there is even an area fashioned completely from obsidian to allow those from the Plane of Fire to enjoy the performance in comfort.'

'We saw the Edges of Infinity there a month ago,' added Aerie conversationally. 'There is no stage to speak of, and magic can make the void look like anything required as a backdrop. Watching the actors float in reminded me of the performances back in Faenya Dail.

'And speaking of portals,' continued Haer'Dalis, 'I asked about, just to confirm this sparrow's ken, and I can tell you there is gate to the Plain of Yawning Portals in Plague-Mort.'

'Is that a district here?' asked Solaufein.

'Nay, it is a one of the gatetowns. If Sigil, upon its spire, is at the hub of the Great Wheel, then the gatetowns would be at the end of each spoke. However, to find a portal there I fear even I will need some help. I suggest we speak to one of the greybeards over at the Guild of Doorsnoops tomorrow.'

'Doorsnoops?'

'Yes,' continued Haer'Dalis keenly – he seemed to be enjoying being their source of all knowledge, 'it is rumoured they are part of the Revolutionary League – they want to see the rest of the factions in Sigil go to the mazes, though I doubt such a thing is possible. They can however significantly reduce their power hold by charting all the portals and making the knowledge available to all for a modest fee -and that is exactly what they are doing.'

'So, they'll know of a portal to Plague-Mort?' confirmed Fritha.

'More than is likely, my raven. Once in the berg, the portal to the Abyss will be obvious – by all accounts it stands open and requires no key.'

'I suppose where it leads is security in itself,' offered Anomen grimly. A certain stillness seemed to fall over the table.

'You lot might not have to come further than the portal,' ventured Fritha. 'If Brieanna is going to meet me and-'

'You are not going into the Abyss alone,' cut in Solaufein, the quietness of his words somehow making them firmer.

'Yeah,' added Imoen, 'after this far, I'm not bailing out now. Besides, you might need our help with Melissan.'

Haer'Dalis was grinning broadly. 'Well, it looks as though your cadre are set upon their course, wherever it is to take you. You always could command loyalty, my raven. Let us hope the quality stays with you – you will be a goddess without rival!'

Fritha smiled, if only because Haer'Dalis meant well, Solaufein wrapping a comforting hand about her own beneath the table as the bard sighed longingly.

'Ah, your story would make quite the play –though I doubt any would believe it.'

**…**

Fritha pulled the final loop tight and the yellow silk closed to make the last of four clustered knots in the centre of the daisy she had embroidered upon the stiff linen apron. Outside the window, the city was dark. Aerie had retired an hour ago, the others leaving the conversation one by one to make for their beds, Solaufein the last to leave her with a kiss and a warning she would strain her eyes if she worked in the lamplight much longer. But Fritha had stayed. She had wanted to finish the piece; it felt important to finish it.

Fritha laid the completed work over the back of the armchair opposite, ready for Aerie to find in the morning, and she imagined the elf's delight, first on finding it, and then that moment when she first tied it about her baby, the unborn child cooing behind Fritha's eyes. A sound on the stairs in the corner started her from her reverie. Haer'Dalis was descending, a dusty wine bottle in hand and he nodded to her as he made his way past the curtain to the kitchen.

'Here,' he announced, returning to set two cups on the table beside her and sinking into the armchair, 'I have been saving this for a special occasion.'

'Then, wait,' Fritha smiled, her gaze back on her apron, 'I think you will have something very special coming along soon.'

But Haer'Dalis ignored her, taking a knife to the wax and slowly easing free the stopper. Fritha sank back into her chair to accept a cup.

'The Bytopian wines do not keep, and I do not think Aerie will be much impressed if I am drunk for the baby's first day.'

'This from the man who faced dragons!'

'I know,' he conceded to her laughter, 'but at least then, I had only myself to fail. I will confess I miss those days.' He sighed, drawing a long draft of wine. 'You and I, finding adventure and trouble in even measure. Even compared to the wonders of the planes, you took us on a merry ride. And life in Sigil is the same exhilarating disorder. If I had to settle somewhere, I am glad it is here, but…' He shook his head, and drew another mouthful. 'I know Aerie would prefer to live somewhere safer; once the child is born, perhaps I will, too.'

'Are you looking forward to it?' Fritha asked quietly, 'Being a father, I mean.'

'I…' he faltered, taking a steeling gulp of wine to nod firmly. 'Yes, but I cannot deny there are times when I realise the enormity of what is going to happen, and it terrifies me.'

'I suppose all memorable adventures must hold an element of danger.'

Haer'Dalis snorted, a wry smiling pulling at his mouth. 'Tis true enough. And what of you, my raven? You face a far more frightening fate than I; are you afraid of what is to come?'

Fritha merely shrugged. 'Not of dying or becoming a god –or even of becoming Bhaal- but I was frightened of being forgotten, the idea that no one really knew me. But that isn't true, and even if I am forgotten, will that be any great loss? Is my life worth remembering over some poor sod who lives off rubbish?'

'You will not be forgotten,' he assured her, a sly grin creeping in as he added 'I am certain at least one of your company will recall you to the day he dies. How long have you and Solaufein been paired?'

Fritha smiled faintly, unsure herself. 'I don't know. I think since almost we met, though neither of us knew it.'

'I had my jink on you and Anomen,' the bard admitted brazenly.

'No,' giggled Fritha, 'I love Anomen, but we did not suit each other that way.'

'Well, you will find no argument in that from me. Now,' Haer'Dalis continued, straightening slightly in his seat to top up their cups, 'come the morrow, I will help you find a portal and key to Plague-Mort, but you need not all attend; why do not you and Solaufein go about the city with Aerie, she would be glad to show you the wonders of the Cage. You know,' he added, his smile fading somewhat , 'that deities are not allowed in Sigil… this could be your last chance.'

Fritha smiled, and raised her cup in toast to his thoughtfulness.

'After all your tales, how could I refuse?'

**…**

Imoen kept pace with the two men to either side of her. It was mid-morning in the Clerks' Ward; most people inside the offices fussing over their ledgers and the streets were quiet enough for them to walk three abreast. Aerie had left just after breakfast with plans to show Fritha and Solaufein the sights, Imoen remaining at the house with Anomen and Haer'Dalis, playing cards until the time the guildhall finished its morning business and opened its doors to the public.

'Here, it is just up ahead,' came the bard eagerly, drawing to a halt before a building of plain red brick that –as a rarity for that area- had no shining brass plaque beside the door, and Imoen would have passed it by without a second glance. Haer'Dalis pushed open the plain, heavy door. Inside, the tiled space echoed with footsteps and whispers, four neat rows of bookcases lining the room behind a large front desk. A dark-haired elf in robes was seated behind it, Haer'Dalis holding a murmured conversation with him and handing over a small purse before he nodded once, turning his head to call behind him, 'Charter Sindan?'

A bespectacled older tiefling with a shock of wiry violet hair and plum-coloured skin stepped from behind one of the bookcases. A hushed exchanged passed between the two men, the robed tiefling straightening to nod once.

'I see. Please come with me.'

He led the way through the first room and on into the next, men and women in similar robes gliding between the bookshelves, Charter Sindan continuing conversationally, 'It is a shame it's the first level of the Abyss you want – rumour has it Tish over at the Managled Leg gambling hall has a portal to Avernus in her backroom – she signs up creditors who can't pay their debts to lifetime's service in Bloodwar.'

The three followed him through the piled bookcases, the tall shelves interspersed here and there with huge chests of drawers. Imoen paused to read the labels.

'_Reaver claws. Rose petals, black. Rust powder, mixed metal. _What is all this stuff?'

'They are keys,' explained the charter, 'for purchase, of course. You never know what a portal will require to activate it.' He paused, at last, before a towering, ebonwood bookcase, darting up a nearby ladder to fetch down a large book bound in what looked disturbingly like goblin hide.

'Here we are… the known Abyssal portals… from Sigil,' He ran a finger down the index indentations, opening the tome at somewhere near the centre, 'Portals to Plague-Mort… Ah, here it is. The Wastinghand Gate is situated in the ruins of, oh…' he trailed off, nervously adjusting his spectacles, 'The Addle Mews. The third archway along the left side of the courtyard as you enter the main gates.'

'And the key?' asked Haer'Dalis

'A handful of dust from the surroundings -so at least that is in your favour,' the charter added cheerfully.

Outside, it was approaching noon – or peak as the locals called it- the street about them getting busier as clerks from the surrounding guildhalls left their stuffy offices to find lunch in one of the many nearby cafes, and their three found shelter from the crowds on the corner next to a shaved ice vendor.

'So,' began Anomen with a frown; it seemed he was preparing himself for ill news. 'what is the Addle Mews?'

'It is a ruin in the Hives,' provided Haer'Dalis. 'It used to be an asylum –they are needed here, the chaos of the Cage drive many cutters barmy- but this place wasn't like the Gatehouse where the sods are cared for. In the Mews madness was studied, the insane experimented on, tortured. It was rumoured later, some cultists from Pandemonium were building an army. Whatever the dark of it, the Hardheads invaded after the place started snatching sane cutters off the streets, and there was a bloodbath. A lot of people died, and what they found in there…' he swallowed, and even the usually unruffled bard looked disturbed. 'People had been locked up, left to cannibalism, encouraged to self-mutilation.' Haer'Dalis shook his head, continuing more brightly, 'Now the place is occupied by a sect of Xaositects, one of the factions here who believe chaos is the way of things. Getting to the portal might be problematic, but nothing in the Cage is simple.'

Imoen was beginning to get that impression, the three pushing their way across the street to join the crowds heading towards the Market Ward, the throng choked at the end by a diversion. It seemed there was some building work occurring in one of the alleys, and the road was closed, Imoen peering over the makeshift barrier as they passed. A group of yellow-skinned humanoids, two small horns protruding from their snowy hair, were hard at work erecting a wall. They could have been tieflings barring the fact that they were floating; Imoen was mesmerized as images appeared in gold above the closest one's head.

'What's are they?'

'Dabuses,' explained Haer'Dalis without stopping. 'The pictures you see are the way they communicate – visual riddles that have meaning for the canny. They are the Lady's servants and they change the city as she wills it, opening streets here and closing others there.'

'Why?'

'Now there is a question, and one to which the answer is best left dark,' laughed Haer'Dalis in an irritatingly cryptic manner. 'It is not wise to look too closely into the Lady's whims.'

Imoen snorted; the whole point of secrets was to find them out. 'When Fritha becomes a god, I'm going to ask Fritha to ask Her.'

Haer'Dalis was laughing so much he could make no reply, the man at last calming enough to clap her soundly on the shoulder.

'Come, my merry robin. I believe we are to meet our friends at the Laughing Modron.'

They set out once more, avoiding the busier streets near the Great Bazaar and heading towards the Lady's Ward. Sigil felt like a whole other city there, with its pristine marble manors and guildhalls, the nobles all strolling the wide avenues in the latest silks and furs from all across the planes. Imoen let her gaze wander over a particularly handsome man who was crossing the street before them. He was likely an aasimar, judging from his white blond hair and golden eyes. A ripple of familiar giggling distracted her _appreciation_.

Behind her, Fritha and Solaufein were wearing paired smiles, the drow teasing playfully, 'Imoen is enjoying some sightseeing too, I note.'

'My raven,' laughed Haer'Dalis –Imoen was too busy sticking her tongue out at the pair to greet them, 'what a chance meeting. But where is the dove?'

'Her feet were hurting,' offered Fritha, 'so we went to the tavern earlier and left her there to rest, while we stepped out to visit the statue in Foghorn Square.'

'What's so good about a statue?' asked Imoen.

'Well, it does talk,' explained Solaufein with a laugh. The girl was instantly enthralled.

'What does it say?'

'It answers questions of the past. We did not ask it anything, but it was interesting to hear what it told others.'

Fritha was nodding. 'Indeed. A couple of gnomes spent an _age_ having it help them fill in the blanks on their family tree.'

'Ooo…and where else have you been this morning?'

And the rest of their journey was spent describing the verdant beauty of the arched gardens, where the skeletal frame of a building stood, hung with exotic flowers and vines from every corner of the multiverse.

'It was so beautiful,' sighed Fritha, seemingly back there again as they reached the tavern, 'and the scent. It reminded me of my garden back in Suldanessellar.'

The Laughing Modron was a pleasant tavern with a terrace set back from the street and surrounded by a latticed fence that was covered in vines to hide it from view. Aerie was seated at one of the outside tables, a cup of something already before her as she read, though she glanced up at their arrival. She raised a hand in greeting, Fritha still talking as they weaved their way over to her.

'It is hard to believe such a place as the gardens exists in the same city as the Mortuary.'

'The Mortuary?' repeated Haer'Dalis, a worried look sent to Aerie as they reached the table, 'You went into the Hive?'

'So,' the elf shrugged, 'we have been to the Hive before.'

'But my dove-

'I am pregnant, Haer'Dalis,' she cut in sharply; perhaps her feet her were still sore, 'not an invalid, and, in case you have forgotten, a mage as well. You cannot have us settle in the most dangerous city in the planes and then worry every time I leave the house.'

'So, what were you doing at the Mortuary?' came Anomen in a hasty change of subject.

'Oh, nothing,' answered Fritha, 'but there is cenotaph before it, these huge obsidian stones making a walled square, and if you pay a silver they will add a name for you.'

'So whose name did you add?' asked Imoen.

Fritha smiled faintly. 'My own.'

'Right, what can I get you?' came the blue-skinned waitress behind them, her dark red curls trembling with each nod as she took their order and disappeared once more in a swish of green. Haer'Dalis clapped his hands together, seemingly relishing his role as guide.

'Well, my birds, first we feed the body and then we shall feed the soul. We have an afternoon free and Sigil awaits with all its glories!'

**…**

After an afternoon touring Sigil with its dirt and crowds, Fritha was glad to get back to the peace of Aerie and Haer'Dalis's little house, she and Solaufein depositing their bags in their room and taking a moment to wash the dust from their skin. Haer'Dalis had not wanted Aerie to have to cook after such a long day, something they had all heartily agreed with and an evening meal of curried yams and flatbreads had been bought from one of the local restaurant on the way back. Fritha and Solaufein were moving back downstairs now to help Haer'Dalis serve, Anomen catching them on the second floor landing on his way back from the washroom.

'Ah, is dinner served?'

'Not yet,' Fritha assured him, 'but I don't imagine it will be long.'

A pause between them, neither moving to continue; Solaufein seemed to sense something they themselves did not and stepped from Fritha's side with a gentle smile.

'I will see you both down there.'

'So,' continued Fritha to the void the drow had left, 'you all right sharing with Imoen? I know she snores.'

'_I heard that!_' came the indignant yell from the doorway next to them and the pair shared a chuckle.

'It is fine; I am a heavy sleeper.'

'And your leg is all right?' Fritha pressed more seriously, 'I know we did a lot of walking today.'

'It is a little stiff, but I am well enough. I will apply some more of Sister Rahila's balm before I sleep…' Anomen trailed off, something of the melancholy creeping into his manner. 'It will not be long now, will it?'

'No…' sighed Fritha, reaching into her pocket, 'here, I want you to have this.'

Anomen gazed down at the small wooden doll he now held, a wan smile twitching his beard as he recognised the faded yellow figurine of Brieanna's filial idol.

'I… thank you.'

The girl smiled and nodded, about to turn when his voice halted her, Anomen stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.

'Fritha, I- whatever happens tomorrow, I just- I want you to know, I regret nothing. Not what happened between us, or with the Order.' His hand landed heavy on her shoulder, an earnest depth to his pale blue eyes, 'I am glad I met you, and I am proud to have fought at your side.'

They embraced like long parted siblings, Fritha dashing away the tears with a smile. 'You know, I think you might be the truest friend I have ever had.'

'Awww,' came the sob beside them, Imoen in the doorway caught between a grin and tears, 'you two…'

'Come here, you!' laughed Fritha, dragging the girl into a fierce hug. 'Now, look after each other, all right?' she continued as they finally parted, 'And keep an eye on Jaheira, too; you're all the family she has now.'

The three shared a firm nod, Aerie voice's drifting up from the landing below.

'Dinner, everyone!'

'Coming!' trilled Imoen, mopping at her tears as she bounded down the stairs. Anomen turned to Fritha, his elbow held out to her with an unusually boyish grin.

'My lady?'

Fritha laughed, and arm in arm they went down to dinner.

**…**

Haer'Dalis paused on the bottommost step. Aerie had been 'just coming' for over a half hour now, the bed next to him still empty and cold, and he had eventually given up and gone to find her. Outlined in grey from the streetlamps outside, the domestic scene looked almost ethereal, Aerie fussing quietly over the stacked plates in their cramped kitchen, her gravid figure bobbing with a strange grace as she dried each and placed it back upon the dresser.

'Aerie?'

She started at his voice, guilt and frustration mixing in the frown she sent him as he weaved his way to her side. 'My dove,' he continued, easing the cloth from her hand, 'I said I would do that in the morning.'

'I know- I was just-' Aerie sighed, easing herself down in to the worn armchair before the window. Haer'Dalis sank on the footstool beside it and for a while they sat in silence, Aerie stroking his hair as she gazed out the window onto the silvery fog.

'They will need a guide tomorrow.'

It took him a moment to register she had spoken, the man pulling back to offer her a smooth smile. 'Aye, and that is why I will be taking them into the Hive, as promised.'

That look of bold vulnerability seemed to make his heart stop, Aerie's face both fearful in youth, and ripe in matronly wisdom, and in that instant she was transformed to some insightful goddess of fecundity, a mother to all Sigil.

'You know what I mean… They will need a guide on the planes. Sparrow,' she sighed, a fond smile creeping as she brushed some stray tress behind his ear, 'I know you better than anyone –you _want_ to go with them.'

He felt the tension of the day snap, the conflict within in all the more exhausting now it was admitted, and he rested his head upon the warm curve of her stomach.

'I- yes, but I wish to remain, too. I am at war, my dove. Adventure pulls the bard in me away, but _you_ keep the man in me here. I will not distress you in this, Aerie.'

A soft ripple of resigned laughter, the girl combing fingers through his hair to cup them under his chin and raise his face to hers once more.

'You always were one for dancing off on Fritha's mad jaunts – go, see them safely to their goal.' She smiled, moving a thumb up to stroke across his eyebrow and taking his free hand to place it upon her swollen belly. 'Just come back to us, all right?'

A kiss sealed their promise.


	62. In to Hell

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**In to Hell**

Solaufein sank onto the thick mattress, the blankets cool against his skin. That there was no moon in Sigil did not mean his Lady could not be found, though he was finding it more difficult to focus upon his veneration than usual. Fritha was already changed for bed and packing her bag ready for the morning, the girl naked apart from a coat of auburn curls and the jumbled arrangement of jade stone, key and ring that made up the pendant she was never without.

'Fritha,' he chuckled as she bent down to push her washbag into the top of her pack, 'do you plan to stay up much longer? Your _presence_ is rather distracting.'

'Just as the gods made me.'

'Well, the gods clearly did not plan for the rest of us to get much done.'

She giggled warmly and took no heed of his pleas, packing away her last few belonging and setting her bag neatly at the foot of their bed before she at last slipped under the blankets beside him. Solaufein quickly finished his prayers and reached out to dim the lamp. Blue-black darkness engulfed the room, but neither of them seemed ready for sleep, Fritha laid within the crook of his arm as he traced the patterns on her henna painted shoulders, the bracelet she had woven for him bright about his wrist.

Fritha was smiling, a distance to her eyes as she gazed up at the rafters above.

'I enjoyed today – it was nice seeing Sigil together, just having a little time with you away from wars and struggles. I've been lucky – I always wanted to see the Cage. I suppose the only place I would have liked to see more would have been Candlekeep,' she admitted, in a casual way that made him feel sad. 'You _will_ visit there, won't you, Sola?'

'You know I will.'

'And then where do you plan to go?'

'I-' He sighed and shook his head. 'I don't know. But I will be-' He had been about to say 'fine', but it seemed callous and it was far from true anyway. 'You do not need to worry for me, Fritha.'

'I know,' she smiled reaching up to stroke silken fingernails down the side of his face. 'I will always love you, Solaufein. Never doubt it.'

His reply was a kiss that deepened to something almost frantic, only to slow again as they joined to share the closeness they both craved one last time, the pair laid together afterwards to talk long into the night.

Solaufein had finally succumbed to sleep an hour or so ago, Fritha left to gaze up at the darkened rafters and their redolent hangings. She could not rest, her mind alert with the knowledge that every instant was one she would never get again. She had cried a little at first, though more from habit that any pressing misery –it was frightening to think life going on without her, never able to talk to her friends or feel her love's touch. She reached out to brush fingers down Solaufein's arm, merely for the fact she still could. The drow sighed something in his sleep, but did not wake.

Ah, what she would have given then to awake and find this all a dream, herself a girl back in Candlekeep with every fleeting moment to live all over again, to savour and appreciate now that she realised just how precious it all was in a life that had felt so full of potential.

**…**

Fritha did not recall falling asleep, and she awoke groggy and unsure of her surroundings in that pale, orderly workroom. A moment to recall both where she was and the task that had brought her there, so close now it could not be neatly placed in the back of her mind as something to worry about later, and her stomach squirmed as though suddenly filled with live snakes.

'Fritha?' came the presence at her back, Solaufein's warm hand placed between her shoulder blades.

'You're awake,' she confirmed without really needing to.

'Yes, for some time. I…' he trailed off, but perhaps all he wanted to say was conveyed in that embrace, his arms closing about to pull her closer until her she was pressed to him, the words whispered into the back of her neck.

'Whatever happens, Fritha, I am yours… to the last.'

They dressed in silence, helping each other into armour with lingering touches; there were no more words to be said. Downstairs, the others were similarly nervous. Aerie seemed unable to sit still for a moment, the girl up and down to the kitchen, making sure everyone had enough food and tea as those seated pushed spiced scrambled eggs about their plates. Even Haer'Dalis was more subdued, announcing gravely that he and Aerie had discussed it, and he would be going with them, and neither of the pair would hear any refusals.

One last check of their packs, and their five were gathered on the front step, a strangely-composed Aerie embracing them each in turn, and they were off. The dawn, if it could be called as much in a place without a sun, was still an hour away, and the dark streets were wreathed in a miasmic soup of smog and dust that choked the lungs and stuck to everything it touched –a sure sign it would rain later, according to Haer'Dalis.

Through the Clerks' Ward they marched at a fierce pace, the city about them slowly becoming more dilapidated as the districts merged until Fritha felt positive they were in the Hive. Aerie was right, the mud was terrible. They were fortunate it had not rained for a while, the packed earth streets uneven but solid after the dry spell. Razorvine and other weeds smothered the buildings, the reek of rubbish and the masses adding to the foul mist.

Haer'Dalis led them onward, having to double back a couple of times when what had previously been streets turned out to be dead ends in that ever-changing maze. About them, the district was stirring with the approaching morning, shadows moving in the alleys while gaggles of children hurried past carrying long poles for snuffing the street lamps in those wards that could afford such luxuries.

Fritha had almost expected trouble from Aerie's description of the place, but perhaps the key to surviving in the Hive was knowing just who to avoid, and they saw no trouble as they rounded that final corner and the ruined prison of the Addle Mews was before them. It had been a grand, if somewhat miserable building once, the dull grey stone set with dozens of poky windows, large spires crumbling from the four corners of the peaked roof. The gates to the courtyard had long since been removed for the worth of their metal, the group crossing into the weed-covered cobbles of the courtyard.

'Right,' murmured Imoen, stooping to take a handful of dust from a cracked horse trough, and heading towards the archways of the long covered walkway that ran the edge of the outer wall, 'some dust and the third arch along. Here,' she stopped before the shadow archway, 'all right, so what do I-'

The rush of magic cut her off as a dark grey portal burst to life just before her.

'It worked!' cried Imoen. Haer'Dalis laughed.

'Did you doubt it would? Come, take some dust, all of you –the planes await!'

That disorientating rush of sensations which was becoming all too familiar and Fritha was upright once more and waiting for her head to clear. They had appeared at the end of a wide grey street that could have still been in Sigil, albeit a ward that made the Hive look like the nobles' district. The sulphur-reeking air held the melancholy chill of autumn, the damp somehow creeping into her chest in a way that made Fritha want to cough. The buildings about them were little more than hovels, filthy curtains of cloth and hide all that covered most windows, and the stench from open sewers that clogged the gutters must have filled every house, The whole town was dominated by the shining gold tower that rose from somewhere in the centre. Anomen was looking uncomfortable, as were the others to lesser degrees, Fritha wondering if it was the lingering affects of portal travel or merely the plane itself. If it was, she felt nothing and neither did Haer'Dalis from the grim smile on his pale face.

'So here we are,' he announced cheerfully.

'Nice,' said Imoen and meant the opposite. 'Who lives in the tower?'

'The ruler here, whoever the current Arch-Lector may be. He or _she_ is always a demon of great power, though it is doubtful he will be a problem for us. No,' Haer'Dalis continued, nodding to the black uniformed group of alu-fiends and cambions who were beating to death some unlucky tiefling on the street corner up ahead, 'it is of those ones we will have to be peery. They are called The Hounds, and they are the law here if such a thing were possible. They are the Arch-Lector's bodyguard, and serve as the militia for the town. Anyone to whom they take a dislike is usually dismembered on the streets, and left as a warning to others.'

'You speak as though familiar with this place,' offered Anomen.

'Nay, but my fellow, Tamix, was hipped here once and told me of the ride. It took a lot of jink and even more luck to get him back again. I am not sure where the abyssal gate is – strangely Tamix never sought it out- we would be best to ask on Merchant's Row.'

Plague-Mort was a place even stranger than Sigil, demons and their kin wandering the streets about their business as though a town of demons was the most usual thing in the world. And there it was, their band of mortals garnering more than a few looks as they passed. But it was not just their race that made them stand out. Everything there felt grey, even the brightly-hued skins of the demon-kin seeming somehow muted.

The Merchant's Row was nearer the centre of the town, a wide avenue of shops with a row of stalls running along the centre. Most seemed to sell weapons, though a few others catered to those with a need for more mundane items. Fritha fought the urge to cover her mouth as they passed an open stall where a fiend butcher was jointing a dubious carcass of dark green meet. At the end of the row, two militia guards were helping themselves to the wares of a tiefling baker who had enough sense to let them do as they pleased, Haer'Dalis deciding not to tempt them and heading for the other side of the street where a dark-skinned tiefling was eagerly hawking his wares.

'Ah, planars is it? You here from Sigil? Well, your coin is still good. You want a sword? Perhaps a dagger for the woman? These are the finest arms in all Plague-Mort.'

'We were actually looking for the gate to the Abyss,' answered Imoen, sliding some coin over the counter without a thought; Sigil had impressed on her the principle that information cost like anything else.

'The gate? What do you want- no, never mind. The gate is in the leftmost of the three arches leading into the palace. You can't miss it. Mind out though, the Hounds are hungry today.'

The palace was only a few roads over from the market. Fritha had expected the houses to become finer as they approached, but they walked the same hovel-cramped streets; perhaps the Arch-Lector liked to be reminded just how much better he had it. The palace gates were before them now, the middle one leading into the courtyard beyond, while the rightmost seemed to be bricked in, the leftmost one the swirling red portal they sought.

'You there, halt!' roared a voice, the group whipping to the right to find two militia guards marching toward them from around the side of the palace wall. One was pale, his dark red eyes glowing in his gaunt face, his fellow guard red-skinned with a mouth of oversized yellow fangs which prevented him from closing it properly. A cambion and tiefling respectively; Fritha fought the urge to just make a break for the portal.

'Well, what have we here?' growled the cambion, as they finally reached them.

The tiefling had his answer. 'Bunch of clueless sods just looking for trouble.'

'And they've found it. What do you want here, _outsiders?_'

'We're heading to the portal,' Fritha said simply. She saw no reason to lie and had no desire to start a fight there either.

'The gate? To the Abyss?' the cambion snarled, 'You think you're being funny?'

'No,' she answered, and added no more, the group about her silent as Fritha gazed up into his dull red eyes. The cambion was the first to look away, something rattled in his manner as he turned hastily back to his comrade.

'We're not here to keep fools from their deaths. Move along.'

But it was not their group who broke first, the two guards hurrying to continue their patrol about the walls.

'What was that about?' muttered Imoen after them. Fritha shrugged; they were too close to the end now for her to start worrying over every little detail, especially ones that went in their favour. From the open portal, a hot breeze was blowing; it felt quite pleasant after the damp chill of Plague-Mort.

'Well, this is it,' murmured Haer'Dalis behind her. Fritha smiled – how right he was.

'Indeed, it is, sparrow. Imoen, give him the portal stone.'

'My raven-' he protested, catching it on instinct as the blue pebble sailed towards him.

'I appreciate your help here, Haer'Dalis, but you don't need to come any further. Besides,' Fritha smiled, 'You need to get back to Aerie and the baby –I couldn't let you miss an adventure like that.'

'But I-' His protests died there, the bard weighing the stone in his hand before glancing back to them with a grin. 'Fates be with you, my raven. I… Whatever happens, I will immortalise your tale upon the stage!'

In spite of it all, Fritha laughed, pausing a step before the whirling pool.

'Well, then I want the opening night at the Five Flagons -and give Higgold my best!'

That dizzying rush of air, gravity rolling about them like the waves of an ocean and the greying ruin of Plague-Mort was gone. Fritha cast about her, taking in the scorched, red wasteland, a seemingly endless expanse of cracked earth and vicious stone spires, while in the yellow sky a mile up hung huge islands of rock, the dark specks of winged creatures wheeling about them. Fritha had thought the dust was bad in Sigil; the stifling winds choked everything with a fine red haze that stung the skin. They had appeared on a stretch of land between the forked convergence of two black rivers, the ugly sprawl of Plague-Mort somehow just behind them and a speck in the distance.

Above the plain to the west, a huge storm front leagues across was boiling closer, the plane's titular pits riddling the ground beneath.

'More dust!' coughed Anomen into the blustering winds. 'Were it ever all to settle we would be buried alive!'

'They say it is made from the bones of the millions who have fallen here.'

The group seemed to all turn as one to find her behind them, the pearly outline of a woman standing there, untouched by the heat or scouring winds. A smile graced her translucent face, her ethereal braid falling over her shoulder as she pointed to the rolling clouds to the west. 'The chaos here feeds the storms, stripping flesh and grinding bone to dust in mere moments.'

'At least this place smells better than Sigil,' muttered Imoen.

'Brieanna,' greeted Fritha evenly as the spirit turned back to them, 'or do you prefer Elund?'

'I prefer whatever you would call me.'

'Brieanna, then.'

The spirit nodded her acquiescence with this _divine commandment_, continuing mildly, 'Sarevok sent me. The afterlife can be confusing with no god to command your purpose; he found me wandering Azzagrat, another layer of the Abyss, but one closer to the Prime than this. Sarevok said you had need of me, and I came without hesitation to serve you once more. You would reach the Throne?'

Fritha nodded once, and Brieanna smiled. 'Then come with me.'

The woman led the way down to the river bank, the stretch of dark water wide and foreboding, the black depths surely holding unseen horrors.

'Here, we need to take the river.'

'Do you have a boat?' asked Fritha, casting up and down the dusty bank.

'No, but you can get us one.' Brieanna smiled, pointing to the sky where the islands hung tranquil above the storm. 'You are powerful here, Fritha, call and the Abyss will answer.'

She gave an encouraging nod that did little to banish her doubts, but Fritha tried all the same. She focused on one of the smaller motes, a mere crumb at that height, the island growing larger as she reached out with her mind and slowly pulled it down to settle bobbing on the rushing water like a raft.

'I- I did it!' Fritha gasped, as breathless as though she had sprinted a mile.

'Is it safe?' ventured Imoen.

Solaufein clearly thought so, though his faith had always been stronger than his sense, the man making the easy leap to land in the centre – the island barely registered his weight.

'Come,' agreed Brieanna, jumping the short distance to join him, 'we do not have much time.'

The current carried them with no effort from her, Fritha free to gaze out at the barren landscape, stone spires and the occasional iron fortresses sticking from the plain like blackened teeth. Even for such a desolate place, there was life enough. Demons roamed in packs, the larger ones marching alone on whatever business brought them there, and some even paused in their task to watch them float serenely by.

'Why don't they attack us?' asked Fritha of the spirit next to her, 'I thought mortals would be slaughtered on sight, or at least captured as slaves.'

'Usually they would,' Brieanna smiled, perhaps amused by her naivety. 'You cannot sense it, because it is within you, but they can; there is a change coming, and you are its harbinger – they know better than to halt you.'

Fritha nodded, uneasy with her newfound status within the demonic hierarchy, and perhaps the spirit sensed her discomfort, for Brieanna left her alone to enjoy a last few snatched moments with Solaufein.

The river was widening as it reached Lake Main, the currents carrying them past the eastern shores. At the other end of the raft, Anomen and Imoen were standing together, the girl calling the spirit over, her hand thrown to the tower that rose from the southern bank like the colossal spine of some long dead creature.

'Brieanna, what's that?'

'Khin-Oin, the Wasting Tower. It is the seat of power for the demon lord, Phraxas. The tower itself is much larger than what you can see from here and descends down into the chasm of the Blood Rift itself.'

'It looks like a spinal column.'

'That is because it is one.'

'Hey, are those _waterfalls?_' the girl cried, suddenly noticing the other side of the lake.

'Yes, but do not worry, we will reach our destination before they are a danger.'

Imoen did not looked convinced and moved along to the prow of their raft for a better look, an awkward silence between the two she left. Brieanna broke first.

'So, Anomen, you managed to bring Fritha to the Throne without my aid.'

'She is not here to resurrect your dark Lord!' the man snapped on impulse. Brieanna dipped her head, surrendering to his temper.

'No, I know she is not. Perhaps my Lord Bhaal will be reborn in her and perhaps he will not.' The woman raised her face to him with the determined set to her jaw he had once admired in her. 'I came to serve in any case; I owed you that.'

Anomen took a moment to process what she had said, any reply proved unnecessary as the woman continued baldly, 'I know we were not in love, Anomen, and many of the feelings I had for you were exaggerated in the role I had to play, but know this: the respect I had for you, for your skill and your loyalty, _that_ I did not feign.'

In absence of any reply he felt he could make, Anomen merely nodded. At the other end of the raft, Fritha and Solaufein were standing close, the girl clearly trying not to cry as she removed her jade pendant and placed it over the drow's head. The sight recalled something to him. Anomen drew the small wooden doll from the pouch on his belt, and Brieanna's pale eyes went wide with recognition.

'My idol.'

'Fritha took it from your belongings after we buried you. Who is it?'

The woman snorted ruefully. 'Would you believe I do not know? I was barely fourteen when I joined my sisters on a raid of a caravan, and it was in amongst the spoils I found it. It had no value, but I kept it all the same, hid it from the other sisters. I pretended it was the idol of my own mother –I had never known her; she had died in birthing me.' The spirit sighed deeply, a smile playing at her mouth. 'Perhaps I was always closer to being Brieanna than I had wanted to admit.' Brieanna glanced up to him, a vulnerability he had never seen in her living self reflected in her smoky eyes. 'Keep it safe for me.'

Anomen nodded once. 'I will.'

'Er, Brieanna?'

The woman turned at the address, Imoen wearing a wary frown as she pointed to the scattering of waterfalls that were now worryingly close, the churning waters plunging into the darkness of the Blood Rift chasm.

'I think we need to be getting off now – which bank are we landing on?'

'Neither,' confessed the spirit bluntly.

'What do you mean _neither?_' cried Imoen furiously, Fritha stepping between the pair.

'Brieanna, explain yourself!'

'I said I knew the way to the Throne and this is it. The Throne of Bone exists on a plane parallel to the Abyss. There are no direct portals; you must simply will us there.'

'_Will us?_' cried Fritha, 'But I don't know anything about the place!'

'No, I know,' Brieanna nodded, 'I considered the pressure of your impending deaths would give you the impetus you need.'

'You're lucky you're already dead!' snapped Imoen. Brieanna ignored her, her hands upon Fritha shoulders and voice low.

'Focus, Fritha, the path _is_ within you.'

Fritha drew a deep breath, her heart racing. A glance to Solaufein and she squeezed shut her eyes, returning back to her vision of that great bone tower.

The roar of water vanished in the darkness, and when Fritha opened them again, the group were stood upon a familiar scorched-red plateau, the hilltop sloping down into plains of the same sand-blasted wasteland. In the centre, a great bone tooth pierced to the boiling green sky, the finely tiered edges making a long climb to the twisted bone throne that stood upon its peak. While about its base…

'You did it, Fritha! You…' Imoen drew a fractured gasp. 'Oh,_ Hells._'

Melissan had not been idle in their time apart. She was standing at the head of a scattered army of lesser demons at least fifty strong, though if it was not for that shock of bright red hair, Fritha would not have even recognised the woman. The Abyss had changed her, the handsome matron now a twisted creature of spindly limbs and grey skin, a small pair of black leathery wings emerging from holes in her dark grey cuirass. Melissan stepped forward, her voice booming easily over the distance.

'Welcome, Fritha. I see you have finally found your way to the Throne of Bone. A pity you are outnumbered and outmanoeuvred –as _always_.'

Fritha drew her sword – this confrontation had always been coming.

'You should have resurrected Bhaal, Amelyssan, he's the only one who could have saved you now.'

A shrill laugh shrieked across the plain, Melissan's perverted features pulling into an ugly semblance of a smile,

'And what can you do against my army? Against _me!_ I will slaughter you and claim the power that is rightfully mine! It was so easy to fool you, to fool all the Children! I drew them out with promises of sanctuary, even as I organised the Five to slaughter them!'

'And it will be your _downfall!_'

Fritha whipped back at the fractured roar, the broken figure of a man dressed only in a ragged pair of breeches was limping up the slope behind. He was hideous. From the amount of torture to which his body had been subjected, he should have been dead at least four times over. Large sections of his skin had been flayed off, the muscle glistening wetly beneath, while cuts, burns and brands covered the rest. One of his arms was limp at his side and he walked with a limp in the same leg, his progress up the slope punctuated by an agonised pant, and the name caught in her throat as Fritha at last recognised him.

'Sarevok!'

'Sister,' he gasped, pushing Anomen away, even as the cleric tried to help him , 'I had to come, I had to bring them.'

And he was not alone, the walking corpse followed by the pearly outline of two others, a petit half-elven woman with short hair and a large man in armour, the latter grinning widely.

'What did I tell you? Us Children have got to stick together.'

'Athic,' gasped Imoen.

'And _Sendai_,' growled Solaufein. He and the spirit woman eyed each other unflinchingly, the half-drow nodding curtly at the address.

'Indeed . Yaga and Abazigal were too proud to come, but I would brave the Webpits themselves to see you fall, _bitch!_'

Melissan bristled at the address, her bravado returned as she sent another peal of laughter to the boiling sky.

'So? Do you truly believe four mortals and a handful of ghosts are enough to stand against an army of the very _Hells?_'

'No,' admitted Fritha, turning back from where she had been gazing down the slope behind, where a thousand strong ocean of spirits surged and swelled. 'But they might be.'

Melissan drew back, a clawed arm raised; Fritha stole the cry from her throat.

'_Attack!_'

With Fritha's scream, the two armies surged forward. Melissan was screeching orders to the demons about her, while Sarevok roared to the spirits that were pouring past.

'Surround the tower! Outflank them! Imoen, remain back with me. You two, get Fritha to the Throne!'

Solaufein did not need to be told any more, fastening a hand about her wrist and they were away, Fritha barely able to keep up as he dodged demons and cut others down to clear a path. Anomen stormed behind them, protecting their back with Brieanna at his side.

Around them, the plain was in chaos, demons tearing the spirits in half with their very hands, the shades fizzling to nothing as they died a death from which there was no return. But even then, by the sheer numbers of what they faced, the demons were being slowly overwhelmed. Through the tumult, Fritha spotted Athic as part of a group wrestling a glabrezu, the great warrior's arm about its neck slowly choking the life from it, while nearby, Sendai thrust her hand through a screaming succubus's chest to crush her heart.

The tower was but fifty yards from them now, Melissan's screeching carrying over the roar of battle.

'Stop her! Fools, stop the girl!'

Solaufein dodged left, avoiding the swipe from the hirsute nalfeshnee demon who had heeded Melissan's shrieks. Fritha rolled with him, Anomen already before them and taking the next swipe on his shield, while Brieanna rushed the creature's back.

'Here! I'm over here!' Fritha screamed, the demon making a lunge towards her only to stumble, Solaufein dodging easily under its four arms to thrust his sword through its stomach up to the hilt. With a howl, it toppled, and Anomen brought his mace down onto the back of its boar-like head, silencing the creature for good.

'Fritha?' panted Solaufein, the girl at his side once more. A group of demons were closing about them. Anomen hefted shield and mace, scanning the press and clearly searching for some break he could widen.

'There, between the vrock and glabrezu! I'll charge the vrock to clear a path; the rest of you keep running!'

'Anomen-!'

'No, Fritha, you must get to-'

His shout was lost, a gap in the demons blasted wide as a fireball exploded in their midst.

'Imoen!' cried Fritha, both explanation and exaltation for their unseen ally, 'Come on!'

Breathless and with limbs screaming, the three collided with the tower. It looked even taller from the foot, Solaufein bounding up the first step only to stumble back with a cry, the man hunched as he caught his breath.

'It burns!'

'It must be warded,' snapped Anomen, 'Go, Fritha, we will guard the base!'

'No, you will not!'

The blast of magic floored the two men, Brieanna diving clear, and the three were just scrambling to their feet as Melissan swept past, and her first leap saw her land six steps up. The race for the Throne was on.

Fritha had a head start, but Melissan was gaining on her, the woman's wings beating furiously as she tripped lightly up the narrow bone steps. They were at a dizzying height, the plains below a war of black and white specks. Fritha was running like she had never before, her every step agony as the throne loomed ever closer. She was almost there-

Her head snapped back, the hand in her hair dragging her backwards.

'_Fritha!_'

Fritha smashed an elbow behind her, a choked cry seeing her released and she whipped about just in time to dodge the spear thrust, nearly tumbling to her death upon the narrow steps. Melissan laughed, black tongue licking the blood from her split lip.

'You know I must kill you to get the Throne, Fritha.'

Another spear thrust, Fritha parrying the stab and stepping past her reach to slam her shoulder into the woman's chest. But the stumble proved no advantage as Melissan righted herself with a flap of wings, and a trilling laugh.

'You're going to have to do better than that.'

Fritha obliged her, rushing in before her guard could be raised and sweeping her blade towards those spindly legs. Melissan darted back, wings unfurling once more to balance her, and she screamed in pain as Fritha pressed the attack, slashing upward in an arc and cleaving a sheet from one leathery wing. Melissan stumbled, Fritha's kick sending the woman scrabbling at the tower to catch her balance this time, her spear dropped in her haste.

'_You!_'

The burst of magic caught Fritha by surprise, slamming her full in the chest and she was suddenly on her back, her sword arcing from her hand to plummet from the tower's edge. On the ground, her friends were frantic.

'_Fritha_!' roared Solaufein, only Anomen's arm about his chest preventing him from charging up the tower to his death. But Brieanna was not so restrained.

'_No!_' she screamed, the word a battle cry as she swooped up the steps, her blurred feet dissolving under her.

Melissan was gaining the upper hand, a leap planting her on top of Fritha with her claws closed about the girl's throat.

'_Die! Just die-_AH!'

Two hands seized her shoulders, dragging the woman back as Fritha scrambled clear. Melissan was astounded.

'_Elund?_'

'Usurper!' Brieanna screamed, even as the wards ate their way up her misty torso. 'The Sisterhood curses your traitor's heart!'

'_What? Get off me! Get-'_

The woman was thrashing madly, but Brieanna held her fast, her scream echoing across the sky as she burnt away to nothing. Melissan picked herself up, on her feet once more and ready to run, but it was too late. Fritha took the last step onto the pinnacle, the throne rising before her in bones and teeth too large to contemplate. She paused. An instant to screw up her courage and cast aside every screaming doubt in her mind, and Fritha sat down.

The shriek seemed to come from the very Abyss itself, Melissan frozen, one hand still outstretched toward the power that she would have destroyed a world to claim as she melted away to nothing. The tower was beginning to tremble, Fritha gripping the armrests, too scared of the consequences to risk leaving her seat. Below, the demons were snapping out of existence with baleful roars, the black and white specks her army rushing up to meet her as the tower suddenly telescoped down to a mere dais.

Fritha felt small on the looming grotesquery of the Throne, the scattered spirits slowly gathering with her friends before the osseous stage. She shifted slightly, and fought a sudden wave of nerves, her voice projecting far more easily that she had thought it would across the barren plain.

'It is over. I thank all of you who came this day to fight for me. Know that together we have spared Faerûn and her people a terrible fate, and as far as my powers stretch, I will see you all honoured for this.'

There was a deafening cheer of approval, Athic giving Sendai's back a hearty slap that would have toppled the smaller woman had she been corporeal, the sound of their jubilation dying as swiftly as it had risen as Fritha drew breath to speak again.

'Sarevok, step forward.'

The man seemed to tremble at the address, though perhaps it was merely the effort of moving. His tortured body had been pushed past all endurance by the battle, the wounds and burns torn open and bleeding profusely, and he was dragging his leg as though it was dead from the hip. Fritha gazed down into steel grey eyes that, for the first time she had known him, held a true uncertainty.

'You are not as the others here, brother. Your will kept you from the Abyss when my plane was created. It holds you here now, not a spirit, yet neither mortal; a plaything for demons in a punishment that is yours, by rights, until your will fails, and you merge with the Abyss as other all petitioners damned here. I promised you I would see you get what you deserved, was I given the power, brother, did I not?'

The light came slowly, a green glow emanating from the ground at his feet and surging up until it engulfed his hunched form. A collective gasp was drawn as it faded once more, and a man only a few years her senior straightened, his grey eyes wide beneath a shock of jet black hair. Sarevok was feeling at his body wildly, searching for the lines and scars the harrowing decades in the Abyss had wrought upon him, the young man he had once been in life finally whirling to find Fritha watching him with a serene smile.

'I give you, Sarevok, not your life, not your youth, but a chance to redress the evils of your years. Perhaps, gods willing, you will not see this place again.'

Words seemed beyond him, or perhaps he merely did not trust his voice to come without a quaver, the man backing from the throne with head bowed to hide whatever he was hastily brushing from his smooth cheeks. Fritha settled back in her seat, her gaze finally falling on the three who had stood, battle-weary and silent, this whole time. The spirits about them seemed to sense the rest of this audience was not for them, the pearly throng drifting away across the scarred wasteland, and even Sarevok took a few steps away to turn his back on them. Fritha let her eyes trace over the three, trying to draw in the very essence of them: bright green eyes, a proudly set jaw, and that gentle, dark smile representing the best of her life in joy and courage and love.

'So, this is it…' she sighed, 'I'm quite glad I haven't exploded in to Bhaal already; it's a promising sign I think.'

'Fritha…' choked Imoen hoarsely, her tears already beginning to well, and Fritha fought to swallow her own.

'I know. I'll visit if I can. I don't really know how this will work. If I can't well… I love you –all of you; I'll keep you with me always.'

Fritha smiled down at them, wishing she could press into them the love she felt at that moment, that they could carry it with them the rest of their lives, the stretching silence finally broken as she chuckled a rueful laugh to the sky.

'I'm not really sure what's supposed to happen no-'

The was a flash so bright it seared her eyes, Fritha's vision clearing to find herself still seated upon the Throne, but the Abyss was gone, the infernal landscape replaced by a glary white space that hinted at features that could not be discerned by her aching eyes.

Before her, four figures hung in the brilliant void, the air about them thrumming with power. Fritha managed to swallow dryly – the feeling she was in the presence of something far greater than all she had known was inexplicably terrifying. The figures were drifting closer, and she fought the urge to pull her legs up onto the Throne as well, instead straightening to observe their approach; she may not have been their equal, but she had earned her place there.

Of the four, only one appeared to be a woman, though Fritha imagined gender was a lot more fluid a concept there. She was tall and blond, and dressed in golden robes that, on closer inspection, seemed to meld seamlessly into her long hair. Her face was beautiful, but in a way which was disconcerting, the blue eyes too large and lips too full, as though it was a representation by something who had been told what was considered attractive, but could not assess it for themselves. Strings stretched from her arms to anchor at her feet to make each side of her a long harp, and her every movement was accentuated by a soft melody.

The figure to her right could not have been more of a contrast, the squat, gnome-like man so twisted and gnarled he looked as though he had grown from an old tree stump. His movements were quick and sharp, head darting this way and that as though to take in details of the landscape she could not see, and Fritha's breath caught in her throat as she noted his eyes, or the absence of them. The sockets opened straight into his head, and within she could see the cogs and workings of some intricate machine.

Unnerved, Fritha was glad to shift her attention to the dark figure next to him. His sharp features marked him as a man, though it was hard to discern any more, his body either made of or swathed in dusky shadow. He smiled as he noted her watching, the blackness parting to reveal a mouth of stiletto sharp teeth, and she turned her attention hurriedly to the last of their number. He seemed much more familiar in that he appeared human, a handsome man only a little older than herself who looked not dissimilar to those of the lands she had just left with his tanned, open face and crop of jet black hair. He was barefoot and robed in white, a long, red stole about his neck that seemed much heavier than a narrow shawl should be from the way he was stooped to bear it, a constant trail of blood running from beneath his white sleeves and down long fingers to drip onto robes that held no stain. The four were before her now, the gnome-like figure moving forward to address her in a wheezy croak.

'Successor of Bhaal-'

His handsome companion lamented his abruptness. 'Come now, Gond, she has a name.'

'Fritha,' trilled the woman, an ascending melody accompanying the gesture as she held out her hand, 'do not be afraid. You know who we are, yes?'

'I suppose,' Fritha conceded hoarsely, managing a weak laugh to add, 'You are not how the illuminators draw you.'

'And what care we for mortal perceptions?' sneered the shadow-man, 'You will soon learn they mean little here.'

'Oh, Mask,' laughed the woman musically, 'I do not know why you have even bothered to attend –or was it Bane who made that decision for you, yes?'

'Better he, than that vapid-'

'Peace,' sighed the handsome man, forestalling their argument, 'there is no need for this. Fritha,' he continued holding a bleeding hand out to the woman beside him, 'this is Lliira, a servant of Sune. Gond,' he pointed then to the gnome, 'who speaks for Oghma, and Mask who-'

The shadow rippled in indignation. 'I serve no one but _myself_.'

'Aptly spoke!' chuckled Gond dryly.

The handsome man sighed again, his air of peace retuning as he turned back to her. 'And myself-'

'You are Ilmater,' Fritha provided for him, her heart returned to its usual tempo. Illmater graced her with beatific smile.

'Why, yes, you see the truth of it. I speak for my lord, Tyr.'

'We have pleaded our cases before the Overfather, Ao,' continued Gond quickly, his gnarled fingers tapping impatiently against one another as though they needed to be busied, 'and he has allowed we four to attend you here.'

'Ao let you come?' repeated Fritha, not sure where to begin getting her mind about such a concept. Illmater's face contorted with a sympathetic frown.

'This must be very confusing for you – do you need a moment to adjust-'

'Get on with it,' sighed Mask tersely.

'We are here,' explained Lliira, 'because we each have had some interest in your life and therefore, as concluded, a place in your fate, yes?'

'You see,' added Gond quickly, 'though you will not become Bhaal –that would have happened by now were it going to- you may still be corrupted by the dark power that awaits you. You would become the god of murder, or assassins or whatever slivers of Bhaal's portfolio could be scraped together or levered from Cyric.'

Ilmater was nodding evenly. 'Instead, we could shape that power for you, and show you how to manage in your new role.'

'….If I serve you?' Fritha clarified slowly.

'Not serve,' Ilmater corrected, 'think of it more as an alliance. You would be allied to Tyr just as I am.'

'And I to Sune,' came Lliira. Gond looked eager to add his voice.

'And I to-'

'She gets the point!' snapped Mask, turning to address her, 'So, what say you, Successor? Tell these others you are joining me and we can leave here.'

'Her decision has not been made yet!' interjected Gond hotly.

'All right…' Fritha breathed slowly, coming to terms with the offer and all it presented for her – after all, anything was better than becoming Murder's Hand. 'All right, I have some stipulations first…' The group seemed surprised, Ilmater nodding for her to continue. 'Right, well, whoever I pick, they have to move my realm out of the Abyss.'

A round of laughter from Gond and Lliira; Mask merely settled on sending her a patronising smile, as Illmater explained gently, 'That would occur naturally once your allegiance had been made.'

'We can't have you and your followers settled in that ugly, joyless place, yes?' added Lliira.

'All right…' pressed Fritha; her demands were nowhere near complete, 'and all the Bhaalspawn who came fought for me here today. They get to come too, to wherever my realm ends up, even if their spirits would have usually been unaligned.'

'Hoping to increase your power base from the off?' smirked Mask, 'I have no objection.'

Fritha ignored the tone of his agreement, her focus on the other three as they considered her request, each returning to her to nod one by one. Fritha released the breath she did not realised she'd been holding.

'And my friends will be returned safely, to Sigil or the Prime?'

'You will be able to do _that_ yourself,' chuckled Gond.

'I just wanted to be _sure_.' Fritha leaned back in her seat; the Throne did not feel as overwhelming as it once did, 'All right then, which of you should I pick?'

'Ah, pardon?' came Gond bewilderedly. Mask snorted.

'She wishes to see which would be most beneficial to her!' he snapped and not without some accuracy, the man pressing with a dark confidence, 'The choice is clear. You reaped every profit from your forked tongue in your life, falsehoods woven seamlessly into truths –where else do you belong but in service to the Master of Lies?' He took a step closer, mouth parting in a grin over those glinting teeth, 'I saw you upon the Prime, Fritha, I saw the delight you took in material pleasures -fine clothes, jewels- the potential for so much more is within your grasp.'

Lliira tinkled a bright laughter. 'What is material wealth to us when compared to the riches of the _soul?_ You lived your life taking pleasure from dance and song – I give you the chance to inspire others, to be a _muse_ to artists all across the planes! Join with Sune and know the pleasures of beauty and joy forevermore.'

'You both speak of pleasures, but what are they without wisdom?' countered Gond dismissively, 'From your childhood in Candlekeep and for the rest of your life, you wanted the understanding of things, the truth behind the questions. You sought knowledge, preserved it where you could, and shared it with others. With Oghma, you would have the chance to learn the secrets of the very multiverse itself.'

Fritha smiled faintly – would she be like this one day? So focused on one facet of the world that she could not see the entwining value of the whole, so much more that the sum of its parts for the fractured nature of it. She glanced to Ilmater, the man simply watching her with those soft hazel eyes; perhaps there had only been one choice from the start.

'I do not need to hear-'

'No, you do not,' he cut in, a certain steel to the words, 'We both know of your life and the actions you took that have brought me before you now. But I do have an offer for you, nevertheless. All will reap what they sow in their lives. As you offered your life to save your brethren and a land on the cusp of war, I offer you the same: your life for the remainder of your days. And when you die, be it tomorrow, or in a hundred years, you will ascend to the divinity We will hold in trust for you and take up your burden once more.'

'The _burden_ of your alliance,' scoffed Mask. 'Ilmater, you sell it so well.'

But Fritha did not notice the snipe. She smiled at Illmater and he returned it, a warmth filling her entire being. She had always imagined the Crying God as an old man, worn by time and the burdens he bore for others, but as she gazed then into that honest, open face Fritha considered how flawed her thinking had been – after all, mercy was a very beautiful thing.

'Tell Tyr I will stand at his side when my time comes.'

Illmater nodded once, the others fading as he did and with a shift of air and hum of music they were gone.

Fritha opened her eyes upon green meadows, the sight soothing after that blazing white void. Gnarled trees dotted the landscape, a closer look revealing they were stone rather than living vegetation, a sweet breeze singing through the canopies to stir emerald-shard leaves in glittering waves, the smoky spirits of her dead brethren milling about them in wonder. Fritha was still seated upon the Throne, the others still gathered before her as though she had never left. And perhaps she had not.

'Fritha!' cried Imoen, darting forward as though she wanted to grab her but did not dare. 'What happened? You were here, but then you were – or we weren't- and it was- and then… well… this.'

Imoen gestured to the shimmering landscape, the others about her mirroring her awe and within Fritha, a warm hope was building. Illmater had kept his word, they were out of the Abyss, and if he had spoken the truth in that…

At Imoen's side, Solaufein had stepped forward as well, the man not so shy as he lay a tentative hand upon her knee.

'Fritha, what has happened? Did you do this? Are you…' he trailed off before admitting the divinity that would see them forever parted, though the pause was barely noticeable as a portal gate suddenly swirled into life behind them, Sigil's murky streets swimming on the other side. Fritha felt choked in her mounting joy, tears coursing freely down her face. Imoen was looking between her weeping friend and the portal with a frown.

'Do we- do we have to leave now?'

Sarevok had clearly had enough of this guesswork, the large man nearly flooring Imoen as he barged past her to grab Fritha's arm.

'Hells Teeth, sister! What is _happening?_'

Sarevok was too slow to dodge it, the full force of her embrace sending him staggering backward as Fritha launched herself from the Throne to throw her arms about him with an ear-piercing shriek.

'He did it!'

She was dancing about with Imoen now, squealing with laughter as the girl was embraced and then released just as swiftly, and Fritha was darting on to catch Anomen about the neck.

'He did it! He-'

Fritha stopped, halted by that soft grey gaze as she came face to face with Solaufein. A bewildered smile was curving his mouth, if only because he could do naught else in the face of her joy, his eyes holding the questions for which he could not find a voice. A surge of unreserved love; Fritha could feel the tears welling all over again.

'Solaufein.'

And, before them all, she kissed him.

**...**

**New Dawn**

The gardens were basking in the dying rays of an early autumn sun, bees dipping their sleepy dance over the neat rows of the herb garden and the scent of dry grass mixing with the rich smell of cooking that wafted from the kitchen doorway next to her. The wall of the inner keep was only a dozen yards away, the shelter it provided making a suntrap behind the kitchens where she and Imoen had once spent many an evening seated similarly on the old bench in their slips, eating suppers of bread and jam and letting the fading sunlight dry their hair from bath time before they were sent off to bed. Fritha sighed, leaning back against the sun-warmed stone of the keep where the gentle heat sapped her strength to the point where even the comb she held felt heavy. She was supposed to be brushing through the weight of freshly washed hair at her back, but at this rate it was going to be dry before she had even begun.

One of the keep's cats had come by earlier, laying claim to her in a few moments of intense affection to her hand, the corner of the bench given the same benediction, before the creature had sauntered off to an already flattened patch of lemongrass on the edge of the herb garden to sunbathe.

Further along the inner wall, a row of azalea bushes were rustling in leafy verdancy. Solaufein was just visible standing at the nearest end, though his back was to her, the man intent on the girl Fritha knew was concealed completely within and likely scrabbling in the earth below from Imoen's occasional huff, the sound of their squabbling in no way muted by the abundant foliage.

'Goodness, Imoen, how deep did you bury it?'

'Well, I don't remember exactly; it was over ten years ago! It's definitely here. Here, hold the trowel a moment; I'm going to move further in.'

Solaufein obliged the girl, stooping to receive the implement from an unseen hand. The sunlight was reflecting off the surrounding leaves to cast an emerald halo about his pale head, an undercast of blue brought from his dark skin. That smile, so broad and full of affection, as he glanced back to catch her watching, and Fritha fell in love all over again.

'There,' came the satisfied sigh next to her. Beth was bustling from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands upon her apron as she walked, 'those are the evening's pies out the oven and cooling, and it'll only be a few moments more for the soup.'

The woman was hardly changed from the last time Fritha had seen her, though it should not have been surprising. How long a single year had felt for her with its struggles and pains; life in Candlekeep seemed almost stationary by comparison, as though the place existed outside of time. It had certain wrought no change in Beth with her same smiling face, sallow and wrinkled as a late autumn apple and surrounded by a wispy cloud of iron grey hair gathered up with a forest of pins. They had not heard much news of Tethyr there, only that there had been a conflict and some of the Children had been involved. Perhaps they would learn more later, as the tales filtered north with travellers and merchants, but life was easier in anonymity, and for while she could enjoy as much, Fritha preferred it this way.

'Oh, are they still looking for that box you and Imoen buried?' the woman continued with a nod to Solaufein's back.

'Yes, and they'll be at it for a while yet, I imagine; I'm surprised Imoen didn't remember we actually buried it behind the bushes at the other end.' Fritha glanced to Beth, her eyes shining –something about the woman always brought out the child in her, 'I'm sure it'll come to her in a moment.'

Beth was chuckling heartily, setting her stout bulk onto the bench beside Fritha to take the comb from unresisting fingers. Fritha settled easily into the cosseting, hands gnarled by years of domestic toil smoothing gently through the curls at her temples as Beth began to take up the task the girl had so far avoided. Fritha leaned into the contact. She had averted wars, forged through the Hells and been earmarked for godhood, but Beth still fussed over her like a mother. It was nice.

Across the spired towers, the bells for the afternoon classes pealed out in joyous freedom, the tramp of feet rumbling from the open window far above as students and weary brothers left the libraries and returned to their rooms for an hour's rest and private study before the bell for dinner. Fritha let her eyes drift closed and imagine herself among them, almost tripping over those heavy grey robes in her haste to be out of the keep and looking for Imoen. For a moment, it was as though she had never left.

'I missed this,' she sighed, opening her eyes to turn and catch a glimpse of the woman in her peripherals, '– you, Candlekeep.'

'And I missed you,' Beth clucked fondly. 'Two years is a long time without my girls to fuss over. Poor Winthrop has had to clear his own cups of an evening, and that pitiable soul, Master Jesseth, has had no one to scold without you two about. It was such a surprise when Hull came charging into the kitchens to say you and Imoen were at the gate -and in such company!'

Fritha smiled, recalling the mild panic their arrival had unleashed in that sheltered place. Jaheira had been remembered from their last visit, but Solaufein's presence had not gone unmarked. They still watched him now, the guards and some of the brothers – the Helmite, Father Weylan among them, unsurprisingly. But for Beth, merely the news that Fritha and he were a couple had been enough, and Solaufein had been adopted into the woman's brood as the son she had never had – complete with extra portions of dinner and worries he should wear a scarf on cooler days, for Marpenoth was a troublesome month for coughs and fevers.

'Your friend got off all right this morning, then?' Beth continued, 'She seemed keen to be away -left even before breakfast.'

Fritha fought the laugh at the censure there. It seemed the women shared views on the most important meal of the day.

'I suppose Jaheira wanted to cover as much distance in the light as possible; it's a long way to Rashemen. She is returning the ashes of a friend of ours to his homeland.'

'Yes, she said -I was surprised you didn't go with her.'

Fritha shook her head, unable to quell the sigh, and Beth seemed to lengthen her strokes.

'I did offer, but… I think she needed to make the journey alone and get some distance from the last couple of years. She'll be fine – she is at home in the wild places and she promised to meet us all at the Five Flagons for Midwinter.'

'And that is in Athkatla, with your other friends?'

'Yes,' Fritha confirmed, smiling as the comb was returned to her and they shifted to sit side by side once more, 'we left Anomen and Valygar there –they both have houses in the city.'

From the azaleas, Imoen's face emerged, flushed and dirt-streaked. 'Fritha, are you _sure_ we buried it here?'

'Well, I actually thought it was behind that one,' Fritha offered, pointing to the bush at the other end of the hedge, 'but you seemed so positive, I doubted my memory.'

Solaufein was laughing, Imoen disappearing only to elbow past him an instant later, beating the dirt furiously from her trousers.

'_Fritha!_ I'm getting a drink.'

'Oh, no,' cried Beth, leaping up to defend her kitchens with her life if need be, 'you're not traipsing dirt through over my nice clean floor. You wait there, I'll fetch you all some iced tea.'

Imoen snorted, slumping onto the grass before the bench, Solaufein alone as he crossed to disappear behind the other end of the hedge.

'You could have said,' grumbled Imoen. 'I was digging for a bloody age.'

Fritha tried and failed to sound repentant. 'You insisted you knew.'

'You're as bad as Vals. _You need space to make your own mistakes_.'

Fritha just fought the wince; it seemed her hopes for a reconciliation in the few days the group had spent at the Corthala Estate had been in vain.

'He said that?'

'Not in so many words. Dressed it up with worries we'd argue and that, if we tried to stay together. Funny thing was, I'm not even sure _he_ believed it. It was like the whole time he wanted me to counter him, and then, on the night before we all left, he found me in the gardens after dinner and we talked a bit more…'

Imoen sighed, distractedly plucking a spring of rosemary from the bush just behind her and crushing it between her fingers, the girl drawing a deep lungful of the bracing scent before tossing the stalk off into the grass to continue.

'We just chatted about what he planned for the estate and what I was going to do… I could feel it, it was like he was on the cusp of asking me to stay with him. But he didn't… And I'm glad he didn't. It's better this way, and I can tag along, playing third wheel to Faerûn's most _nauseating_ couple, until Blackstaff Tower gets back to me.'

'You told them to write here?' Fritha confirmed with a laugh.

'Yeah, said I'd be in the area until the autumn, after which it won't matter much when I arrive there in person –let's see Old Khelben turn me away when I'm summoning an army of pygmy wyverns in front of the gates.'

'If you're accept- _when_ you're accepted as an apprentice,' Fritha corrected at Imoen's glare, 'will you still be coming down to Athkatla for Midwinter?'

'I don't know…' the girl sighed, 'I mean we only just met up at High-Harvestide; I don't really want to see Vals again so soon and I doubt Jaheira'll be back from the north by then – neither might Anomen.'

'He'll be back,' Fritha dismissed confidently, 'The Cloudpeaks are not that far away and only the larger three of the temple forts up there need supplies – they are the ones who'll distribute them out to the smaller watchposts.'

'I can't believe Benita went with them.'

'I can. Even before Alhali she told me she felt her place was out helping people, and the temple in Athkatla was glad to have her there as one of the clerics –she's tougher than she looks.'

'And the Order asked Anomen back after all that fuss they went through kicking him out.' Imoen caught her with a sly look, 'Did he tell you what he'd decided before we left?'

'If he had, Imoen, you must know I would not break his confidence.'

Imoen pouted. 'You're no fun.'

Fritha just laughed. 'It has been said. Well, I'm going down for Midwinter whatever happens; it will be nice to see Anomen again, and Nalia too- we never did get to chat much before.

'You and the others met her that afternoon I was going through Valygar's library, didn't you? How is she –we never got to talk much at the wedding.'

'She's well,' smiled Fritha. 'Happy, and Lundav dotes on her and the twins. He never seems to stop grinning, though with Nalia, the two girls and Delcia at the Keep as well, he feels quite outnumbered. Aerie and Haer'Dalis' have been in touch with her, and plan to visit next spring with their new addition.'

'Little Minsc?' Imoen confirmed, in the great name that Fritha still felt the boy would take years growing in to, though once Aerie had finally learnt of the ranger's fate, she had refused to consider any other. Fritha supposed it was fortunate, in the end, they had had a boy.

'Solaufein mentioned Aerie'd finally dropped her sprog,' continued Imoen, 'Not that I was surprised – she looked fit to burst when we saw her. So what's he like?'

'Beautiful from what Nalia says; Haer'Dalis's hair, Aerie's eyes, but what a horror! Apparently, he never settles and seems to fret at the slightest noise or disturbance –Aerie blames the demon blood.'

'I don't know,' snorted Imoen, 'sounds a lot like he takes after his mam to me.' A pause between them as each considered their own thoughts in the warm evening air, Imoen adding eventually. 'Do you think Sarevok will be there at Midwinter?'

'I don't know,' sighed Fritha, 'probably not; he said he had matters to attend to. But it was important he was invited. The past is behind us – giving someone a chance to put things right means letting go of old wrongs.'

A 'Ha!' of triumph from behind the azaleas, Solaufein emerging more than a little bedraggled and still brushing the clinging clods of earth from a mildew-stained, leather-bound wooden box.

'Our treasure!' squealed Imoen, with the delight of the child who had buried it. He set in on the grass before her, Imoen instantly pulling out faded ribbons, glass beads and scraps of patterned paper and cloth, while Fritha enjoyed a treasure of her own in an earth-scented kiss with Solaufein.

'Here we are,' trilled Beth, appearing beside them with a tray of cups and pitcher of iced tea which she planted on the end of the bench, 'right, now who wants tea?'

In the grass Imoen was distracted by teasing Solaufein with a particularly vibrant pink ribbon.

'Ooo, a lovely bow for you, Sola.' His look said it all, and Imoen turned her mischief onto the easier target. 'Come on, Sinjun,' she giggled, advancing on the sleeping cat, 'a lovely ribbon for you. Help me, Sola.'

'Imoen, I am not sure he is any keener than I was.'

Beth was smiling at their antics, the woman settling on the bench beside Fritha once more with a deeply contented sigh.

'Ah, I will admit, I took myself down to the shrine to Oghma more than a few times in the days when you left here a second time -all that talk of war with Amn and then the troubles in the south, but you've done well for yourself. You've travelled, seen places, found friends and even a love, too –it's all anyone can really hope for in this life. Gorion would be happy, I think, with what you've made of your lot. And you Fritha,' Beth continued, turning to her, a shadow of concern just lingering behind her eyes, 'are you happy?'

Fritha gazed up into the older woman's face, the years of sorrow and joy etched there in every crease, her friends but yards away and laughing in the sunshine, and Fritha felt it warm all through her chest, seeing the years and years ahead of her, bringing good and ill, but always unwritten and full of hope. Fritha smiled broadly.

'Yes.'

**…**

_Annnd, we're done! I can't even describe the relief it is knowing I've finally finished. My plodding dinosaur of a story can, at last, sink peacefully into a tar pit, knowing its time is at an end. _

_Well, I'm off now to finish my costumes for Dragon Con – goodness knows what else I'm going to do to with all this free time. Major thanks to the six people still reading this (hi, mum!) and to everyone who left feedback over the years. _

_And, for anyone who is interested, I played a little trick on my betas, who didn't know what the ending of the story was going to be, and sent them the below on the first submission. It's very silly, but maybe it will raise a smile. _

_Peace _^_^

_- Blackcross & Taylor_

xxx

The shriek seemed to come from the very Abyss itself, Melissan frozen, one hand still outstretched toward the power that she would have destroyed a world to claim as she melted away to nothing. The tower was beginning to tremble, Fritha gripping the armrests, too scared of the consequences to risk leaving her seat. Below, the demons were snapping out of existence with baleful roars, the black and white specks her army rushing up to meet her as the tower suddenly telescoped down to a mere dais.

Fritha felt small on the looming grotesquery of the Throne, the scattered spirits slowly gathering with her friends before the osseous stage. She shifted slightly, and fought a sudden wave of nerves, her voice projecting far more easily that she had thought it would across the barren plain.

'It is over. I thank all of you who came this day to fight for me. Know that together we have usurped a pretender and allowed _me_ to take my rightful place _AS YOUR GOD!_'

'_Fritha?_' screamed Imoen, the noise barely carrying over the booming laughter that was echoing across the plains. The spirits were scattering, many lost to the void as great rifts cracked the earth, lightning streaking from the sky above.

'_Fritha!_' Imoen screamed again. Solaufein and Anomen had a leg each and were trying to drag the girl bodily from the throne, Fritha clinging on to the armrests, her laughter like a thunderclap as one of her boots came off to send Anomen sprawling to the dirt.

'FOOLS! NONE CAN STOP ME NOW!'

Imoen stood aghast and did the only thing she could; she summoned a portal and saved herself.

**…**

Fritha squirmed lazily on the heavy velvet cushions, a leg thrown over the gilded bone armrest of her throne as she watched demons roam the burning plains through the huge window before her.

To think, but six short months ago she had first stood just there on that very spot and taken a seat on the throne that carried her now. Fritha smiled, her attention drawn back to the glistening body of the well-oiled tiefling slave who was reclined on the dais at her feet, naked save for a codpiece and a pair of gold-tasselled nipple clamps – she could see now why Melissan had been so eager to claim it.

A little divine remodelling to her level of the Abyss had seen a palace raised on the site of her ascension, from where she could make her plans and find entertainment in the plethora of barefooted slaves who hastened to satisfy to her every desire. Her throne room was in a similar style to the rest of a palace in dark red stone and golden pillars, two long pits of fire that ran the length of the room serving both to warm and offer a means to remove any who dare to displease her.

A boom of the doors behind, Fritha turning the dais with but a wave of her hand to observe the approach of her leading general. Anomen seemed pleased, though it was difficult to tell nowadays from his skull's permanent grin. His transformation into a dread knight had had the unfortunate side effect of removing all the skin from his head. Aside from that, he was fine though, a goatee of finest hellcat pelt stuck to his chin –he had missed his beard- and his tactical prowess was still second to none.

'Dread-General Anomen, what news of Faerûn?'

'Your conquest goes as planned, mistress,' he rattled, straightening from his bow. 'We have taken the Sword Coast and Imoen has regrouped with the rebels in Baldur's Gate, but this last bastion of resistance will not hold long. They will be crushed within the tenday.'

'Good, I-'

The sound of the doors cut Fritha off. Solaufein was marching towards them with purposeful strides. The flicking firelight was glinting on his silver nipple rings, the chain that linked them hanging free down his leanly muscled abdomen to dangle tantalizingly just above his black leather posing pouch. Fritha had thought at first the cold would bother him, but he was more than accustomed to such outfits from his days in Ust Natha, though the dragon leather chaps had taken more time to get used to –apparently wearing them without trousers could result in some rather intimate chafing. He reached the dais to fall to one knee in a squeak of leather

'Arise, Death-Stalker Solaufein, you bring a report from the Underdark?'

The drow smiled, straightening with a shrill creak.

'Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad have pledge their alliance to you, Mistress. Ust Natha refused and was destroyed. This alone will convince the others to your service.'

Fritha reclined in her throne, eyes narrowed with a feline satisfaction.

'Excellent– it is all going to plan. Now…' she lingered over the word, savouring their discomfort, 'make out.'

The two men eyed each other with a revolted resignation, their elevated existence ever tortured by the horrifying whims of their mistress. A low chuckling filled the room as their quivering mouths met.

Fritha truly was _evil_.


End file.
